I have had the great honor, privilege, and fortune to call Andrew and Leslie my life-long friends, and in the early years of our friendship, I remember Mr. Ross well. He was cool as hell – smart, vivacious, in shape, and an ardent smoker — there was a day when that was cool too. But what sticks out the most was that he was always so kind and accepting of me.

There are two times that live strongly in my memory. The first one speaks to his "coolness." I was invited to spend a weekend at the shore with them, and we drove down in his olive green AMC Pacer. THAT was a really cool car back in the day, and I remember wishing that I would have one some day. I never made that dream happen…turns out it wasn't cool by the time I was old enough to drive. My version of cool turned out to be a 1970 Chevy Impala, the size of a tug boat with a huge (quite unattractive) gash on the side. Mr. Ross was definitely cooler than I'll ever be!

The other time was an impromptu picnic lunch down at Hook Mountain. I seem to remember that this was something he had planned for him, Leslie, and Andrew, but with some prodding from Leslie and/or Andrew, I found myself hanging out with them on a beautiful summer day by the Hudson River. At first I felt a bit awkward and as if I was intruding, those feelings dissipated soon after this huge picnic basket (you know the kind you see in the movies?!) appeared and before I knew it, we were all eating really cool food…again, I don't remember what it was, but I remember being taken aback by the variety and originality of the food. That lunch was followed by a deep conversation; there might have even been some talk about God in there for all I remember, but it was overall deep. I left there feeling nourished, not only physically but also spiritually.

For those two scenes alone, I thank you Mr. Ross…for being a cool guy, who obviously loved his children and had a way to make this once young man feel a part. Know that if we live to leave impressions on each other, you certainly left a couple of special ones on me. Rest in peace, good man.

In Sincere, Loving Memory,
Tony