The Real Thing Photo courtesy Jessie Cohen NZP Reflections on the Life of David Challinor from his friends and Colleagues at the Smithsonian Institution June 2008 Contributors are listed in alphabetical order From John Berry Director - National Zoological Park As a Director, new to this wonderful profession, I was so pleased when David took me under his wing as a mentor and advisor. I first met David over lunch where he grilled me on my vision for the National Zoo. At the end of lunch, he gave me the best advice I ever received. He told me, "You clearly love this job. This job demands that, as it requires a lot of positive energy. The day you find that you no longer love the position - leave!" David and his lovely wife, Joan, introduced me to many of their wonderful friends, and welcomed me into the Cosmos Club, one of the world's oldest clubs organized for science and the advancement of knowledge about our natural world by John Wesley Powell. They also created one of our first funds for advanced scientific training, whose first fruit was Dr. Pierre Commizolli. I have met two people in my life that I would consider "saints." David was one, Mother Teresa was the other. They both were people of action. They didn't let their ideas, creativity and amazing positive energy ever stop short of actual action. Their passion was infectious and they inspired you to want to be a better person. Any challenge, no matter how insurmountable, was made possible by their beaming smile and overwhelming love. In this ocean of time in which we travel, they left a very big wake. David will always be a role model for me. He is a true hero. His desk, which he brought with him from the Smithsonian Castle on loan, was originally the desk of the first President of Riggs Bank, Mr. Glover, who was also the founder of Rock Creek Park and the lead person responsible for setting aside the land for our very own National Zoo. The Smithsonian has allowed the Zoo to retain this desk for the time being, and I am very honored to be allowed to use it in my office. David increased its history by amazing leaps and bounds over his outstanding career at the Smithsonian, and relying upon him as my role model, I hope to be worthy of its proud history. I pledge to David and Joan, to do my best never to dishonor his wonderful example of leadership, zeal and love. From Mario L. Castellanos Former Community Outreach Specialist - National Zoological Park Over the last couple of years, I got to know David. He brought life to our science building and seminars. Last year, David donated some funds to our CSW program. The funding helped sponsor a student on an once-in-a-lifetime trip to study polar bears in Churchill Manitoba. In addition, to funds he has also shared his books, journals, and wonderful stories with me. I will miss him dearly. And yes, I want to grow up to be just like David. From Mary Jane West-Eberhard Evolutionary Biologist - Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute There are three things that stand out in my memories of David Challinor and they seem worth telling because the say something about why he was so important for the Smithsonian and why he is so fondly remembered by those who knew him. The first was that when he was working with Secretary Ripley in the castle he would take the time to send handwritten notes of congratulation to scientists if he saw that they had done something he considered praiseworthy. I got one of those notes, on elegant castle stationary, when I was still only a very junior scientist at STRI. Not only did it mean a great deal to me, but it showed how much can be accomplished by a small personal gesture toward creating a positive atmosphere of support, and an indication of what those at the top think is important even if their day-to-day work has to do with the budget. Then I remember his saying that he would sometimes disagree with Ripley, and how he resolved this as second in command. He said he didn't always think Ripley did the best thing, but that in the end "It was his cookie." That struck me as a great way to sum up the perks and the responsibilities of being in charge. It also showed why David Challinor himself was so effective in being supportive for the good of the organization, while retaining his own candid dignity, through absolute clarity regarding the roles of the two men. And finally, I remember being on the Scholarly Studies Review Panel when it scrutinized proposals from all parts of the Smithsonian, with David Challinor running the meeting. He always kept carefully aloof from the decisions, including one year we had a proposal from Dillon Ripley himself, perhaps after he had retired or shortly before, and we did not judge it to be competitive. I remember Chairman Challinor's good-humored but genuine consternation over the fact that he was going to have to inform "the boss" that his proposal had been turned down. For me, David Challinor, with his broad, cultured, and unassuming love of knowledge, his good (and good-natured) sense of humor, and his energetic enthusiasm for the Institution and its people, personified the Smithsonian at its best. From William Eberhard Evolutionary Biologist - Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute I guess we would all like to be remembered like this - "gentle and intelligent ... kind". I never met him, but received a hand-written note from him when I was pretty much fresh out of grad school and had been living in Colombia for a couple of years, and had published a big paper on maternal care in stink bugs in Smith. Contrib. Zool. The note said he liked the paper, and was happy to have had the opportunity to publish it in SCZ. It gave me a real boost. Something to emulate. From Ted Grand Research Associate - National Zoological Park I was privileged to have an office across the hall from David for four, possibly five years and he was a constant delight. In the complex world of academia it is hard to find a role model for every phase of one's life, but he had special gifts, a remarkable constellation of what I would call the "3 Cs". First, he had ethical and behavioral Class: he had witnessed our institutional drift and I felt a greater depth of understanding when he would share his experiences and thoughts with me. We sometimes talked about our perspectives on overseas projects, my boots-on-the-ground participation in studies in Sri Lanka and Venezuela and his administrative guidance from Washington. Secondly, his Curiosity was both vast and contagious: you could feel Richard Feynman's "the pleasure of finding things out" in everything he wrote. Each of his letters was crafted and clear, whether he talked about the evolution of canid behavior and their domestication, the physiology of tall trees, or the South Asian tsunami (his letter on this disaster provided the most graphic reconstruction of what actually happened). Thirdly, of course, he was an inspiring presence, one who took pleasure in physical Challenge, seriously and playfully. We used to refer to one another as E-J, Senior and E-J, Junior (Elder Jock) and with the earliest days of the spring our mutual greetings were: "Did you get onto the water?" "Did you get a ride?" We talked conditioning, competition, and injury but one question almost stopped him. I asked him about 'the soul of the shell' and the differences between wood and fiberglass. He started to answer me and then looked puzzled (instantly evaluating my stature, limb proportions, and body composition): "Ted, you don't row, do you?" I said: "David, a bicycle can have a soul too" He smiled and we continued the conversation. Although this phrase may be overused, it is the only way to conclude: I, no, we, will not see his like again. From Judy Gradwohl Associate Director - National Museum of American History David was surprising in many ways. Although he had the stature and credentials to be intimidating he was unfailingly warm, and genuinely interested in people and ideas. David's wide-ranging interests made conversations with him engaging and unpredictable. My favorite story about David, however, is more about his comfort in any situation, and his ability to surprise than any of his other admirable qualities. I can't remember why we took a field trip to the Bronx Zoo, but in 1985 I accompanied David and Mike Robinson to visit the newly-opened JungleWorld exhibit. We enjoyed a tour of the exhibit and attended a meeting at the zoo, and then caught a taxi back to Manhattan. We were driving through a section of the Bronx that looked like it had weathered a bombing when David asked the driver to stop. Mike and I, never the urbanites, nervously checked the locks on the car doors. To our tremendous shock David said that this would be a great place to catch a train to Connecticut. He unfolded himself from the car, tucked his cash into one of his socks and bounded off through a frightening-looking neighborhood. At first I was afraid we'd never see him again, but then I realized that David could likely make his way anywhere. From Russ Greenberg Head, Smithsonian Migratory Bird Center - National Zoological Park I know we are all beyond sad about the passing of our friend and colleague David Challinor and processing our grief in our own ways. Maybe this is stepping out of bounds, but I feel compelled to write something to my NZP colleagues about what he meant to me ... to us. When I was just starting out as a post doc here and David was far away, administering science in the castle, I received from him a note written in brown ink about how delighted he was to read a paper I had just published. I treasure this note. It wasn't the praise ... but the idea that someone unknown to me had reached down taken the time to make a very personal effort to encourage a young scientist he did not know. I am sure that many of you all have similar stories because that was the type of person he was. Over the years he moved closer to my world, first to NZP and then to DCB. I, like the other denizens of the Research Bldg. (aka DCB) had the tremendous privilege of getting to know him on a day to day basis. We will all miss his booming, cheerful "good mornings", his indefatigable* optimism, the enormous breadth and insatiability of his intellectual curiosity, his passion for nature. His charm. His counsel. Speaking as an in-the-trenches researcher ... he was one of us. He was enthusiastic, supportive and wise in his counsel to all of us. And I loved his letters! Many people knew David as an administrator and leader, but we in the zoo's research building got a glimpse of a different side to the man: principled rebel. He was one of the most eloquently outspoken voices when our Science Council discussed how to respond to the revelations of about the behavior of higher administration officials. He passionately tried to hold our Institution to the highest standards. When I am sometimes asked, who my heroes are, I usually answer with a degree of cynicism: in this day and age who has heroes? David was (is) my hero. As strange as this sounds coming from a 54 year old man: when I grow up I want to be just like David Challinor. *I chose this adjective carefully, because it is wholly accurate and is used to name one of David's beloved Galapagos Islands. From Mary Hagedorn Research Associate - National Zoological Park David Challinor was an amazing husband, father and scientist, but he was also something else that I greatly admired - he was an amazing athlete. I began to learn about his great passion for rowing when I was part of a team at the National Zoological Park, developing an exhibit on the importance of water. We met for many years, and David was often part of those discussions. In order to raise money for this planned exhibit, we had a very memorable roundtable discussion organized by Ruth Stolk with many corporations that were prominent in water technology. At this particular meeting, David hosted us at this old, but romantic-looking rowing club, sitting in the shadows of the Key Bridge, called the Potomac Boat Club. At that dinner, I learned that David was a world-class rowing champion and still rowed competitively with the Potomac Boat Club where he was a senior member. I remembered thinking how incredible it was that he was still winning gold medals at his age. The long-planned and often discussed "Water Exhibit" was never constructed, but it began a running dialogue that I often had with David about his rowing. I kept thinking that rowing might be something that I would enjoy, because David had this incredibly infectious joy in the sport, as he did in many aspects of his life. I never did get down to row on the Potomac with David, although he offered many times to row with me. This is because rowers often keeping unimaginable hours (on the water before dawn), and I am definitely not a morning person. I am sorry now that I did not get to row with David, but I never forgot the interest in the sport that he sparked for me. Much of my time is now spent working on coral reefs in Hawaii, and after I set-up my laboratory on Oahu as part of research at the Zoo, I kept thinking about rowing and David. We have one of the most beautiful bays at our doorstep, Kaneohe Bay, perfect for rowing. I finally saved enough money a few months ago to purchase my first single scull. It is perhaps the only scull in the state of Hawaii, because the most popular sport here is the forward-paddling outrigger canoe. The scull was made and sent all the way from Maine, and I have named it, The Challinor Challenge. This is because it is a good reminder to me of what David did so effortlessly all his life - he stayed active and alive in his mind, body and spirit. So, David, God speed, we miss your great wit and intelligence at the Zoo, but I have some of the best of you here with me in Hawaii while I move effortless through the calm waters of Kaneohe Bay- not quite at sun rise. From Anson H. Hines Director and researcher - Smithsonian Environmental Research Center David Challinor was instrumental in the establishment and development of the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center (SERC). During the turbulent period of the late 1960s and early 1970s, he worked closely with Secretary Ripley to advance an initial gift of the 368-acre abandoned Java Dairy Farm into an ecological research center focused on the shores of Chesapeake Bay. He advanced and implemented a visionary land acquisition and conservation strategy for the Rhode River watershed as a model system for land-sea interactions. Most of SERC's 2,650 acres of land were acquire under David's guidance and fund-raising efforts, and even the acquisition of the crucial 575-acre Contee Farm this year is the result of the land agreements put into place by him in 1972. SERC's lands provide the Smithsonian with unparalleled resources encompass nearly all of the 18 miles of undeveloped shoreline of the subestuary and about one-third of the total watershed. Thus, David's legacy of land stewardship provides the Smithsonian with unparalleled resources for environmental research, education and public outreach. David's commitment to environmental research established SERC's leadership in watershed dynamics and land use that have proven critical issues in the health of the Chesapeake Bay as the nation's largest estuary. He saw the importance of forests as key ecosystems in the coastal landscape. And from the beginning of SERC, he advanced SERC's fundamental research in support of improved policy and management for a sustainable environment. David also saw the crucial importance of long-term environmental measurements and comparative studies between temperate and tropical zones, which he supported with the establishment of the federal base for the Smithsonian's Environmental Studies Program that has proven to be so critical to both SERC and STRI. These databases on so many key environmental variables now have world-class value to measure ecological responses as the impacts of global change have accelerated over the past 30 years. David's strong support of the Institution's partnership with universities led to SERC's nationally recognized Internship program and greatly enhanced fellowships for international relations and professional training in the environmental sciences. Always enthusiastic, he was especially ebullient when talking with students and fellows participating in SERC research programs. He loved to talk with them and their mentors about their latest insights and discoveries, which he would later relate to congressmen and donors with great animation. He rightly felt that students and fellows are our link to the future and are our ambassadors to the global network required for scientific advancement. Many parts of the Smithsonian owe much to David Challinor's vision and energy, but none owe him a greater debt of gratitude than the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center. From Jim Hobbins Former executive assistant to the Secretary of the Smithsonian I knew David best from our interactions in the Smithsonian Castle, where he reigned as the science guy. David's fascination with trees struck a real chord in me. I remember showing him a strange acorn, which he quickly identified as from a bird's nest oak tree named for the nest-like cover of its acorns. David knew the locations in the Washington area where this oak could be found, but he got very excited to hear that we had several on our property and in our neighborhood in Montgomery County. He was thrilled to take some acorns for planting, like a squirrel, on his property in Connecticut. For years later he gleefully reported to me on the growth of these great oak trees! This is but one example of his endearing, infectious, and limitless enthusiasm for science in everyday life. From Devra Kleiman Emeritus Research Scientist - National Zoological Park I received David's handwritten notes occasionally and have realized what a gift such a thoughtful personal note was for a young (and even middle-aged) scientist. In an age of mass mailings, such notes become even more important. One of David's most compelling characteristics was his ability to listen and to let every person feel as though what they said was important to him. David was incredibly respectful of people, even when he had to make really hard decisions. In more than 30 years, I don't believe that I ever heard him make a negative comment about a person. He set a standard for decency to which we all should aspire. Finally, I want to mention how supportive he was of women professionals. David was probably the first senior manager at the Smithsonian to give women scientists, scholars and managers equal treatment. When I was hired in 1972, the zoo had neither women scientists nor women keepers; the only job a woman could hold was as a secretary. During David's tenure as Asst Secretary, the role of women in the institution improved significantly. In recent years, he took great pleasure in lunching at the Cosmos Club as the spouse of a member (his wife Joan). The Cosmos Club was a male-only Washington club for years (when I first moved here, they would only let women enter through the back door). I don't think David ever joined himself although the vast majority of Washington men in comparable positions were members. He really enjoyed having Joan be the member and him be the spouse once the barriers came down! From Susan Lumpkin Science Writer (formerly Communications Director of FONZ) In 1992, David asked me to write a profile piece on him for the EDF newsletter. I spent four hours listening to him tell the story of his life, four of the most memorable hours of my professional life. And writing the profile was a joy, except for having to see it cut and cut and cut to fit the one page allotted. As someone recently wrote of William Buckley, David led a consequential life. I felt honored every time he boomed, "Hellllo, Susan." From Steve Monfort Associate Director for Conservation & Science - National Zoological Park David Challinor exemplified the best of what it means to be a Smithsonian scientist. He understood that the primary role of the Smithsonian was to, in his words, "nurture research." David was a scholar with an insatiable curiosity and passion for learning, and he served as a shining, ageless example of someone who fervently believed in the importance of increasing and diffusing knowledge. David was a historian and also a visionary. He had an amazing knack for keeping current with new trends in science and some of his "Letters from the desk of David Challinor" now seem prescient; early recognition of the threats posed by global warming and of the alarming global decline of amphibian populations are just a couple of examples that demonstrate the strength of David's vision and intellect. After David finished an outstanding career working at the highest levels of the Smithsonian he came to work at the National Zoo as an Emeritus Senior Scientist. What a stroke of luck for the Zoo! He loved the Zoo and understood that science was what distinguished us as the Nation's Zoo. We had the great fortune of counting David as an esteemed National Zoo colleague for nearly 12 years. David was, above all else, a terrific mentor. He literally helped launch the careers of multiple generations of scientists and conservationists, and at the Zoo he reached up and down the chain of command to mentor scientists, directors, administrators, graduate students, post-docs and interns. As a science administrator David was legendary for having an uncanny ability to get the most out of those he supervised. And so, when I became the Zoo's Associate Director for Conservation and Science, the very first person I made an appointment to meet was David. I explained to him what I viewed as the challenge of managing the unmanageable - scientists, or "prima donnas", as he called them affectionately - and he told me to learn what made each one of the scientists "tick". No two are the same, he said, and each must be managed according to his or her own peculiarities, strengths and weaknesses. Support and encourage them and you will gain their respect and loyalty. David's presence within the Zoo's science directorate was a great comfort to all who worked there. He was a link to the traditions of the past, a visionary, and always a role model of what we all should strive to be as Smithsonian scientists. David once wrote that, "When an organization's intellectual tradition and integrity are compromised, its "raison d'etre" is not only threatened, but vanishes. The research component of the Smithsonian is its soul." The institution lost a piece of its soul with David's passing, but thanks to him the intellectual tradition of the Smithsonian remains strong. I am grateful to have had the honor and privilege to know David, and I will be forever thankful for his tremendous legacy - his character, integrity, collegiality and, above all else, his kindness and friendship. From Gene Morton Emeritus Evolutionary Biologist - National Zoological Park David Challinor, along with Dillon Ripley, made the Smithsonian a classy intellectual place. They did this by placing a high value on new ideas and anything that made us think outside the box. They did not try to 'sell' Smithsonian science. Just the opposite! They realized the public valued the Smithsonian as a place that has someone who knows something about almost everything! This image, tarnished during the last regime, is what the Smithsonian is all about. I am sure that David, whose long interest in vines, would appreciate knowing how much his influence tied us all together. From David M. Powell Former Grad Student/Post-doc/Research Associate - National Zoological Park Though I had been aware of Dr. Challinor's letters for a few years, it wasn't until I was a post-doc studying giant pandas that I got to know David in person. His office was re-located to the research building (the former "DZR") and actually to my old office! Though I wasn't thrilled about moving to the basement, I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know him and talk with him at the lunch table. I found that after meeting him, I enjoyed reading his monthly letters to the staff even more. David was a wonderful part of the lunch table crowd because of not only his vast and wide reaching knowledge, but his ability to relate to everyone at the table from senior staff members, administrative staff, grad students and post-docs, to volunteers and technicians. He had relevant stories and experiences to share with all of them, and he could easily springboard off of something anyone would say to a wonderful story or mini-lecture on a topic we were less knowledgeable of. He was clearly from the academic tradition in the sciences of knowing a bit about everything, whereas the younger staffers like me were trained intensively to narrow our focus. David was a venerable, highly respected researcher and Smithsonian pillar without being austere or intimidating. I felt very fortunate that we had him in the research building with us. I had enjoyed reading and learning so much from his letters, and this continued and even deepened after I left the National Zoo in 2004 to become a curator at the Bronx Zoo. I still have my NZP email account and I would still receive his letters. I wouldn't always read them right away-I would put them aside for occasions when I knew I'd have time to read them thoroughly and slowly-because I enjoyed them so. I wanted some peace and quiet to take in all of that knowledge. His writing was excellent as well as his researching of the letter's topic. It was also nice when many of his letters would begin with an anecdote from his own life. On a number of occasions, his letters would pique my curiosity, and I would go on to research the letter's topic further on my own. It is wonderful when not only information but also the person providing it inspires you to seek more knowledge. I was very saddened to learn of David's passing. What a tremendous loss to his family, friends, the Smithsonian and others of us whose lives he enriched. I am very proud to have known him and had him for a time as a colleague. From Robert Rice Researcher, Smithsonian Migratory Bird Center - NZP I first met David during my job interview visit to the NZP when I gave a seminar at the research building. My talk focused on changes in coffee production technology. Specifically, I presented data about the removal of shade in the face of a fungal disease having swept through much of Central America's coffee producing areas, and what shade tree elimination might mean environmentally. When I finished and asked if anyone had questions or comments, David's hand was the first to go up. (Over the years, his hand often flashed up at such seminars, regardless of the topic, attesting to his refreshingly broad intellectual nature and curiosity.) He had more than one question, and I was happily impressed that his concerns lay with the farmers involved in the landscape changes I had presented. Little did I know David had once been a farmer himself. Moreover, as I learned over the years, David's intellectual curiosity often took him into the human and the human-earth relations realm, something I always found satisfying as a geographer. A couple of years ago, when space and office changes were made within NZP's research group, David and I were office neighbors on the same hallway, two doors apart. He often arrived early and left late, ever the good example-setter for his younger colleagues. His saunter down the hallway in that long-legged stride, with his briefcase swinging at his side and his heartfelt "Hi, Bob" became comforting parts of my workday. His door was always open, literally and figuratively, and he was visibly at work reading. From Ira Rubinoff Director Emeritus and Senior Researcher - Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute I have many recollections of David Challinor. We worked together for many years especially when he served as Asst Secretary for Science. He encouraged STRI's growth and particularly emphasized the importance of the delegation of duties needed to accommodate this growth. My frequent trips to Washington always included invitations to dine with David and Joan where I learned much about the inner workings of the SI and Washington from them and their often lively guests. I recall a number of David's visits to Panama where we would often walk on Barro Colorado Island discuss its research programs and particularly how much more work was necessary to make any sense out of the enormously diverse tropical ecosystems. I would like relate two stories about David's work with STRI. About 25 (?) yrs ago the Africanized honey bees having escaped from experimental hives near Manaus, Brazil were making their way northward at a fairly constant speed. Besides the threat they represented to people and to agriculture dependent upon bees for pollination, the so called "killer bees" provided ecology with an opportunity to evaluate the impact of an invasive species upon native pollinators. STRI was ideally suited geographically to undertake these studies. In due course, STRI requested funding to hire a bee biologist. The OMB approved the request and it appeared in the SI's budget sent to Congress. At the appropriation hearings before Congressman Sidney Yates I was asked to explain the request. Apparently, my explanation of the significance of this rare opportunity to establish a quantitative baseline before an invasive species arrived was quite compelling. Chairman Yates responded "This is important--it sounds like you need six new biologists." Never one to pass an opportunity, I was already rising from my chair to enthusiastically endorse the Congressman's suggestion when the firm hand of David Challinor on my shoulder contained my excitement. He explained that what I was saying was indeed important but that since we had several years before the arrival of the "killer bees" was anticipated, "...therefore one new bee biologist was quite enough." In the seventies as the negotiations between the US and Panama over the new Panama Canal Treaty droned on it was difficult to get the US diplomats to worry much about the Smithsonian's future interests in an agenda crowded with imperatives of the Canal, US Army, Air Force, Navy, DEA, etc. David and I decided to share our concerns with one of the Panamanian negotiators who could only see us on Saturday. David flew down from DC and the next morning we boarded a Twin Otter for the 15 minute hop to Contadora Island, a resort in Panama Bay where the Treaty discussions were being held. A short walk brought us from the airstrip to the weekend retreat of the diplomat. After, an hour or so of fruitful discussions we left with Panamanian assurance of their support for the continuity of Smithsonian activities on the Isthmus. David understood research and the vital role it played in validating the SI's existence. He was a polite, soft spoken effective advocate for the unique Smithsonian public-private institutional model. On his visits to Panama his return flight had barely taken off before a hand written thank you notes arrived to all who had extended courtesies during his trip. He was particularly mindful of freedom and the responsibilities of the directors of the museums and research units to run their own shows. If disagreements arose he understood that appeals directly to the Secretary might occur. He fostered a collegial, academic climate that was essential for the motivation of research and innovation. From Irwin Shapiro Director Emeritus and Senior Scientist - Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory I first met David over 26 years ago when negotiating conditions for my joining the Smithsonian. I was immediately struck by his direct, honest approach and his total lack of artifice. He was not much for foolish (my view) protocol. I liked him immediately and never had the slightest reason to change my opinion, only to strengthen it. David was trained in biology, but was a great supporter of astronomy and, indeed, of all of science. (On more than one occasion, he told me that he wished he had become an astronomer.) David was blessed with a truly incredible memory and had an encyclopedic knowledge of every aspect of the living world. He believed strongly in the Greek ideal of a healthy mind in a healthy body, as exemplified by his devotion to rowing a sport in which he was world class in his age group as he gained in seniority. He used to row in his basement daily, as well as on the Potomac, and each October would come to Cambridge to compete in the annual Head of the Charles races. In the last few years, I would look forward to the beginning of every month and the arrival of his monthly letter on some fascinating aspect of nature about which I had previously known little or been totally unaware. David was very eclectic in his interests and was an unfailing "booster" of the Smithsonian in every group in which he would find himself. David was greatly devoted to his wife, children, and grandchildren and talked to me about them often. He was also an indefatigable friend, regularly taking time to visit and read to Dillon Ripley in his declining years. I miss David greatly and find it hard to come to terms with his vibrancy and joie de vivre having been snatched from our midst. From Stan Shetler Botanist Emeritus NMNH Although I knew Dr. Challinor from the beginning of his Smithsonian career, it was largely in his administrative capacity, and my direct contacts were relatively infrequent over the years. Dave was a great raconteur, knowledgeable on almost any topic that came up, and always upbeat and outgoing, so that you felt welcome and never intimidated in his presence. He was forthright in expressing his views and optimistic in his outlook. He faced many difficult issues during his tenure but didn't shrink from making tough decisions. He often joked during administrative meetings, "That's why they pay me this high salary-to make the hard decisions." For me, an irreplaceable piece of the Smithsonian died with the passing of David Challinor. From Ross Simons Former Director -- Smithsonian Environmental Research Center and former Deputy Assistant Secretary for Science for the Smithsonian Institution David lived a spectacular life. He lived a life in full that very few people will ever match. He was the "genuine article" infectious in his enthusiasm about life and science and always willing to counsel people on their problems. He had a particular affection for young people, and I can remember when we worked together the number of people who flock in all day seeking his counsel. Long after his "active" Smithsonian days he continued to offer such counsel. As a boss, he was the absolute best. He had a calm but deliberate demeanor, always praised, never criticized. He treated everyone like his extended family and was quick to help when problems arose. David with his booming voice always made sure you never fell asleep in a meeting, no matter how tedious it became. He was a natural arbiter of disputes and left everyone feeling better for being in his presence. He made you laugh over a good story or joke and yet when you reflected on what he said, you realized the story had a greater purpose in its telling. Perhaps the greatest testament to David's supervision was that I never went home feeling bad or low and I ALWAYS looked forward to going in the next day, since I knew I would learn and be energized about the world. When I speak of David to individuals who knew him, they always commented on one piece of his great style. The handwritten note. You always knew if someone did something good, wrote a great scientific article, had a baby, won an award, etc. - you would expect a lovely and carefully crafted hand-written note from him. When I last saw David last week, I read to him part of a letter he wrote me, shortly after he stepped down as Assistant Secretary that I have kept in my desk drawer to read and reread for inspiration for over twenty years. I am not alone; dozens of individuals still have cherished notes from him. He had a natural curiosity, which is why I always felt that David was the most effective science communicator ever! From small tubeworms of Mary Rice to astrophysics, David's restless inquiries would unlock the mysteries and joys of science. His "letter from the desk of..." will be sorely missed. I like many others always looked forward monthly to receiving his latest adventure in science. He was a superb writer and oral communicator. We will not see his likes again. That lovely West Texas twang in his otherwise perfect Eastern diction will ring in my ears for the rest of my life. David not only opened the world to me but he served as ethical guide to how one should live your life. While he is now gone from us in the flesh, his legacy will live on in many of the people he touched. Lisa M. Stevens Curator of primates and giant pandas - National Zoological Park I first remember meeting David Challinor at the opening of the Monkey Island (now called Lemur Island) exhibit in 1983. I remember that it was a sunny, blue sky kind of day, and he towered above the rest of us. This "stand out in a crowd" person was moving through the crowd with a smile and speaking to everyone. We spoke only briefly but the exchange conveyed a persona who was truly interested, without a trace of arrogance in what you had to contribute. I remember asking someone who he was and was stunned that he was the SI Undersecretary for Science. As a senior Smithsonian scientist he seemed to move so very comfortably through the crowd of keepers, workmen, curators and fellow research staff. I would interact with David many times over the years and he always approached each conversation with a curiosity for what I had to say, and with a genuine interest, with time for any further discussion. This quality is so rare and so endearing. From Ruth Stolk Strategic development officer, Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute -- National Zoological Park This stage of remembering David is like sand filtering through my fingers. I can't get a grip. But, if I tried to tell David about this problem he would distract me with the structure and history of sand particles. He would talk about how great it is to get up in the morning and examine grains of sand, or he would mention the phenomenon of a particle lighting up in the sun. And, so it is, that the little Challinor stories illuminate and bring some comfort even while the big story is still forming. I can conjure up David's booming voice at my office door, saying "Zoo-baah?" as a last-minute proposal to catch a quick lunch. I'd close out phone calls or meetings and run after this long and regal figure, along Olmstead Walk among the varieties of threes and shrubs that would always draw a short dissertation from him. We would sit at a table in the Zoo Bar window, where he could gaze off over my shoulder toward the Zoo gate while discussing far-off topics. We would order grilled cheese sandwiches. He would order an O'Doul's and I would order a Red Dog. I would ask him how the rowing had gone that morning, and he would talk energetically about how far he had rowed or how the weather had been, or he might mention a competition over the weekend. I would marvel at how dapper and tidy he always looked, compared to the rest of us who looked like we had slept in our clothes. He would listen to my outlandish ideas and war stories. He might interject, "I remember when Ripley tried to introduce the idea of camel rides on the National Mall," or "I remember when we had to defend science funding on Capitol Hill," and I would sit there and think "is he relating my dumb idea or striving to historical ideas and strivings at the top the Smithsonian"? He would talk about how great it is to get older and to get wiser...that every new day is more exciting than the last. He would look over a trip report and study carefully the list of people I had met. There was always a minister or professor he had met before in an earlier Smithsonian mission. There were anecdotes about past meetings in Burma, Thailand, India, or Madagascar, which gave me perspective on new efforts we were launching. Or, likewise, he might mention the story of an endemic Malagasy bird and how folks had studied why it had never shown up across the Mozambique Channel in South Africa. After lunch we might go back and discuss some looming deadline (like getting the Chairman of British Airways to jet over from London and join a luncheon in the Smithsonian Castle) and then we'd sit side by side at the computer and brainstorm and type out the invitation - full of flourishes and references to James Smithson's life and times as an English explorer and bastard son of the Duke. These things would just roll off his tongue. I'd send the outrageous letter off for approval in the afternoon and a few days later we'd hear from England that the event was a "go." Many others have talked about the big role David had in the Smithsonian - the facilities that were founded under his watch, the careers that were made. Likewise, folks have mentioned how flattered they felt that David would treat them like "chums," so I'm sure what I'm saying is nothing new, that I did feel like one of his "chums." At the same time, I knew I was no chum. It was always incumbent upon me to take notes (even in locations like Cosmos Club where it is forbidden!) and run away and see what I could make of whatever he was suggesting. His hints were always great leads. Joan was the same. If I could take something either of them suggested and then make it take shape, I knew that something good would come out of it. The Challinor I knew was already semi-retired, perched at his handsome roll-topped desk that had been relocated from the Castle to the Zoo. Stacks of books and papers all around. He was still convening the Zoo Advisory Board (and many other boards, for that matter) and my team was attempting to back him up. He encouraged us all to take the long view as it related to donors. He practiced the art of "friendraising," (a term Washington Philanthropist Hank Strong constantly stated as the key to good fundraising). Like Hank and others in the "old school network," Dave was a master at this. He emphasized that you always need people around who are connectors and "workers" because they will pay off in the long run. He really instilled in me the belief that the Smithsonian had a strong convening role to play and it was important to keep your eye on the big picture. If David were watching the reception that followed his Memorial mass, he would have seen a Cosmos Club salon packed with admirers: his stunning grandchildren attempting a stiff upper lip but with dark-rimmed eyes from the shock of a great loss; piles of friends, family, and long lost colleagues and donors in reunion mode while waiting in a long receiving line. He might have delighted to see that a few of us were "networking," swapping pieces of paper with contact information...using his reception to get some business done for the Smithsonian! I could go on and on about the "tree tours" he gave us on his front yard in NW Washington. He could give the story behind each tree he had planted, and when. Joan would stand in the door waving us back in from the cold but David, once inspired to start a story, could not be stopped - rain or shine. He often lined his front stoop with saplings he had sprouted from buckeye nuts at the Zoo. I will always pass by that corner slowly and observe what's happening with those trees, because it will always be like looking at David himself, towering over his stately, walled garden. The Jesuit Father who recounted David's dialogues toward the end, mentioned David's concern about so many religious people "knowing" all the answers already and that "their heaven" was not attractive. David's "heaven on earth" was a trail of never-ending discovery. Our great fortune was to have someone like him taking the time to mentor so many of us - scientists and non-scientists alike - in this way of thinking. This excerpt from a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins will always remind me of David's illuminating and positive presence: As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame; As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name; Each mortal thing does one thing and the same; Deals out that being indoors each one dwells; Selves - goes itself; myself it speaks and spells, Crying What I do is me: for that I came. From Dennis Whigham Research Ecologist and Associate Director - Smithsonian Environmental Research Center I have been at the Smithsonian for more than 30 years and Dave epitomized everything good about the Smithsonian. He had boundless energy, boundless enthusiasm and employed a personal-touch that was unequalled. I offer four examples from the range of memories that I have of Dave. Dave had a hand in my employment at SI. I was selected as the new Plant Ecologist at the Chesapeake Bay Center for Environmental Studies in the autumn of 1976 and was scheduled to begin working at CBCESS in January, 1977. There was a race to officially begin the start of my SI career before the imposition of a hiring freeze that would begin when Jimmy Carter became the U.S. President. Dave helped move the process along and when I met him for the first time, he welcomed me with his usual enthusiasm and mentioned how he was happy that it had been accomplished before the freeze had been imposed. What I remember most about the first meeting was the fact that he personally made the effort (in a relatively large crowd) to find and greet me. A big thanks to Dave! My second memory was in the 1980s when he asked several SI scientists to accompany him to India as part of the SI team that would be participating in a meeting of the U.S.-Indo Subcommittee on Science and Technology. The group traveled together with stops in Europe and Cairo before reaching New Delhi. We arrived in New Delhi in the early morning and I was feeling the effects of the long journey. We hurried to our hotel through the early morning Delhi traffic (that was fun), dropped our bags and immediately headed to the first session of the meeting. Dave bounded into the meeting, greeted everyone and immediately started to engage in the discussions. I was barely able to keep my eyes open and was enormously impressed with his ability to engage effectively in the dialogue throughout the day. My third memory is related to research on vines that we had started at SERC. Dave was trained as a forester and always had a lot of enthusiasm for the forest-related work that we were doing. He was particularly enthusiastic about the research that we had started to do on vines and came to SERC a few times to join us in the field. One day, out of the blue, he offered to fund (out of his own personal funds) a pre-doc for some of the research that we wanted to do. The person who worked on the project eventually became the most productive pre-doc that I have had in my lab. That situation has and is not likely to ever happened again but it sure demonstrates the type of colleague and supporter of SI research that Dave was. Finally, over the 30 years that I have been at the Smithsonian, Dave was the only administrator who ever sent a hand-written note of congratulation after he had seen one of my publications. The most recent example was a note that he sent after Candy Feller and I had co-edited a Special Feature in Ecology. Yet another example of the personal touch that Dave employed throughout his long and productive SI career. While we did not see a lot of Dave at SERC in recent years, we always enjoyed his visits and he continued to maintain a personal interest. SERC is here, in part, because of his support and his legacy will endure.