MELVIN COLEMAN CHANEY Nov. 23, 1924 – Dec. 2, 2021
Melvin Coleman Chaney was born in a quiet Chicago suburb where boys in knickers ran free, climbed trees, played baseball under no supervision, formed secret clubs in attics, and swam in summer pools and lakes.
In winter he learned a strong smooth ice skate that carried into his late age. His parents’ house was full of music. Mel could identify symphonies and operas after hearing a few measures – sometimes a few notes.
Despite the scarcities of the Great Depression, his parents found a way to buy him a camera, which was his most prized possession. He developed his photographs in a lab in the basement where he also engaged in scientific experiments (his family is lucky that the house remained intact). His father, a physicist and teacher and his mother, a woman full of music, wonder and imagination, influenced his youth.
He fell in awe of the Rockies on a scouting trip to Colorado where he challenged his leaders with his independent adventuresome nature. Mel met Flora Jean Spaid at the age of 15 and that was it. They married in their early 20s. During their first year of marriage, Mel served a tour in a U.S. Army Intelligence Unit in Bamberg, Germany in the post WWII occupation. As a result, he developed a lasting affection for the German people, language and culture.
He graduated from the University of Illinois with a degree in Engineering, and set to work for the Electro-Motive Corporation in La Grange, Illinois during the time that the country’s railroads were transitioning from steam to diesel power. Captivated by the West, he and Jean eventually moved to raise their three children in Los Alamos, where he worked for the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory (later Los Alamos National Laboratory).
They folk danced with friends, skied, learned to relish hot chile, and took their kids on long adventures to remote corners of New Mexico, Navajo Country, Mexico and beyond. His shoes may have been neglected, but he never missed an opportunity to support the passions and travels of this children. In the late 50’s, he and Jean purchased land nestled between the Pojoaque River and Black Mesa in “the valley”. There, they designed and built a house adobe brick by adobe brick. They eventually welcomed their in-laws and three grandchildren to their home where magic and adventure abounded.
After many dances and sunsets, his wife Jean died in his arms in 2002. He insisted on caring for her thru every second of a long battle with cancer. He then ventured out on his own on numerous trips to Europe, paragliding in Switzerland, biking around Lago de Garda, touring the “Stans” and joining Habitat for Humanity teams to build houses in Romania and Kyrgyzstan. He always said that traveling alone allowed for surprising interactions with people, and he found many friends and touched lives in ways that we will never know. His photographs of these adventures have been recognized with awards by the Los Alamos Photography Club.
Late in life, he met Misa S. from Hronov, a town in the Hradec Kralove Region of the Czech Republic. Misa became a dear friend and Mel lived for a time in Hronov with Misa and her children, Petra, Karolina and Kuba. The family enlivened him and enriched the last decades of his life. In his last years in New Mexico, he was always up for a long drive with his son, Dan exploring on treacherous roads they had no business being on. They shared a sense of danger, curiosity and an enjoyment in getting lost together.
He could also be found marching at the New Mexico state capitol for women’s rights, campaigning against power-lines in the Pojoaque Valley or for awareness of climate change. Mel both impressed and terrified his children by driving alone from his home in the valley up the hill each week to his bridge games and to his daughter’s house in Santa Fe, which he did up to two weeks before his death.
He spent his last weeks in the home of his daughter and son-in-law, Joseph Canepa. Joseph gave Mel steady tender care and support alongside Mel’s son and daughter. Granddaughter, Tasha, husband Mark and baby Zia celebrated his last birthday with him, singing songs Mel’s mother sang to him and responding to his curious requests for ice cream, eggs, toast and coffee at all hours of the night.
In his last hours, he sang “Baby Beluga” to his 15-month-old great granddaughter, Zia; stared into the curious eyes of his 2-year-old great grandson, Arlo; found his voice to send his love to his grandson, Kyle and watched videos from Misa and family.
He died at 97 with his son and daughter by his side in the same room where he had cared for Jean.
Dance on in the wind, stars and vast universe Dad. Mom, David and Sibelius will be most happy to greet you.
Melvin Coleman Chaney as a young man. Courtesy/Laurie Chaney Canepa
Gratitude goes to Mary and Tony of Del Corazon Hospice and Hector of Age Friendly Senior Care who gave comfort and care to Mel and his family in his last days and hours. Thanks also to Dr. James Ziomek for his patient, professional and thorough care and Dr. Stacey Clegg for her kind professional advice. The family is also grateful for all of the people unbeknownst to us who have given Mel friendship over the years.
Mel is preceded in death by his wife, Jean, their beloved son, David Chaney, David’s wife Beth Chaney and son Dan’s wife Barbara Chaney.
He is survived by his son Dan Chaney; his daughter Laurie Canepa, his son-in-law Joseph Canepa; his granddaughter Erica Koenig – husband Mark Keonig and great grandsons Wolfgang and Leopold Koenig; his granddaughter Tasha Chaney – husband Mark Calder and great granddaughter Zia Calder; grandson Kyle Scott Wilson – wife Shirel Kozak and great grandson Arlo Kozak; grandson by marriage Matt Canepa – wife Beth Canepa and great grandson Fritz Canepa; granddaughter by marriage Sarah Pastran – husband Armando Pastran and great grandchildren Mariela and Philip Pastran.
At Mel’s request, there will be no service. Sing a song, dance a dance, go on an adventure, play a good hand of bridge, take in the moon over Truchas with awe or breathe in the sweet air over Hronov.