For most of her 100 years, Mary Price Chester of Dunbar has "done for others," according to her granddaughter, Krystal Price. So it comes as no surprise to her that Chester won't spend the $670 windfall she recently gained from an unclaimed property account on herself.

 An NBC special on the vast amount of unclaimed property in the United States that airs sometime in May features Chester as the oldest recipient in the nation. Chester is saving the money to make some house renovations this summer.

Chester and Price don't pay much attention to the unclaimed property ads that Treasurer John Perdue's office runs twice annually in the newspapers, even though Chester gets up and reads the paper every morning. An acquaintance told them they saw her name listed, but they didn't think it referred to Chester because it listed Institute, not Dunbar, as her residence.

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Someone snapped a photo of Chester (far right, back), her mother (left) and grandchildren who visited her one summer when she worked in Connecticut. Her granddaughter, Krystal Price (center), lives with Chester today.

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"I didn't know I had anything," Chester said. "I couldn't imagine. I thought I probably owed them."

That's a common misconception, according to Perdue. Many people think contact with his office is synonymous with an unwelcome visit from the tax collector.

Chester's property was a $670 policy from Baltimore Life. She isn't sure who paid into this account. She doesn't remember. All businesses have to report unclaimed property to the state treasurer's office, which advertises in the hope of reaching the rightful owners.

Chester's fourth-grade education is eclipsed by her impressive memory and hard-work ethic. Growing up in Charlotte, N.C., she was embarrassed because her family couldn't afford to properly outfit her and to provide her with necessary school supplies, so she quit going to school.

She married at 18 years old in 1925. Her husband died in 1935, on the very day the government started the Social Security program that might have helped a young widow, but she and her four young children couldn't benefit from the program. They moved in with her parents in Charleston.

When she couldn't find good-paying work locally, she went to Atlantic City, where she heard there were plenty of jobs. She left her four children back home in the care of her mother and was hired as a baker in a pastry shop on the boardwalk.

"I'd never baked a pie. I was reluctant and didn't think I could do it, but I tried," she said. "The owner went out and bought me a baker's book."

A wealthy diner liked Chester's desserts so much that he came back to the kitchen to compliment her, then tried to hire her away to work on his country estate. The family lived in New York City during the weekdays, but stayed at their 40-room country home in Stanford, Conn.,  during the summer weekends. She finally relented.

She cleaned the mansion during the week, then cooked for the family on the weekends. The family dined formally, so Chester learned the art of setting a formal table, complete with fingerbowls for washing their hands between courses.

For most of her 100 years, Mary Price Chester of Dunbar has "done for others," according to her granddaughter, Krystal Price. So it comes as no surprise to her that Chester won't spend the $670 windfall she recently gained from an unclaimed property account on herself.

 An NBC special on the vast amount of unclaimed property in the United States that airs sometime in May features Chester as the oldest recipient in the nation. Chester is saving the money to make some house renovations this summer.

Chester and Price don't pay much attention to the unclaimed property ads that Treasurer John Perdue's office runs twice annually in the newspapers, even though Chester gets up and reads the paper every morning. An acquaintance told them they saw her name listed, but they didn't think it referred to Chester because it listed Institute, not Dunbar, as her residence.

They finally contacted the treasurer's office and found out that Chester was the rightful owner. Chester was still surprised when a representative of the office delivered the check to her.

"I didn't know I had anything," Chester said. "I couldn't imagine. I thought I probably owed them."

That's a common misconception, according to Perdue. Many people think contact with his office is synonymous with an unwelcome visit from the tax collector.

Chester's property was a $670 policy from Baltimore Life. She isn't sure who paid into this account. She doesn't remember. All businesses have to report unclaimed property to the state treasurer's office, which advertises in the hope of reaching the rightful owners.

Chester's fourth-grade education is eclipsed by her impressive memory and hard-work ethic. Growing up in Charlotte, N.C., she was embarrassed because her family couldn't afford to properly outfit her and to provide her with necessary school supplies, so she quit going to school.

She married at 18 years old in 1925. Her husband died in 1935, on the very day the government started the Social Security program that might have helped a young widow, but she and her four young children couldn't benefit from the program. They moved in with her parents in Charleston.

When she couldn't find good-paying work locally, she went to Atlantic City, where she heard there were plenty of jobs. She left her four children back home in the care of her mother and was hired as a baker in a pastry shop on the boardwalk.

"I'd never baked a pie. I was reluctant and didn't think I could do it, but I tried," she said. "The owner went out and bought me a baker's book."

A wealthy diner liked Chester's desserts so much that he came back to the kitchen to compliment her, then tried to hire her away to work on his country estate. The family lived in New York City during the weekdays, but stayed at their 40-room country home in Stanford, Conn.,  during the summer weekends. She finally relented.

She cleaned the mansion during the week, then cooked for the family on the weekends. The family dined formally, so Chester learned the art of setting a formal table, complete with fingerbowls for washing their hands between courses.

Her children came to visit during the summer and were given paying jobs, also. Later, Price joined her grandmother and worked for the family for several summers.

"I wore a uniform and learned how to properly set and serve a table," she said. "I had no idea what to do. Grandmother taught us everything."

She and various children and grandchildren worked during Chester's 15 summers for the family.

Chester has outlived all four of her children, but enjoys countless grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren, including Price's grandsons, who recently called to ask when they could come for a visit.

"She's so independent. She's always had such love for the family," Price said. "Even when she was in Connecticut, they would call her about family matters back here."

When NBC came to video Chester, they arranged for one of the Connecticut family's sons to fly in to surprise her. Chester was special to the children because she played with them, unlike their own staid relatives, Price said.

The singing and dancing group "African Footprint" also paid Chester a visit at the taping, and took her breath away with their vibrant costumes, songs and dances. After the performance, the cast members spent some one-on-one time with Chester.

"They come from a culture where older people are revered," Price said. "You could tell they just wanted to be close to her."

Price thinks people living in cultures that respect the elderly have the right idea. She lives with Chester in the former home of one of Chester's daughters. Price spent much of her youth at her grandmother's house in a neighborhood inhabited by relatives up and down the street.

Price lived in Georgia when a job loss freed her to move home to help with her grandmother, who just needs a little help getting around.

"People tell me all the time how blessed she is to have me with her," Price said. "They don't realize what a blessing she is to me."

To contact staff writer Julie Robinson, use e-mail or call 348-1230.