Daryl Boylan

Daryl Joan Boylan (June 17,1931-June 17, 2020)

We mourn the loss of Daryl Joan Boylan, who left us on June 17th, her 89th birthday.

Always the smartest person in the room, Daryl wore her brilliance and erudition lightly. In her 20's, she was a working actress, appearing on television, film, regional theatre and (once) on Broadway. She was also a gifted writer and teacher. Her most successful play - Transcendental Love, about the Transcendentalist Movement, opened Off-Broadway.

A committed political activist, Daryl was still making phone calls for the sure-to-lose Democratic candidate in her congressional district right up into her 80's. She was also passionate about tennis, hiking, cross-country skiing and Cape Cod. But it was her love of the theatre and the arts that stood out most for those who knew her. She regularly brought all four of her children into New York City to see countless shows and museums while we were growing up and instilled a life-long appreciation for the arts in all of them.

Her husband, Matthew P. Boylan, died shortly before what would have been their 50th wedding anniversary. They were a lively and dynamic couple who complemented each other beautifully. She was the brains behind the operation and the one who made sure all the trains ran on time. He brought the charm and unpredictability. They were both extraordinarily generous people. They raised their family in Ridgewood, N.J.

Daryl is survived by four children, 13 grandchildren and countless nieces, nephews, cousins and friends. No one who met her fails to comment on her beautiful soul. She was the most resilient person we know.

Daryl was a life-long lover of poetry, so we close with a poem by one of her favorite poets, Emily Dickinson:

Because I could not stop for Death –

He kindly stopped for me –

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –

And Immortality.

 

We slowly drove – He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility –

 

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring –

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –

We passed the Setting Sun –

 

Or rather – He passed Us –

The Dews drew quivering and Chill –

For only Gossamer, my Gown –

My Tippet – only Tulle –

 

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground –

The Roof was scarcely visible –

The Cornice – in the Ground –

 

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses' Heads

Were toward Eternity –