Richard Lee Hanley

friend, mentor, teacher, and lifelong learner.

It’s hard to eulogize him not because it’s hard to find things to say about

him, but because it’s hard to distill his 83 years into a few paragraphs.

Not because he didn’t do enough to chronicle, but because it’s impossible to

distill his life and his immense impact into a collection of words.

His real eulogy is still being written. Chapters will be written for

generations. His impact on Earth is broad and deep.

Grandson of Millie and Reg Rimer. Son of Pauline and Joe Hanley. Brother to

Paul and his beloved baby sister, Danny. Nephew of Leland, Arnold, Paul,

Leo, and Betty. Husband of Margaret Mary Bridgette Fitzpatrick Hanley.

Father of Susan, Brian, Timothy, Christopher, and Michael. These are just a

few of the people who shaped and were shaped by Dad.

World War II broke out when Dad was 12. His father, Joe, and his uncles went

overseas to fight. His family at home saved scrap metal and did without some

necessities for the greater good. From this he learned that if one is in

trouble, we’re all in trouble. That if one sacrifices, than we all

sacrifice. That if one works, than all of us work. He learned patriotism.

The kind of patriotism that teaches that we are all one. That we pull

together. We don’t disintegrate. We don’t separate. We are united.

He watched the vets return successfully from the war, put down their

weapons, and pick up plows, hammers, slide rules, and calculators as they

proceeded to build the American economy to heights never seen before on this

planet.

Dad played youth football and had his picture featured in the Denver Post.

He ran track in high school and was featured in the Denver Post again after

he won the 40 yard dash in the regionals. Dad also did the pole vault. He

played high school football and was taken out of the game one day when his

jersey was saturated with blood from an operation earlier that year which

ruptured. He didn’t notice it. The coach did. The coach wouldn’t let him

play running back anymore. Rather than quitting the team, he punted

instead. He did well. No matter what the sport, his tongue hung out of his

mouth. Shooting baskets, throwing a football, nearing the end zone, throwing

a knuckleball, catching a fastball behind home plate, bowling a strike,

throwing down a hand in gin rummy, the wagging tongue was his competitive

tell. Dad was an excellent golfer and could crush a drive even before they

came out with the oversized clubs. He was good at any thing he tried. He

loved the mountains, especially Mt. Evans. He could go to watch the elk

everyday if someone would go with him. He loved to fish and hunt and camp.

Anything to be out in God's splendor.

Before he graduated high school, he worked in a blacksmith shop on Colorado

Blvd in what is now the middle of central Denver. He adored and had a way

with horses. He worked on a ranch in Eastern Colorado. He worked as a bus

boy at the Denver Country Club. As a child, Dad had rheumatic fever and told

us the thing that gave him back the strength in his arms was carrying the

heavy trays full of dishes. Most of his paychecks in the beginning went to

pay for broken china, when his rehabilitating arms couldn't hold the loads.

The perks though, were the hidden dishes of ice cream that the maître d

would hide in the linen closet. They made up for the light earnings.

Dad went down to a bank on 17th Street and talked to his uncle. He wanted

advice on how to break into the banking business. His uncle told him to

check out a small bank on Arapahoe that was shaking up the industry. He

applied and was told he’d hear back in two weeks. Two weeks passed and no

word. So he went back down to the bank. Being naïve and ambitious, he didn’t

think to consider that no news meant no job. He figured that there must have

been a mistake. The bank, being impressed by his tenacity and

straightforward, optimistic approach, hired him on the spot. He started as a

teller and would retire many years later as a vice president.

When Dad became a manager at the bank, he learned to mentor, to teach, to

explore, to ask questions, to follow up, to listen, to recognize new trends

and anticipate potential issues. He learned that a manager’s job is about

preparing people to succeed. He learned to find people’s strengths and to

minimize their weakness. Dad did what was right, not what was simply

required.

In 1960, Dad married Peggy Fitzpatrick, the woman who would be the love of

his life. Dick and Peggy shared common values and ideals, but they also

complimented each other – where Dad's sense of humor was wry and

understated, Mom's was (and is) wacky and immediate. Laughter would be a

mainstay of the household they built together and it would be passed along

to their children through nature and nurture. True to form until the end,

one of Dad's last sentences, before he fell asleep for the last time at 83

years old was a quip to the nurse about how he didn’t take any steroids for

his ailment because he didn’t want to jeopardize his Major League Baseball

career. The ALS all but took away his speech at the end, but he did manage

to muster all his strength for one last one-liner.

After Richard retired from the banking business, he went into commercial

real estate. He did very well in the beginning. And then life stepped in as

it will do-- a few twists and turns and setbacks later, Dad would try to put

real estate deals together at the depth of the Denver recession in the 1980’s

where the vacancy rate in downtown Denver, let alone the metro area was

unprecedented. Richard repeatedly talked about ethics. It was in his core

to be upstanding and live out his ethical beliefs to his own financial

detriment, he demonstrated what ethics really are. He would not and could

not be anything but honest with other people and their money, even if it

meant he would not get paid. And money was tight back then. When Dad did the

right thing, he wasn’t just sacrificing a new Mercedes for a new Chevy. He

was sacrificing maintenance on an old broken down Chevy and even eventually

sacrificing the Chevy itself back to the bank.

The end was the epitome of love. The tender moments were abundant. Mom

cared for him non stop like he was precious cargo. She went above an beyond

what the normal caregiver would give. She baked and blended and massaged,

and carried and patted his pains away. When it was too enormous of a task

for Mom, the boys stepped in. It was beyond beautiful. Dad apologized for

being weak. He demonstrated nothing but strength. The final days were a

display of how to live and how to die. Grace, strength love and wisdom.

Hallmark cards could take lessons from the love that flooded the Hanley

home. This is what life is about.

Dad will be missed. But he’ll never be forgotten and his impact will

resonate for a long, long time on this earth.

In lieu of flowers please make your special donation to the Denver Hospice.