Donald R. Allen, Jr.

Don was born on February 22, 1943 in Ft. Wayne, Indiana. During his early years, his father was in the military and the family moved often, including to Boca Raton, Florida, Alexandria, Virginia, and Manchester, New Hampshire.

In the 1950s, they settled in Columbus, Ohio where Don later graduated from Eastmoor High School in 1961. A year later, they moved briefly to Anaheim, California where Mr. Allen, Sr. was being trained for work on the Apollo program. The family then moved to Indialantic, Florida. During this time, Don became a student at the University of Miami.

In 1967, Don was hired by EG&G, one of the defense contractors supporting NASA. He would remain employed at the Cape for over 40 years. In 1975, Don married Maria Amparo Gomez. They were married for nearly 46 years.

After his retirement, Don occupied his time by serving on the board of the condominium where he and Maria lived for many years, becoming a volunteer for Space Coast Area Transit, and helping Maria with her many crafts.

When Don (then known as Donnie) was young, the family lived in Alexandria, Virginia. He and his mother would often take the city bus into nearby Washington, DC to shop. His mother often recounted how three-year-old Donnie wandered the bus aisle, "chatting up" the other passengers. Don never met a stranger, even as a youngster.

Once, Donnie and his mother arrived at the bus stop, only to discover that Donnie had left a valuable possession behind. (There is debate whether it was a teddy bear or a special cap.) Donnie put up such an uncharacteristic fuss that his mom eventually gave in and took him back home to retrieve the article. As a consequence, they missed the bus. Minutes later, the bus went off a bridge and several passengers were killed. It is entirely possible that Don's siblings owe their existence to Donnie's forgetfulness and resultant temper tantrum.

Don was always a prankster and often up to no good in various (harmless) ways. As a high school student, he and his buddies snuck into movie theaters, stretched the limits of their passes on city buses, and "borrowed" other students' bicycles for rides to the store. (The bikes were always returned, undamaged.)

On the day the family home in Columbus went up for sale, Don's parents had a dinner engagement. As the oldest child, Don was sternly instructed to not -- under ANY circumstances -- let anyone in to see the house, despite the "For Sale" sign in the yard. Shortly after the parents left, there was knock at the door and a couple from Michigan asked to see the house. Don informed them they would have to return the next day when his parents were home. The couple anxiously explained they were returning home the next day and begged to be admitted. After consideration, Don opted to let them in. The next day, his parents received a phone call from a realtor with an offer from the Michigan couple, which was ultimately accepted. Don NEVER confessed to his parents that he'd let the buyers into the house. Forever afterwards, the senior Allens believed that the couple bought the house sight unseen.

Don's proclivity in playing tricks extended to his own family. When the Allens lived in an apartment in Anaheim, California he planned a trick on their mother, who had gone to the beauty parlor. It involved two very large storage cupboards in the apartment. Don coached his little sister, then six years old, about her part in the escapade. When the boys saw their mother returning, they each hid in one of the cupboards. When Mrs. Allen discovered her daughter apparently home "alone," she asked where the boys were. Carefully following Don's instructions, the sister explained that the boys left shortly after her mother went out and that she had no idea where they were or when they would return. Confronted by the specter of her young daughter being left alone for hours in an apartment in an LA suburb, Mrs. Allen's normally placid, easy-going demeanor suffered untold assault and her temper ultimately erupted. Her resultant fretting and fuming was allowed to continue for several minutes before the boys popped out of the cupboard and the prank was revealed.

Don's sister continued to be a more or less willing cohort in his crimes. In the mid 1960s, he talked her into dressing in an outfit he put together, "just to see what Mom says." The outfit consisted of kelly-green shorts and a hot-pink top. His sister (a bit reluctantly) agreed, knowing that her conservatively-dressing mom would likely find the color combination a bit much. She was right, and was soon "encouraged" to change clothes. She was, however, quick to rat out her brother as the true culprit behind the crime. Some years later, when that particular color combination became not only acceptable, but trendy, Don was always quick to remind his family about his far-sighted fashion sense.

Don was a notoriously sound sleeper. While living in Indialantic, a picture became dislodged from above Don's bed in the middle of the night. It slid down the wall and crashed on the floor, causing a horrendous racket. Don's brother, sleeping in the same room, was violently awakened, along with their sister and parents down the hall and a visiting grandmother in a room at the other end of the house. All rushed into the boys' bedroom where only Don, despite the commotion and the lights thrown on, continued to snore peacefully.

Don's years at the Cape were marked by consistent adventures. He and his co-workers played badminton on the roof of the VAB and signed their names on the Saturn rockets that were then under construction in the High Bay.

His job at the time consisted of working in the production office of EG&G. Among the many documents they prepared for distribution were NASA publicity photos, informational items, and highly secure material printed for use by the astronauts. One time a young woman came into the office dressed in shorts, tee shirt, and sandals. She explained she'd just flown in and needed a copy of the astronaut training manual. Don, dubiously regarding her, decided that such a highly sensitive document shouldn't be released to the woman without further investigation. He explained to her that it would take a while to prepare what she requested. She readily accepted his explanation and happily went off to the snack bar. Don showed the woman's badge to his boss and was thereupon strongly encouraged to hand over the requested material. When the woman returned, Don -- still reluctant -- handed her the manual. In exchange she gave him one of the sandwiches from the snack bar. Still uncertain, Don returned to work and to his sandwich, while Sally Ride went off about her business.

Security -- and the ever-present possibility of all sorts of attack -- was constantly on the mind of KSC employees. One time, the lunch hour of Don and some colleagues was disrupted when several hazmat-clad security agents burst into the cafeteria, explaining they'd received notice of a "hazardous substance" threat. "Where?" Don and his friends asked, glancing around the near-empty cafeteria. The newcomers pointed to a table which, indeed, was covered by an ominous white powder. The security team prepared to deploy their equipment when Don sauntered over and studied the table. "Oh, I know what it is," Don said. To the horror of the hazmat team, Don ran his finger across the table. Ignoring their shouted protests, he popped his finger in his mouth. "Just like I thought," Don reported. "Sweet Sixteen donuts."

The launch of Apollo 17 on its mission to the moon was the only nighttime launch in the Apollo program. As he was working second shift at the time, Don decided to take in the launch from the bleachers erected for that purpose. As the rocket lifted off across the Atlantic Ocean to the east, Don stood with the crowd. Fully aware that the bleachers were occupied by visitors and VIPS -- many of them space neophytes -- Don anxiously pointed behind them where the moon was then shining brightly in the western sky. "OH, NO!" he shouted. "They're going the wrong way!"

Don's time at the Cape was not without near-tragedy. In the fall of 1969, Don was supervising routine document printing when he reached behind one of the running printing presses. Unknown to him, someone had removed the housing from the press and the machine caught his forearm. The accident resulted in an ambulance ride, a few nights in the hospital, and several dozen stitches. He bore the scar of that accident for the rest of his life, though it never damaged his sense of humor or his upbeat outlook.

After he retired, Don was goaded (he would say "shamed") by his father into making a foray into volunteer service. (Don's mom had likewise coerced the senior Mr. Allen into volunteerism upon his own retirement.) Don and Maria spent many years volunteering with Space Coast Area Transit, driving vans to transport senior citizen clients to their doctors' appointments all around Brevard County. It was a "job" they both came to enjoy. Don persisted in privately referring to his passengers as "the old people" even while freely admitting that many of them were younger than he was.

Perhaps Don's strangest assignment came a few years ago from his sister. She had a friend in Tallahassee whose granddaughter was adopting a pet bird, sight unseen, from a Melbourne woman. Since in these times, one can never be too cautious when making transactions with strangers, the friend asked whether Don would be willing to act as "bodyguard" when she and her granddaughter came to take possession of the bird. Don and Maria readily and graciously agreed. The bird owner turned out to live mere blocks from them. On the assigned day, Don and Maria met the Tallahassee visitors and supervised the transfer of the bird. It was a prime example of Don's generosity of spirit, not to mention his willingness to finally take orders from his kid sister.

As 45 year residents of Melbourne, the Allen’s were well known to their neighbors. They were always out walking, holding hands, running errands, attending church and social gatherings, and enjoying each others’ company. Don was searching for an apartment one day when he found Maria. She invited him for coffee - the only cup of coffee he ever drank - and he asked her for a date. After two and a half years and four proposals, they married in 1975. He would tease Maria, telling her it was the most expensive cup of coffee he ever had. His heart belonged to Maria. He was a devoted and caring husband who was always happy when he was with her.

He was a “people person,” always willing to lend a hand. Don knew what to do in every situation around the grounds of their condo. He was the “go to guy.” Don would be consulted before a repairman was called. He would offer his help and a few corny jokes, always with a smile.

Don’s kindness, dependability, and willingness to lend a hand we’re among his most endearing qualities. He was a loyal friend and an old school gentleman who always brought his sense of humor with him. He was well loved and will be sorely missed.

Don was preceded in death by his parents Donald R. Allen, Sr. & Thelma Allen and survived by his loving wife Maria Allen; brother John Allen (Rachel Kimball); sister Debbie Allen Williams (Wilson Williams, Jr.); niece Sarah Allen (Nguyen Tan); and a great-nephew and great-niece.

Guests are encouraged to share memories of Don at the service which will be held on Friday, June 11th, with visitation starting at 10AM at Florida Memorial Gardens on US1 in Rockledge, Fl.

Following the service, guests are invited for refreshments and Celebration of Life, at the Clubhouse, at 3150 N. Harbor City Blvd ( US1) in Melbourne.

In lieu of flowers, a donation to a charity that supports children with cancer would be appreciated.