Howard ‘Bud’ Ingalls, 84, of Springfield

Howard F. “Bud” Ingalls, 84,  a resident of North Springfield, passed away on Saturday, Aug. 8, 2020, at the Springfield Health & Rehab in Springfield.

He was born March 23, 1936, in Hartford, Conn., the son of Floyd and Marjorie (Sturtevant) Ingalls. He was a graduate of Chester High School.

Mr. Ingalls was employed at Fellows Gear Shaper Co. in Springfield for more than 25 years and later retired as a custodian from Riverside School. After retiring, he took great pride as a caretaker of a private residence in Springfield where he continued to watch over the property until recently.  Bud was an avid bowler and sports enthusiast who loved to watch his grandchildren compete as well as the Boston Red Sox, New England Patriots, Boston Celtics and Boston Bruins. He enjoyed hunting and fishing in his younger years and enjoyed traveling extensively throughout the United States visiting family.

Bud is survived by his wife of 59 years, Marlene (Holley) Ingalls; two sons, Dennis Ingalls (Tyler, Alyssa, and Jason) of Aurora, Colo.; Jeffrey Ingalls and his wife Barbara of Weathersfield, and a daughter, Carmen Geshan and her husband Andrew (Patrick and Parker) of Oxford, Ohio. He was predeceased by four brothers, John, Richard, Kenneth and Paul Ingalls.

Private services will be held at the convenience of the family. In view of Bud’s love of sports and children, donations in his memory may be made to: Springfield Parks and Recreation Attn: Bud Ingalls, Youth Scholarship Fund, 139 Main St., Springfield, VT 05156

Davis Memorial Chapel of Springfield is assisting with arrangements.


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  1. Mike Lewis says:

    He was known as Uncle Bud to my brothers and cousins, and dad to his sons and daughter. He was the only uncle that had the patience to take all seven cousins fishing. Now he might have been a bit frazzled and would sometimes lose his normal calm demeanor as he watched all seven of us crawl around the on the rocks like ants. He kept an eagle eye on us as we were dropping our fishing poles, dragging the reels through the mud, knocking over and spilling the can of worms, tangling our lines together or snagged in a tree or on the bottom all while trying to avoid one of us being swept away in the current, but he did it. That was our Uncle Bud.

    He was the uncle that would always be out there with us, playing any kind of ball whether it be basketball, baseball, and soccer or just throwing the football around. He was always very athletic and physically active. His age just never seemed to catch up with him until the last few years of his life. He was a diehard Boston fan and mastered the art of watching the Celtics or the Bruins on TV and listening to the Red Sox or Patriots on the radio simultaneously as the seasons overlapped. That was our Uncle Bud.

    I will never forget the day that he passed his entire machinists tool chest and its contents over to my eldest son that had chosen to become a machinist. One could easily see the great pride and the instant flash of memories on Uncle Bud’s face and in his eyes as he handed the tools over to my son, some of them one at a time. A life’s collection of tools that he finally knew would be put to good use. This gift will always be one of my son’s most cherished possessions, because they were given to him by our Uncle Bud.

    He was a man that did what he had to do to provide for his family. He wasn’t born wealthy or ever given anything that he didn’t deserve, but was blessed with a strong work ethic, a sense of decency and common sense. Sometimes he had to struggle to make ends meet, working two jobs, or working out of town, but in the end he and my aunt raised their family in a home full of love, in a warm environment, always with a decent roof over their heads, and plenty of what they needed in good measure to get by. He met these and all life’s challenges with pride, his trademark smile, sense of humor, and driven commitment to see things through. He continued to work until his doctors convinced him that his physical condition would not allow it any longer. That was our Uncle Bud.