RICHMOND — Short. Easy to have that reaction when meeting Nancy. That was Nancy Benedict, possibly Richmond’s oldest resident when she died this month at the age of 98.

But no one should be fooled by the fact that Nancy couldn’t see over the doughnut counter at Bartlett’s Orchard when she stretched to give doughnuts to a customer. She stood tall in every way but appearance.

No one looked down on Nancy when it came to energy, willingness to work, competence, concern for others, kindness. In her long lifetime, she was a mother, wife, keeper of an immaculate house, landscaper, telephone operator, office manager and salesperson. She was also a great friend.

A family photo of Nancy Benedict.

Nancy was quintessential Richmond. She always lived here, growing up in the big house at the corner of State and Rossiter roads, going to the one-room Depot School, getting married and building a new home on the other side of Sherrill Pond from her parents’ house when she and Eddie Benedict were married in 1951.

The Benedicts divvied up responsibilities, he bringing home the paycheck and on the home front taking care of mowing the fields, etc. She raised their four kids, insisted they take off shoes and keep their socks on because she didn’t want dirty shoes or sweaty feet marking her highly polished floors.

When her kids were young, she put them to bed and went across the street to her night job at the Richmond Telephone Company, which operated from a residence. When we moved to Richmond in 1960, a human was still saying “Number, please.” Snoozing on a cot when she could, Nancy worked as an operator for the independent (it still is) company, plugging and unplugging the town’s calls on a vintage switchboard.

The incredulous should realize that by 1961-62 in a new subdivision with newly carved-out roads, we were on a nine-party line, and our number was 107 ring 1-2. So, we dove for the phone when it emitted one long ring and two shorts. No long chats in that neighborhood until the company joined the 20th century.

Later, Nancy became a mainstay of the Community Health Association, which provided public health and school nursing for the two towns for decades. She kept the books, including town monies, the annual fund drive and the mysteries of Medicare payments, while the late Hazel Dickson, a registered nurse, made house calls and took care of the well and the sick at school. Community Health closed its doors a few years ago.

But when retirement time at CHA approached, Nancy didn’t. She took a job at Bartlett’s Orchard store, where she not only did whatever was needed at the moment but became like a member of the family. Her affection for the regular customers was obviously shared by them; one has been sending her a valentine for years. She retired from Bartlett’s at the age of 92 in 2019 but did not sit still.

She went to town meetings, the post office and the library. One of her greatest joys was her role in the Anita Chapman Scholarship Fund, established in Chapman’s honor after her death at the age of 34 in 1971. Nancy was one of five women who established a fund that has benefited dozens of Richmond students and has grown from a $100 award in 1972 to $11,000 last year.

Nancy helped supervise Richmond teenagers in 1971-72 as they made candy apples in the local church kitchen and sold them at Bartlett’s to launch the fund. She also kept the fund’s scrapbooks and treasured the notes that came annually from appreciative students. With the other founders, she made Chapman’s often-expressed wish come true: that Richmond should do something for our kids after they left Richmond Consolidated School.

Nancy weeded flowers; did needlepoint; traveled to the Cape, Alaska and all over New England; wrote wonderful notes; and she walked, especially in her woods. Taking a walk with Nancy could apparently take more time than expected. Family members report that she never wanted to go back the way they had come, which sometimes meant you had to go much farther than planned — no retracing.

When a friend or relative retired, she’d ask what they were going to do next. “Retiring” was not an acceptable answer.

Moving forward — in every decade of her life — was her hallmark.

Ruth Bass is an award-winning journalist. Her website is ruthbass.com . The opinions expressed by columnists do not necessarily reflect the views of The Berkshire Eagle.