Richard L. Tucker

A lover of dogs, babies, robins, cars, hand-push lawn mowers, Ella Fitzgerald and the Red Sox, Richard Lee Tucker, of Chestnut Hill, MA, died April 14, 2023.
Dick was born in Boston on January 16, 1940, to Frank and Dorothy Tucker, two Southerners transplanted north so Frank could study at Harvard Business School. The youngest of three, Dickie/Dicker was a sweet, bright, polite and only occasionally overexuberant boy, distinguished by a supernatural friendliness toward all. An education at Phillips Exeter Academy and Harvard produced a young man who looked like a proper Bostonian, adept at ironing his own shirts, shining his own shoes and tying a crisp tie. The Southern heritage ran strong in Dick, however, and it was his personal warmth that distinguished him more than his rigorous schooling and firm handshake.
At a fancy party Dick was most comfortable in the kitchen, joking with the cooks and servers. His friendships with the mail carrier, his favorite checkout guy at Star Market and the neighbors' yard workers were important to him. He never met a baby he didn't adore and he was uncommonly successful at temporary kidnappings. People out for a stroll with their dogs would find them straining at the leash to greet Dick, as he never left home without a supply of Milk-Bones in his pocket. The owners ended up becoming new friends-though not as close as Dick and their dogs.
Having a low draft number upon college graduation was no joke during the Vietnam War. Dick served in the US Army Reserves for seven years. He was in military intelligence, with top-secret clearance. Those who knew Dick might find this hard to believe-he'd more likely be found in the clearance aisle at Home Depot-but he was proud of his service. He learned to touch type, which always made him laugh. And he delighted in firing off snappy salutes for the rest of his days.
Dick would never pretend he was a diligent piano student, but he sat at any piano he could find and picked out Ella, Louis, Ray and Frank songs by ear. A smoky barroom with inebriated clients was the most appropriate setting for his style, but he was applauded even by sober crowds whenever he sat at a public piano. While he lived in the Back Bay, the white grand piano in the Copley Place lobby was a favorite; when unsuspecting passersby dropped bills in the brandy snifter, he smiled and nodded but resisted the temptation to pocket the dough. A whistler and a singer by nature, Dick treasured his time as a member of the Peadquacs at Exeter and the Krokodiloes and the Hasty Pudding at Harvard. He never stopped singing to his loved ones-or strangers-even in his last days.
Rather than abandoning the whistle in his pocket and the bounce in his step as he grew older, Dick remained a whimsical guy, even and perhaps particularly at the office or a board meeting. At times, his merry attitude might have surprised the suit-and-tie business crowd. All who worked with Dick, though, profited from his sense of humor and generous supplies of candy. Never did he toil at a desk without little windup cars atop it. Not a bad way to ease office tension.
Somehow this demeanor coexisted with skilled professionalism. Dick was an investment manager of high regard, never dropping a figurative ball. He managed portfolios as a vice president at Scudder, Stevens & Clark; managed the trust division as senior vice president at The Boston Company; and served as managing director and chief executive officer at Trinity Investment Management, the work love of his life. Trinity was a small and innovative investment endeavor, an appropriate office in which to close out his corporate career. Employees were allowed to bring their babies to work after maternity leave; with no qualms, they would plop them down in Dick's office for tending. None of his professional accomplishments made him as happy as calling home and holding the phone up to the baby to broadcast his or her squeaks.
After official retirement, Dick found he missed gabbing with clients and took on just enough freelance work to keep his head in the game. He loved this period in his life, driving to meet folks in their homes and returning with his arms full of fresh tomatoes or sourdough bread or a nice bottle of wine as payment. For special clients, he was allowed to take our pup along as chief note-taker. On one memorable day, he returned with an exquisite watercolor painting.
For a man with so many business and volunteer achievements, Dick made you work to know it. For one of his published articles, he noted in his byline only that he was a member of the American Automobile Association. Triple A. In fact, Dick was a director of Data General Corporation, the Harvard Alumni Association, and the Chestnut Hill Association. He was a trustee of Phillips Exeter Academy; vice chairman of the Newton Parks and Recreation Commission; vestry member and treasurer of the Church of the Redeemer in Chestnut Hill; overseer of the North Bennet Street School; and president of the Somerset Club and Taconnet on Great Pond, a beloved family camp in Maine.
One of the common threads running through Dick's paid work, volunteer assignments and personal life was his love of writing letters. Whether drawing up a budget plan, a client investment report, a neighborhood association newsletter, or a note to a loved one, Dick always threw in a twist. Never was his writing plain vanilla. Always was it funny. Here, a quote from a thank-you note after he received a joke grab-bag Christmas gift: "The witch hazel Fuller Brush aftershave lotion was a big hit, and it's also useful for putting a shine on your shoes, lubricating squeaky doors and, in a pinch, dressing a tossed salad."
Although a farmer by nature, happiest listening to birdsong with a spade in his hands, Dick never had a big yard. Rather, he lovingly spent his weekends mowing, seeding, mulching, raking and moving the azalea a few feet to the right. Home movies with his kids could have been titled The Yard Work Chronicles. Upon his head every Saturday and Sunday was a baseball cap of some sort-most frequently his Bill Buckner Memorial Red Sox hat, purchased in 1986 but appearing to be 100 years old before he retired it three decades later because of sanitation regulations. Dick's second-favorite weekend activity was washing the car. He never owned a sports car, but, inspired by his best friend's passion, he could identify and fantasize about every one ever made. And if he were to round out his perfect Saturday, it would be at the movies with a large popcorn. His top five movies were A Fish Called Wanda, Dr. Strangelove, Airplane, Talladega Nights; and My Cousin Vinny. Any quote from these masterpieces sent Dick into paroxysms of laughter that went on long enough that people began to worry.
Dick's first marriage was to Melinda Nichols in 1970. Although that marriage ended, Dick and Melinda's partnership did not, as they maintained respect and affection for each other and raised two exceptional children, Anne Perry Tucker and John Marshall Tucker. In 1988, Dick undertook his "second marriage in a series of two" when he wed Elizabeth Morgan Lyne (Lisa) and spent the rest of his life being the sweetest husband on earth. The births of Christopher Blair Tucker (Toph) and William Morgan Tucker brought joy and completed a family over which Dick never ceased to marvel. He was an older dad to Toph and Willy, but it didn't show. Continuing his tradition of not acting his age, Dick savored every Lego creation, every bedtime story, every minute. His four children's eventual partners/spouses, David Wright, Michelle Ha Tucker, Claire Collery and Teresa Withee, gave Dick the comfort of seeing his children matched with their best friends. His three grandchildren, Penelope Ha Tucker, Dylan Marshall Wright and Theodore Ha Tucker, are, he knew, the world's most adorable and brilliant kids. In addition to his immediate family, Dick leaves scores of sisters- and brothers-in-law, nieces, nephews and cousins in whom he delighted. He was predeceased by his sister, Jane Palmer, of Lyme, NH, and brother, John Tucker (Jack), of Signal Mountain, TN.
In June 2019, Dick suffered an accident that resulted in a severe traumatic brain injury. The ensuing four years were defined by intensive recovery therapies and enormous challenges. Throughout these last years of his life, Dick displayed a mighty courage and optimism. As he left after a month at Spaulding Rehab Hospital in Charlestown following his accident, dozens of professionals and staffers flooded him with hugs and praise. He was like the mayor of his floor, having touched many with his almost shockingly friendly, playful attitude. The Tucker family thanks the countless doctors, nurses, therapists, aides, companions, caregivers, cleaners, neighbors, friends, church and family members who carried Dick in their hearts-and sometimes in their arms-right up until the day he died. We will never forget your powerful goodness.
Dick's life will be celebrated on Monday, April 24, 2023, at 1 p.m. at the Church of the Redeemer, 379 Hammond Street, Chestnut Hill, MA 02467. A reception will follow in the church's parish hall.
Dick was as devoted to the daycare center where Lisa volunteers as he was to her. Every week upon her return he asked, "How are my babies?" He would never request that you make a gift, but if you are determined to, in lieu of flowers, you might consider Horizons for Homeless Children, 1785 Columbus Avenue, Roxbury, MA 02119, www.horizonschildren.org. Please specify that the gift is in honor of Richard L. Tucker.
Lastly, as post-TBI Dick took to deleting emails and throwing away letters and files, the Tuckers invite you to send them any old correspondence that might help his grandkids get a sense of who he was: a kind gentleman and an imp.