I didn’t know your dad my whole life, but I’m very grateful that I got to know him at all.

I first met Andy when we were on a panel together at SuiteWorld. Even in that short setting, there was something about him that stood out immediately. He was thoughtful, sharp, and incredibly easy to like. We technically worked in overlapping spaces and could have been competitors, but that never mattered. A genuine friendship formed almost right away.

What I want you to know is that while your dad was widely known and respected for his work in financial leadership, that’s not what defined him to me. Most of our conversations weren’t about business at all. They were about life. He spoke about you with constant pride—never in a bragging way, just the quiet confidence of a dad who adored his kids. And he always asked about mine. He listened. Really listened. I shared struggles with him as a father, and he never rushed past them or minimized them.

Your dad had a rare quality: he made people feel both heard and better for having spoken. He made me laugh, he made me think, and he showed up as the same person privately as he did publicly. Everyone seemed to know him, and everyone seemed to like him—and now I understand why. He was the real deal.

I didn’t have decades with Andy. But I had enough moments to know that he was a genuinely good man, a caring father, and someone who left people better than he found them. I’m thankful I got to call him a friend, and I hope you always know how highly he was regarded—not just for what he did, but for who he was.