Evelyn R. Montgomery
March 14, 1942 — September 2, 2024
A Life Remembered
Evelyn Ruth Montgomery was born on March 14, 1942, in the rowhouse neighborhoods of Baltimore, Maryland, the youngest of four children raised by her parents, Harold and Dorothy Chambers. From the time she was small, Evelyn possessed a quiet warmth that drew people to her — a smile that made strangers feel like old friends, and a patience that never seemed to run dry.
She met Thomas Montgomery at a church social in the summer of 1963 and married him the following spring. Together they built a home in Catonsville, raised three children — James, Susan, and little Paul — and spent forty-three years as each other's closest companion. Thomas preceded her in death in 2006, and those who knew Evelyn say she carried that loss with a grace only she could manage.
For thirty-one years, Evelyn worked as a school librarian at Westview Elementary. Generations of children in Baltimore County passed through her reading room, many of whom returned as adults to tell her what her encouragement had meant to them. She retired in 1999 but remained a fixture at the library's annual summer reading program until her health declined.
She is survived by her three children, seven grandchildren, and a great-granddaughter born just weeks before her passing. She left this world on September 2, 2024, surrounded by family, at the age of eighty-two.
Their Story
Born & Raised
Evelyn was born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland, in the working-class rowhouse neighborhood of Pigtown. She often said the city's resilience shaped everything about who she became.
Life's Work
She spent thirty-one years as a school librarian at Westview Elementary in Catonsville. She believed every child deserved a story that felt written just for them, and she made it her mission to find that book for each one.
Passions & Hobbies
Evelyn tended a backyard garden that her neighbors quietly envied — tomatoes, zinnias, and more basil than any one family could ever use. She also kept a journal every evening without fail for over fifty years, and played piano at her church every Sunday until her arthritis made it too difficult.
Their Personality
Warm is the word everyone reaches for first. She had a way of listening that made you feel like the most important person in the room. She was funny in a dry, unhurried way — she'd let the joke land in its own time. And she was stubborn, but only about the things that mattered.
A Favorite Memory
Every Christmas Eve, she made her mother's oyster stew from a recipe written in pencil on a torn envelope. The whole family would crowd into her kitchen while she cooked, and for that hour the house smelled like every Christmas we'd ever had. She never once used a measuring cup.
What They Loved
She loved her garden in the early morning, before anyone else was awake. She loved old movies, strong tea, and the particular quiet of a library on a weekday afternoon. Most of all she loved her grandchildren — she knew every teacher's name, every school play, every heartbreak.
They Will Be Missed For
Her laugh, which started in her eyes before it ever reached her voice. The way she always knew what to say, and when to say nothing at all. Sunday dinners. Her handwriting on birthday cards. The sense that no matter what had gone wrong in the week, everything would be made right at her table.
Final Thoughts
She asked that in lieu of flowers, donations be made to the Baltimore County Public Library's literacy fund. She also asked that everyone please take a book from her shelves — she'd want them read, not boxed.
Captured Moments
Tributes
“She was the kind of mother who never made you feel like a burden, even when you were one. I will spend the rest of my life trying to be half as patient, half as generous, and half as quietly funny as she was.”
“Evelyn and I shared a hallway for nineteen years. I never once heard her raise her voice at a child. She had a gift I could never fully explain — she could reach the ones who'd already decided they didn't like reading. She changed lives, quietly and without any fuss about it.”
“Grandma taught me that it's okay to cry at books because that means the author did their job. She also taught me to deadhead zinnias, never skip breakfast, and always write thank-you notes by hand. I still do all three.”