About the Foundation

To the students, faculty and staff of Walnut Hill,

I write, on behalf of the Board of Trustees, to express to all of you our sincere sadness, sympathy and shared feelings of loss over the sudden passing of Dana Chang, Class of 2025.

Dana was, I know by all accounts, a lovely, lively and beloved young woman. She was also one of Walnut Hill’s top violinists who performed with a proficiency, an artistry and confidence beyond her tender 17 years. Listening to and speaking with many of you at the memorial service, I and the other Trustees in attendance could see and feel the direct and significant impact she had on the community of Walnut Hill. The service was both emotional and heart-rending.

In grieving for Dana, all of you have shown the love you have for her and the extent to which she will be remembered and missed on a daily basis for a very long time.

Over the last difficult week, you have also shown a love and caring for each other, providing support when necessary and, I hope, seeking it when feeling overwhelmed.

Finally, you have shown brilliantly how, in a crisis, a community can come together for each other and face the sometimes devastating blows that life gives us. All of you have embodied over the last week the inspiring touchstone of our motto non nobis solum.

So, I write to you today to tell you how truly sorry I am for your loss, our loss, and for the senseless loss of a life and light from which the world benefited for much too short a time.

With warmth and sincerity,
Jenny Toolin McAuliffe P’15
Chair, Board of Trustees

Good afternoon.

I stand here before you all as one of the many people who had the privilege of being a part of this beautiful life that we have gathered to commemorate today. I first got to know her when Ms. Elowitch brought us together as the Brahms horn trio. I remember our first performance at school when I played with her on a terrible upright piano; I remember how I spent my birthday performing alongside her at the Rockport performance center; I remember the day our Highland Horn Trio was accepted into one of the largest chamber music competitions in the world, where, on the 10th of May, we would have performed the Brahms one more time, at the culmination of our journey together. I remember the day the world saw, against the backdrop of the Boston Civic Symphony, a musician whose artistic canvas was as expansive as her spirit. She and I barely spoke when left alone, the both of us rather reserved, so Ms. Elowitch had expressed, incessantly, the biggest concern of our trio–that Daniel would do all the talking. She was right, of course, but this did not matter to me. Conversation did not come to me as necessary. Her presence alone was comfort enough to me, as I am sure it was to all who knew her. And when she did speak, it was always genuine, coloured with a rare quality of purity and consolation. I will never forget our first rehearsal when I made an idiotic joke at which she laughed for far too long. I will never forget her small mannerisms, the way she said “ok” quickly while tilting her head, how her laughter always stemmed from a stifled chuckle to a burst of unfeigned happiness. I can still hear the godawful sound of her tuning the violin so incredibly loudly, as she always did. I will never forget how I was late to the Fischoff recording, and she arrived at my house, completely out of breath, panting, worried, for whatever reason, that I had been hit by a car. In truth, I was late to a lot things, but that never did seem to bother her. In that way, she was superhuman in her optimism, or perhaps she merely found in herself the strength to tolerate it. do not know of believing in such a thing as fate, but I felt it a blessing at the very least— her sitting next to me, rehearsing the trio, performing the trio. But above all, it is the profound memory of her enduring enthusiasm that I will never forget. There was not a time she refused a favor; she played alongside me when I asked her to Ms. Cathy Chan’s Thanksgiving party; she played my composition even when she had a competition to prepare for (which she won, naturally). In her, I found, however reserved I may be, someone I trusted, someone I relied on. It is impossible for anyone close to her to speak her name and not recall the sheer joy she emanated, the healing her laughter enkindled. She was given but 17 years with us, yet she laughter enkindled. She was given but 17 years with us, yet she impassioned so many hearts, brightened so many lives, brought so much solace to the world–such is the selflessness, the nobility, of the artist’s journey. The time she spent with us, these fluorescent recollections we so fondly remember: they are unchanged, untouched, just as full of warmth as they once were, as they always will be. Nothing is different. She is to us as she always was. So may you all look up to the night skies and spot a gleaming star illuminating the surrounding darkness, and may you recognize her by the sound of her laughter, by the sound of her music, by her everlasting presence, and may you name her Dana.

Thank you,
Andrew Li
Walnut Hill Class of ‘25