Duane Peter Quande was born to Stanley Lowell Quande and Genevie “Tootie” Britsch Quande in Seattle on May 27, 1943. He passed away peacefully with his family by his side at his Burien home on August 17, 2013, after a courageous battle with TTR amyloidosis.
He is survived by Mary, his wife of 46 years; sister Patti (George) Holmgren; sister-in-law Toni Quande; brother-in-law Terry (Sandy) Varner; sister-in-law Sue (Jay) Hopper; brother-in-law Chuck (Lisa) Varner; nieces and nephews Rick, (Tracey) and Duane James (DJ) Trout; Jami, (Pat), Makena and Riley Hanulik; Jeff Quande; Ashley Quande; Travis, (Tiffany) and Claire Holmgren; and Terra Holmgren.
His father Stanley, mother Tootie and younger brother “Little Stan” – Stanley Lowell Quande, Jr, preceded him in death.
Duane was very active in the boating community; he built his first boat as a teenager and explored the sound from Three-Tree Point to Blake Island. As an adult he was an officer and teacher for the Poverty Bay Power Squadron and a member of Seattle Yacht Club. Since 1967, Duane and Mary could be found in the San Juan’s, or Desolation Sound, cruising with friends and family aboard their boats.
The name of his boat “Friendship” personified Duane. He helped anyone, anytime with anything. Every friend became family and every stranger became a friend.
He was past President of the Burien Lions and a community business owner, operating Burien City Garage for 36 years; he was also a member of NAPA Auto Care.
In lieu of flowers, remembrances may be made to the Burien Lions Club, 15455 4th Ave. SW, Burien, 98148, or the Providence Hospice of Seattle, 425 Pontius Ave. N., Ste. 300, Seattle, 98109.
A celebration of life will be held Sunday, August 25, from 3-7 p.m. at the Des Moines Yacht Club.
EXCERTS FROM A BIRTHDAY ROAST
Duane Peter Quande was named after Grandpa Pete Quande, a big, red-bearded Norwegian. As a Montana homesteader, Pete married Margaret, the girl-next-door, and moved to Conway, Washington, to raise crops and kids; Stanley Lowell Quande was one of five and the only boy. When Stan grew up, he convinced Warm Beach, Washington, girl Tootie Britsch to marry him…nine months and a few days later, there was Duane!
Women have been fighting over Duane since the day he was born, on May 27, 1943, at Deaconess-Madison Street Hospital in Seattle. When he was just a few hours old, the nurses argued over who would carry the “darling little redhead” to his mother. Of course, maybe the nurses just wanted to visit with mom. She was so much fun and absolutely relished her baby stays in the hospital. She said there was nothing like it, being waited on hand and foot for two weeks while you ate and slept and wore a different pretty bed jacket every day.
When Duane and his mommy went home from the hospital, it was not to the little house on Lake Washington Stan and Tootie had rented as newlyweds. That house went bye-bye when Tootie, home from a hard day’s work at the jewelry store, spotted Stan in swimming trunks flat on his back on the dock once too often. They moved and she gave notice at work to become a housewife for the next 13 years. When she brought Duane home from the hospital it was to a little place in the Renton Highlands.
By the time Duane’s sister Patti came along on Sept. 9, 1945, the family had moved to a house in Boulevard Park. The next move was in 1946, and it was a big one, clear across the state to Spokane, where Stan had taken a job as the Sears Farm Store manager. First they lived in a little house on North Thurston and then in a big one at 2818 East 19th, complete with a cement sport court and wading pool and a rose garden.
That is where Duane came into his own! The house was right at the edge of the city, and out back were miles of woods. It was the perfect place for a kid who was like a flea on a hot griddle – always on the move. Every morning he hit the ground running and never stopped. In the winter it was sledding and snowball fights and ice skating; in the summer it was baseball and bikes and stalking the woods by day and kick-the-can, run-sheep-run and capture the flag after dinner ‘til dark. He even played Smokey the Bear in reverse once, when he inadvertently set a forest fire. He and a trouble-prone neighbor boy were shooting flaming arrows in the woods when one got away from them. The boys fled and Duane found refuge under his boyhood bed. Local firefighters easily contained the blaze and tracked the perpetrators to their lairs; Duane was drug out from under the bed to face the “firing” squad.
Speaking of firing, he also set fire to his FACE when attempting to mix a concoction of “jet rocket fuel” in the back yard. Mom and Dad drove in the driveway just as the potion blew up in Duane’s face. They raced around the house to find him running in circles, screaming, with his hands over his face. He burnt his eyebrows, eyelashes and hair, and mom had to use a butter knife to spread medicine on his face for the next few weeks. He was lucky because he regrew his curly red locks, healed handsomely and went on to break many a feminine heart.
This began early on, when he became “cool.” Seventh grade and coolness hit hard, causing him to turn up his collar, roll up his sleeves, neck with girls and smoke. He and best friend Gary Sandberg tried all of this; always trying to look as cool as kids can look while riding bicycles!
The move to Shorewood in Seattle was a turning point for Duane He went straight from Franklin Elementary School in Spokane to Evergreen High School in Seattle. He also had two hip surgeries that immobilized him for months at a time, and he gained weight. When he and skinny kid sister Patti got in a fight, it always came down to poundage. “Go shake your blubber,” she’d shout. “Go rattle your bones,” he’d retort, and the battle was on.
But he wasn’t just a pain as a big brother; he often took time to play with 3-year-old Little Stan, who was born on January 23, 1953, in Spokane. When he went to work, first part-time for his folks at the family’s West Seattle business, Dunlap Heating and Appliance and then at Roxbury Furniture, he spent money on lots of gifts for his brother and sister and parents. Although generosity was his middle name, he also spent a great deal of moola on his first great love.
He was star struck when he first saw her – sleek and trim, with a 386 and four on the floor. The 1956 Ford convertible was in perfect shape, with a hot salmon paint job and rolled and pleated interior. She became his when dad paid the owner cash on the spot, right from under the nose of the poor fellow taking her for a test drive.
Duane had continued his cool look before getting the car – complete with his hair in a DA – but the pink Ford completed the picture. He and his lowered ‘rod with the loud pipes became well known to everyone in Burien and White Center, including the police. Many a time it was reported at Lou’s Drive-in: “They got Quande again!”
Mom and Dad didn’t know about all that. They were so proud of him: Mom, for his red curls, sweet nature and lovely manners and Dad for his work ethic, Can-Do attitude and zest for life. Luckily, they didn’t know EVERY detail of that zestful like, like his nighttime King Rat expeditions of swiping any brick or plan not nailed down, and some that were. He grew out of that and became an honest man, but he never outgrew his love for parties.
Duane’s high school parties were legendary. When he asked Mom and Dad if he could have a few kids over Saturday night, each time they naively said “Sure.” PARTY!PARTY!PARTY! The work spread like wildfire through Evergreen High School, on to Glacier and even to Highline. “Quande’s having a party!” Cars and kids arrived like ants at a picnic. Dad threw the rowdies out the back door as fast as Duane lit them in the front, all the time complaining about the uninvited guests. “I can’t help if people talk, Dad. I only invited a few of my good friends!” Duane’s problem was that EVERYONE was Duane’s friend.
And that’s still true. Patti’s husband George often said Duane was the nicest man he ever met; that if anyone ever said something unflattering about Duane, he’d know something was wrong with THAT person because he knew nothing was wrong with Duane. Even Duane’s wife Mary sings his praises!
The Duane/Mary thing started at a senior party held in spring of ’61. While they knew each other in high school, they didn’t really discover each other until that fateful night. It was kismet (or kiss something!) and they’ve been together ever since, through pinball phases and boat phases and motorcycle phases and fix-up-old car phases and traveling phases; through crashes and falls and broken bones and bad backs and scrapes and cuts. Through White Center Jaycees and Burien Lions Club (where Duane was president).
They’ve even managed to run a successful business together at Burien City Garage, and owning and managing a business is hard for someone as softhearted (not headed) and generous as Duane. He always gives people the benefit of the doubt and sometimes even gives them the keys to their repaired cars, paid for or not, over the dead body of his accountant!
Someone once said that the sign of a successful life is how many people think well of you once you’re gone. If that’s true, Duane never has to fear leaving because he’s like “Bubba” – everybody knows him and everybody loves him. He’s got more friends than anyone I ever knew; his boat is even named Friendship. His relatives also adore him. His in-laws say if he and Mary ever split up, he stays and Mary goes. His nieces and nephews – even friend’s kids who think they are nieces and nephews – love him, especially for starting water fights, coming to their aid when in trouble, and attending or helping with, games and performances and birthdays and weddings.
Duane’s epitaph should read: Every friend became family, and every stranger became a friend.
And that’s the truth.
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