Jay Flaherty died last February 9 from cancer caused by exposure to Agent Orange during his service in Vietnam. “He died as he lived – with fortitude, organizational strength, and the deep love of family surrounding him,” wrote his wife Nanie and their children Eugenie, Doyle and Kate. “We told him we would miss him very deeply, but he that had taught us how to love and care for one another.”

“I was a classmate of Jay’s, but I had to wait twenty years before finally encountering him,” says Jim Seif. “It was trash – Philadelphia’s garbage – that brought us together. I was the Regional Administrator of the US Environmental Protection Agency at the time, and Jay was the deputy mayor in Mayor Wilson Goode’s office. He was the trouble shooter, the go-to guy. On his desk were lots of problems that most of us would call unsolvable, and a big one at that time was trash.

“EPA had, and still has, a kind of fraught relationship with state and local governments. (According to our press releases, of course, these were all ‘partnerships.’) One morning the newspaper reported a trash story quoting a ‘Jay Flaherty.’

“I had seen that name somewhere, so I made a cold call. And I can still hear his secretary saying, ‘Jay, there’s a guy from EPA, and he wants to talk trash.’ I can also hear Jay say, ‘Oh yeah, I really needed THAT today!’ Had the situation been reversed, I might have delivered a (expletive deleted), but that wasn’t Jay’s style.

“He was guarded but business-like, as I assured him that the permit would get a fair and quick review, and that there would be no hot-dogging, noise or leaks from EPA.

“Jay liked that. And then he actually believed it when I came clean as his ’67 classmate. We have been friends ever since, and in fact, about three years later I wound up practicing at Dechert, Price and Rhoads with him, and I remain truly grateful for those years.

“Beside success in the courtroom, including a landmark case against the U.S. Census Bureau, he strengthened his zeal for public service. It had all the big issues mixed into 60-hour weeks. And, predictably, Jay excelled as he demonstrated far more than his legal skills. He loved the complicated problems: the Gordian knots, the NIMBY messes, the complex development fights.

“At first glance, these matters have the look of legal issues, but Jay’s analytical and practical eye saw the social, economic, financial, cultural, technical, scientific and political implications, all rolled up and intertwined. It is said of versatile men that they can ‘swim in more that one kind of pond.’ That was Jay, who had the lawyer’s strength with details, the politician’s peripheral vision and knack for seeing the merits in the noise, and the all-important leader’s view of the Big Picture.

“It was Vietnam, of course, that brought a vast new set of perspectives, and some deep, even disturbing, insights into people and perceptions. It also brought a Bronze Star and lasting pain.

“To this mental depth and agility, Jay added a prodigious work ethic. He built a successful law practice at a rapidly growing national law firm, he partnered with Nanie to build a wonderful family, he continued his public service in the form of civic and neighborhood work, and he nurtured his athletic streak by coaching and mentoring many sports. He and his family maintained a vigorous travel, touring, hiking and boating schedule. He designed, built and nurtured simply the best garden in Chestnut Hill, and that was the place where he found tranquility and fresh energy.

“Sadly, this enormous amount of physical energy diminished as Jay’s final illness progressed. But there is a kind of alchemy that strong people have, and Jay turned that pain and finality into courage.”

Larry Jones died on January 22 in Jackson, Mississippi, with his wife Shelley by his side. He was the proud grandson and namesake of Lawrence C. Jones I, whose name is still spoken with reverence in the African American community for founding the Piney Woods Country Life School in 1909, one of the first coeducational boarding schools for Black children.

The white community had a different reaction. A lynch mob was sent to kill him. With the rope around his neck, he talked calmly to them about Piney Woods; and they were so moved, they not only spared his life, they dug into their own pockets to raise money for the school.

Larry was always conscious of that legacy and decided to enter a life of public service. In 1968 he became an Associate Member of the American Society of Planning Officials and the American Institute of Planners while serving as Director of the State Office of Model Cities for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. He also helped manage the “Big Dig,” a megaproject to bury Boston’s main highways. Then he moved to New York to work for Mayor John Lindsay ’44.

Throughout his long career as a public servant, and briefly as an executive in the private sector, Larry’s intellect and nuanced analytical skills were tempered by a healthy dollop of his amusing outlook on life, which endeared him to both colleagues and opponents. Wherever he went, he was respected for his unwavering integrity even if it was to his own detriment.

After retiring, he embarked on a final project that was probably closest to his heart. He and his wife Shelley moved to Mississippi to save the Piney Woods School, which had fallen on hard times. He served for many years on the Board of Directors, always guided by his grandfather’s motto, “Give them a tiny little chance.”

“He was a funny, fun, generous, genuine guy,” says Frank Best. “My favorite memory of him is my last: his destination wedding in New Orleans, with deep-fried whole turkey, crawfish boil, the works – and best of all, Larry, a joyful, dear friend.”