Every now and then, someone leaves this world whose decency feels almost old-fashioned, as if borrowed from an earlier, kinder America.

Betsi Shays was one of those people.

For decades in Greenwich, in New Canaan, and through the winding towns of Connecticut’s Fourth Congressional District, she stood—not in the spotlight, but just beyond it—holding things together. She had no appetite for self-display. Her gift was steadiness, gratitude, and a particular kind of kindness that asked nothing in return.

Those who worked in or around the Shays offices know the ritual well: a letter in the mail, raspberry ink, signed “betsi,” lowercase b. “Thank you for cheering us on,” it often said. Not a slogan, not a line tested by consultants, but an expression of the way she lived—believing that servic

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