Duncan Howard Frazee
March 9, 1971- June 30, 2005

Flip-flops and dress pants, a jack knife and a block of cheese, a toothbrush and a gallon of spring water, the winterís first snow fall, a midnight canoe ride, a warm blanket and a cold beer, a friendly face in a crowd of people, a hot rod and smooth jazz. Understated cool class. Dependable as a boy and as a man.

When there are no more trees, when the sky will never be blue again, when the last inch of grass is paved over and the ocean holds no life, when every beautiful thing that can not defend itself is gone, then maybe weíll realize what has happened.

If you really want to understand, youíre going to have to put yourself in his shoes and the only way to do that is to stop and listen, if you even can, because he was the ultimate listener. He always had the time. He listened to all of us inexhaustibly. Even when we were trying to help him, he patiently listened to us. With friends who were all characters each and every one taking a turn in the spotlight, he never competed for attention. Now, itís time for us to listen to him and the only way to do that is to listen to all the things we love about life that operate at a different pace than our own hurried lives. The wind, the ocean, the leaves, the seasons, the night. The beauty of these things is that they are always there whether we notice them or not. Just like him, theyíve been a constant in our lives. The sun comes up every morning whether we remember it or not and though we donít have the time to be still and watch it rise, we complain that there arenít enough hours in the day when it finally sets. I can not make a tree grow, but I know that if it doesnít have enough sunlight and water it will die. Every natural thing needs the right set of conditions in order for it to exist. The only way we know a flower is sick is when it is already dying. The trees will never tell, the sky will never call, the ocean will never cry. The only time weíll hear them is when they are gone. My only hope is to slow down and shorten my list of demands on the day and the world, so, like he, I will take less and give more. One of these days we all have to get back out and go camping, again. Thank God the forest and the mountains arenít waiting for us desperately hanging in there until we find the time to go see them. If some day theyíre no longer there, I know it wonít be their fault. When I ride in my boat am I listening to the ocean or just enjoying the sea and the break it gives me from my life. When Iím hiking in the woods am I really hearing the forest or just getting my dog some exercise. In a day and age when things need to be done yesterday, he kept a pace that some would call slow, but had wisdom beyond our understanding. The less natural the conditions the harder it is for these natural things that we love so much to go on living. Hear him, now, because his gentle nature could not be changed. It was too much like all these things and could no longer exist in the place this world is becoming. And now, he finally needs a favor from us. He never wanted to hurt any of us, but he had to stop what was hurting him, so itís time for us to take the burden from him and each of us bare a little of it ourselves. No problem, bro.

Published in the Boston Globe on 7/3/2005.
Duncan Howard Frazee
Of Marshfield, 34, unexpectedly June 30, in Plymouth. Beloved son of Frederick "Fred" and Nancy (Davis) Frazee of Marshfield. Brother of John Frazee of Boston and his beloved companion Christine DiPaulo of Marshfield. He also leaves several aunts, uncles, cousins, and many special and close friends. Visiting hours will be held at the Richard Davis Funeral Home, 373 Court St., (Rte 3A) N. PLYMOUTH Wednesday June 6, 5-8 PM. Memorial Funeral Service will be held at the Trinity Church Episcopal, 229 Highland St., Marshfield, MA on Thursday July 7 at 11 AM. In lieu of flowers, donations in his memory may be made to a memorial park to be named for Duncan, call Betsy Hines Realtors in Marshfield for information, 781-837-0306. Burial will be private at a later date.