Douglas Allen Townsend

Douglas Allen Townsend was born on Aug. 3, 1944 and passed on Jan. 15, 2019 from natural causes. He was 74.

Surviving him are children: Matthew Townsend and wife Stacey, and Sarah Townsend, granddaughter: Elizabeth Townsend, former wife: Janet Townsend, brother-in-law: Ron Wolfe, and nephew: Forrest Wolfe.

He was predeceased by a sister: Sherri Wolfe.

The family will receive visitors for a memorial gathering on Sunday, January 20, from 2-4 p.m. at the ECKHARDT FUNERAL CHAPEL, P.A., 11605 Reisterstown Road, Owings Mills, MD 21117, where a memorial service will begin at 3:30 p.m.

Following, there will be a toast at his apartment complex where we'll browse his collections and pictures.

In lieu of flowers, please consider donating in the name of this lifelong nature lover to The Nature Conservancy or The World Wildlife Fund.

About a year before the end of World War II, Douglas Allen Townsend was born on Aug. 3, 1944 in Pasadena, California, to Donaldson Kenneth Townsend and the former Marvis Allen . At birth, he weighed almost 10 pounds and stretched 22 inches. He was a big baby, then a big kid and an even bigger adult, reaching 6-foot-2 and and a solid 220 pounds. This girth became a central bit in his self-deprecating sense of humor —leading to calling himself names like "silo body" and "my fat ass."

The Townsends settled into a cute ranch-style house in the Westchester neighborhood of Los Angeles, just north of LAX. A few years later, a younger sister, Sherri , arrived.

But this pretty picture wouldn't last. Donaldson, or Donald, was a broken man. Just past Douglas's 10th birthday, he left his wife and two kids for another woman. As an adult, Douglas would explain it away as "when my dad ran off with the babysitter." But the pain cut deep as Douglas would never reconnect with his father. A heartbreaking high school essay, which he kept all these years, begins:

" When I was 10 years old my father walked out on our family, myself, my mother and sister Sherri. He left for the love of another woman and said he would never see any of us ever again. He told me I was going to have to be the man of the house and take care of Mother and Sherri and that he would never worry because he knew I wouldn ' t let him down. Then he got in his car and drove away. "

The trio made the best of this tragedy, and thrived. Marvis, who grew up in Florida, was a teacher and a budding artist. Douglas often talked about how idyllic this part of his life was. There were camping trips, which fostered a lifelong love of nature. He had all kinds of pets, including a spider monkey and a beloved dog. When the siblings spent time together as adults they often reveled in all the laughing from their childhood. There was lots of time taking buses all over L.A. with his friends to go to movies and sporting events at the L.A. Coliseum. The family planted palm trees in the front yard that are still there today on West 79th Street and now stand at least three stories high.

Marvis also introduced Douglas and Sherri to art and music. Douglas developed a love of opera and antiques that never waned.

During his teenage years, his interests would become passions. He loved learning about history and that pushed him toward politics and government. He volunteered at the 1960 Democratic Convention in Los Angeles that nominated JFK. And he also became a leader in student government.

Film captivated him, too, and he couldn't have been in a better place. He would go see titles like "Lawerence of Arabia" over and over again at L.A.'s famous movie houses. Later in life, he would host Academy Awards parties and write eloquent and deeply-researched movie reviews that he'd email to friends and family several times a month (a practice he only recently stopped).

In high school, Douglas became "Doug" and found a sport where he could put "old silo body" to use. He never described himself as a great football player, or athlete, but he started on both sides of the line for Westchester High. The one highlight he often mentioned was catching a batted pass on defense and returning it for a touchdown. Marvis didn't much care for it, often complaining that swelling hands from smashing heads on the football field had derailed his piano career.

After high school in the fall of 1962, Doug went all the way across the country to attend the University of Florida in Gainesville. He would only spend a year there before transferring back to California to go to San Diego State University . But before leaving, he joined the Alpha Tau Omega (ATO) fraternity and got to know a fellow ATO and freshman named Steve Spurrier, who would later win the Heisman Trophy as Florida's quarterback and then coach the school to a national championship three decades later.

He also left the Sunshine State with some great stories from bumming around the Caribbean on breaks and hitchhiking across the country to get home.

At San Diego State, Doug became a leader on campus and within ATO. As a senior, he ran for and won president of the student body. Because SDSU was a state school, his responsibilities included trips to Sacramento, the state capital, and lobbying for students. His path to a career in government looked set, especially thanks to his ability to befriend practically anyone — from waiters and bellhops to high-powered executives — and a gift of gab that had few rivals. One summer he interned for a congressman in Washington, D.C.

But paramount to any skills or experience, the biggest prize for Doug in college was winning the heart of a radiant brunette named Janet Malone . They started dating in October 1966 and married less than two years later. He also served in the Marines, helping rescue people in Louisiana during catastrophic Hurricane Camille.

After both earned graduate degrees, the Townsends tried to settle in San Diego. Janet taught public school and Doug  found a job in city planning. "He hated it," Janet recalled recently. "I remember him being so bored he would come home and take naps in the afternoon."

That led Doug to a job as a sales trainee for Armstrong World Industries , the flooring giant. When he started, Armstrong, a rather conservative company, still required salesmen to wear a fedora hat in the field (a requirement that only lasted a few more years).

At Armstrong, Doug quickly climbed the corporate ladder and became an executive. He was transferred to Sacramento and then San Francisco before landing in the Chicago area in 1975. The next March, the young couple welcomed their first child into the world, a scrawny redhead named Matthew Allen .

Soon after, the Townsends were on the move again. This time it was to Lancaster , Pa . — the global headquarters of Armstrong. And less than two years later in June 1978 came an energetic daughter, Sarah Elizabeth .

The Townsends settled into life in Lancaster's suburbs. The kids became competitive swimmers and budding cinephiles. Doug would often take out Matt and Sarah for a weekend afternoon and end up at a movie theater. In elementary school, he showed them R-rated films like "Halloween" and "Aliens," and classics like "It's a Wonderful Life." There were also summer vacations to New York City and New Hampshire.

Doug had a fondness for embarrassment, especially at the movies by asking the ticket taker for the wrong film (sort of). "I'd like four tickets for Old John Town," he'd say. We were going to see "New Jack City." "Hot Shots" was "Cold Blanks." " Screaming of the Goats " was "Silence of the Lambs" — you probably get the picture by now. Sometimes, the ticket taker would get it and smile. Other times, not so much.

Doug whistled. He'd whistle at the mall or while waiting in line. Especially during the holidays, when he'd belt out songs like "When Christ Was Born" to some applause as he made his way throughout the day. His most-recent primary care physician said "we always knew he was coming because of the whistling."

But this idyllic time wouldn't last either. The Townsends divorced around 1990, after two decades of marriage. Doug moved to the Baltimore area for a sales executive job with Ryland Homes. He would still remain active in his kids' lives and would host them on weekends.

He remarried in 1993, and divorced six years later, and began a third phase of his life when he really made good on his childhood goal to see the world (as a child, he'd made a list of all the places he wanted to see). His mother had wet his appetite with trips to Europe and Egypt, and he would only expand upon that over the next two decades.

Doug visited nearly every U.S. National Park and travelled all over Asia, Europe and North America. There was a Christmas trip to Mexico with the kids and Sherri's husband and two sons. But above all was Africa. He made about half a dozen trips there to see the animals he loved so much in the wild. One jaunt with the kids — both now college grads — took him to the Serengeti , Masai Mara and Ngorongoro Crater. They saw lion kills and wildebeests migrating. The trip culminated with Doug and Sarah spending an extra week hiking through the Ugandan forest to see Mountain Gorillas.

Throughout his travels, Doug took thousands of pictures that he turned into epic slide presentations that he'd narrate with rich detail. He performed these for friends and family and at a local senior center.

The recession of 2008 disrupted Doug's life like millions of other Americans. The company where he was a sales executive dissolved. At 64, he opted to retire, but a lot of his wealth got wiped out in the market crash.

With more free time and a tight budget, he devoted many days to seeing movies. He'd see almost every film that hit theaters - unless it stunk and he walked out. To wrack up this many viewings, he'd often pack food and go see four movies in a day (but often buying just one ticket). Then he'd write his reviews and send them out.

Despite several physical ailments, Doug's mind remained sharp as he passed 70 years old. And his jolly demeanor never faded. He fawned over a granddaughter, Lizzy , born in 2013. In what would be his last visit with her just before Christmas, they sat and played Connect Four and talked about school and her life. And his life appeared on the upswing. In August, he'd moved to a new apartment complex geared to seniors and was making new friends (of course) and having a blast decorating his new digs with his museum-quality collections of butterflies, minerals and antiquities.

As the 74 year old chatted with 6-year-old Lizzy, who he loved calling by her full name of Elizabeth Kate, his playfulness shined through. He offered his fisherman's handshake and asked her if she knew what the word "delightful" meant. She shook her head.

"Well, Elizabeth Kate you are delightful, and don't you forget it," he said.

She blushed.