In Memoriam: Chuck Godfrey
Alas, poor CGOD. I knew him, Horatio. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.
That was his four-letter identifier in our pension analyst days with the Wyatt Company. We used them to track progress of our pension valuation programs. This was on the mainframe, circa 1987. I went by TONY, Brad by BRAD, and Larry by JAZZ (he was a fan of the genre). One of our sultrier colleagues called herself KIMR.
One afternoon Chuck tapped into the office intranet (yes, intranet--we're talking Dark Ages here) to email Larry, Brad, and me. No doubt his program had blown up. Surely, he was coming to us for valuable VALXXX programming pointers. As if.
"Oh, lucky dog me! I'm sandwiched between two KIMRs on the ReaderQ!"
That was Chuckles. Infinite jest, most excellent fancy.
He didn't have a mean bone in his body. He had plenty of sardonic bones, but his heart of gold shined through. He didn't know a little about a lot. He knew a lot about a lot. He could speak intelligently on politics, philosophy, history, babes, baseball, Austrian economics, the Just War Hypothesis, and wormholes.
Damn it, Chuck. I'm still hoping you stumbled into a wormhole and find your way back here where you belong.
He went out in a flame of poignancy. It was his last day of work, Friday, June 1, 2018. He was retiring! His colleagues on the Ford IT staff threw a lunch in his honor. Sick to his stomach, he retreated to the bathroom at two o'clock that afternoon. They found him sprawled on the floor.
He was pronounced dead at Oakwood Hospital shortly thereafter. I got the news after four. He would have turned 67 on June 21st, the first day of summer.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave,
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind.
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
~Edna St. Vincent Millay
That was his four-letter identifier in our pension analyst days with the Wyatt Company. We used them to track progress of our pension valuation programs. This was on the mainframe, circa 1987. I went by TONY, Brad by BRAD, and Larry by JAZZ (he was a fan of the genre). One of our sultrier colleagues called herself KIMR.
One afternoon Chuck tapped into the office intranet (yes, intranet--we're talking Dark Ages here) to email Larry, Brad, and me. No doubt his program had blown up. Surely, he was coming to us for valuable VALXXX programming pointers. As if.
"Oh, lucky dog me! I'm sandwiched between two KIMRs on the ReaderQ!"
That was Chuckles. Infinite jest, most excellent fancy.
He didn't have a mean bone in his body. He had plenty of sardonic bones, but his heart of gold shined through. He didn't know a little about a lot. He knew a lot about a lot. He could speak intelligently on politics, philosophy, history, babes, baseball, Austrian economics, the Just War Hypothesis, and wormholes.
Damn it, Chuck. I'm still hoping you stumbled into a wormhole and find your way back here where you belong.
He went out in a flame of poignancy. It was his last day of work, Friday, June 1, 2018. He was retiring! His colleagues on the Ford IT staff threw a lunch in his honor. Sick to his stomach, he retreated to the bathroom at two o'clock that afternoon. They found him sprawled on the floor.
He was pronounced dead at Oakwood Hospital shortly thereafter. I got the news after four. He would have turned 67 on June 21st, the first day of summer.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave,
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind.
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
~Edna St. Vincent Millay
posted by Tony at 7:37 PM
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