Dear Friends of Boz,

Sandy Kopanon Palmer and I went to Jon's Memorial service on Saturday. I am glad I didn't have to go alone - it was a very tough day. Lots of tears.

The service itself was very much Jon - full of music like "Viva La Vida," "Say Hello and Wave Goodbye," and "Imagine," tearful tributes by life-long friends, and readings of Jon's own poetry. It was tragic, beautiful, horrible and touching. The church was PACKED. I have never seen so many people in a church, even on Christmas Eve. Jon was loved by so many.

Unfortunately, everyone was still shell-shocked from Jon's death. Seeing his little kids was the worst part of it all - they look just like him. When Jon died, the world lost a caring, creative, intelligent man - one of the good guys.

Dartmouth friends we ran into included Rick Smyers, Alex Glovsky, Tad Truex, and Heather Vrattos. I wrote a poem right after I heard of Jon's death. I just banged it out while I cried and didn't edit.

ELECTION OUTCOME
By Melissa Hinebauch

Electric news crackled into our home
as the world spun faster for one day.
Hope. Change. Finally.
People across the globe danced and cried.
Our children's future was suddenly better and
safer with this brave, eloquent man at the helm.

Then why couldn't I smile?
After all the waiting and worrying
why couldn't I celebrate like everyone else?
I yearned to feel the splash of victory,
the warmth of a wish fulfilled.
But I stood still - cold and silent.

News in an email had cracked my spirit
and stopped time
as I swaying in front of the screen.
Another friend was dead.
Another and another.
The third classmate in a year.
Brilliant, buoyant and bold,
this young father perished
and I was left staring at the grinning face and
tousled
hair
alongside his obituary.
He looked just like he did in college.

College.
We adored each other.
Friends who never dated, but savored
each dance, every ski trip, and all the late
nights -
together.
We skinnydipped in frigid pools and studied in
dark, dusty
libraries.
Impulsive and silly, we made a great team,
but bad lab partners.
Pranks and alcohol were much more fun than
statistics.
Beauty and youth were ours
and we spent them vigorously.

And now he was gone.
All the good news fell to the floor
as the bad news drowned my vision
with caustic tears.
As millions shouted, "Yes we can!"
I murmured, "No, I can't."
The fact that two small children in Rhode Island
will never again hold their daddy's hand
outweighed the
triumph of a lifetime.

I WILL NEVER FORGET BOZ'S/JON'S:

• Megawatt-moviestar-light-up-a-room-smile
• Sense of adventure whether it was skiing in a blizzard or starting a roadtrip to nowhere at 3am
• Fabulous music tastes (The Cure, The Smiths, 80's!)
• Hair
• Thirst for knowledge, answers and beauty
• Stunning intellect. (I didn't realize he was so stinkin' smart until we took a class together. Ouch. I was instantly humbled.)
• Empathy and compassion. He was a girl's best friend, always.
• Offer to pour me my first ever shot of Jagermeister.
• Radiant charisma, boundless creativity, humor and fun
• Swing. My God, the boy could dance. For hours. He was the best dance partner I've ever had.

The last time I saw many of the people in this room was under quite different circumstances. Mike's friends from all over the country were gathered to celebrate the greatest day of his life - his marriage to Tina. Today, obviously, nothing is the same, except for our reason for coming together: to celebrate and honor one of the greatest men we have ever known.

For those of you who were not fortunate enough to know Mike well, I'd like to tell you about his background. Mike was born and raised here in St. Louis. He attended Parkway Central High School where he excelled in tennis and his studies. Mike then chose to follow in the footsteps of his father by enrolling at Dartmouth, a place he loved dearly. It was at Dartmouth that Mike dubbed himself 'The Bone,' a name many of us still know him by today. Mike joined AXA and within the walls of that Magic Green Cottage formed some of the most meaningful friendships that can exist among men.

Mike had a spectacular academic career at Dartmouth, graduating cum laude with a major in economics and a minor in raging. While at Dartmouth, Mike was selected to attend Oxford University as part of the honors program in Economics. At Oxford, Mike took up boxing, and although he had the self-proclaimed 'strongest right in the free world,' his tortoise-like speed handicapped him somewhat. Brits were lined up for miles to take their shot at this American punching bag.

After Oxford, Mike landed one of the most sought-after jobs on Wall Street: an analyst's position at Salomon Brothers. There Mike served as the point man for enormous investment banking deals involving some of the largest corporations in America. He was rewarded for his successes by being named the top analyst in his class and was selected to train his future successors.

Mike's hard work and intelligence earned him a spot in one of the top business schools in the country: The Stanford Graduate School of Business. At Stanford, Mike breezed through his courses and found plenty of time to cultivate his interest in the good life. Here, many more lasting friendships were born. Most especially, it was at Stanford where Mike met the woman of his dreams. And that was no small order. Within weeks of meeting Tina, Mike knew they were destined for marriage. It happened two years later in Santa Barbara. Mike's life was finally complete.

Mike's love for and happiness with Tina came easily, but his success in business came only with his hard work, charisma, and savvy. Shortly after graduating from Stanford, Mike purchased a security research firm that, after only three years in his hands, was recently named the 22nd fastest-growing business in Northern California. At 29, everything in his life was perfect, until the unfair tragedy that took his life.

It is difficult to express my respect and love for Mike with words. No degree, rank, position, or dollar value can quantify Mike's gifts to those who knew him. His goodness cannot be measured in numbers, but in knowing and spending time with him. The unbelievable number of people who dropped everything in their lives to mourn him and be with him at his funeral is a testament to his human spirit.

Mike's smile was contagious, but part of Mike's charm was in his attempt to maintain a crass, salty exterior. It was a transparent disguise and his smile was always there - just under the surface of his feigned stern countenance. His smile made us all feel good.

Mike was also full of bravado and would often proclaim his greatness after accomplishing some feat he deemed difficult -- usually by shouting his name to the world: "The Bone!" Not a day has gone buy over the past several years that one of Mike's anecdotes doesn't pass through my mind and bring a smile to my face. Even during the time of mourning, stories of Mike abounded and we all couldn't help but laugh and shake our heads.

Mike brought joy to everyone around him and people gravitated toward him. We all wanted to be his friend. Mike's loyalty and love of his family and friends is why so many of us attended his funeral. Many of us met and formed lasting relationships with one another because of Mike. The one thing we all have in common is that we are extremely proud to call him our friend.

We are among the luckiest people on earth to have shared our lives with Mike, even if it was for a relatively short time. His legacy of joy, laughter, and love will live on in all of us for the rest of our lives. Mike played a large roll in forming who many of us are today. We must allow this legacy to be the first step toward mending our tired spirits. There is no magic remedy or words that can heal our wounds -- only time. All we can do is be there for one another and keep the memories of Michael David Kolman alive in our hearts forever.

Shortly after graduation, in November 1991, David wrote:

And why not... Dave began the cross-country bike tour with a light heart. During his first month he stopped at a 7-11 and Xeroxed himself smiling so I could see the new teeth he had just gotten. On the back he wrote a lively account of his adventures, punctuated by comments about the programs at the universities and the poverty he had seen. At night he slept at universities and on the streets, talking to homeless people and educating himself on the issues they faced. My mom's second-grade class charted Dave's progress across America, with a large map in the classroom and WHERE IS DAVE? written across the top. From the states through which he passed, he sent post cards, which the children pinned to the board, and when he finally arrived in California they were delighted.

Dave was fascinated by different cultures and longed to immerse himself in the panoply of colors, languages, sights, and sounds of Southeast Asia, Africa, and Central and South America. He saw his future as being in places such as India, Kenya, South Sudan, Somalia, Mexico, Belize, Honduras, and Guatemala--places where he hoped he could make a difference. On 19 August 1997 Dave wrote of his coming adventures:

It wasn't always easy, but he believed in what he was doing, and this conviction always came first. On Christmas Day 1997, he wrote:

He followed with another missive on 1 January, discussing the situation and softening the picture with humor:

Dave was always ready to discuss or debate--or skinny-dip in the river. I picture him with flour on his face on Halloween, digging pennies out of floured plates; I see him hiking up the AT to roast hot dogs on a frozen trail; I see him canoeing in the Connecticut River, leading Dartmouth hiking trips, singing up at Mt. Moussilake, and walking around Occom Pond at three in the morning, sipping from those gallon-size 'Dartmouth Recycles' mugs as he contemplated how many papers he had to write before the morning.

I see him on Homecoming night, bringing chicken soup and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to my room to cheer me, as I lay in bed with torn ligaments in my ankle. I see him running to meet me in Boston airport during a 45-minute layover, and I hear him after my father's death, calling every day for two weeks to see how I was doing. I picture him ushering at the Hop, standing on the chairs at the Indigo Girls' concert, and sitting at the top of the stadium at night.

I see him at my wedding, carrying my train as we ran together down the street to see my grandmother, with him exclaiming that it was the first time he had ever lifted a woman's dress over his head in public. I see him pretending to be Scottish to the photographer, who kept whipping out pictures of his honeymoon in the highlands some 25 years before, in an effort to convince Dave that he loved Dave's homeland. I picture him switching places with Timmy Hodsdon back and forth before walking up the aisle with candles, the two of them laughing when Vera whacked them and told them to behave. I see him as Master of Ceremonies, beginning the reception by thanking the two people without whom the wedding would not have been possible: he and Timmy--for passing out the programs and seating people. I see him dancing and laughing and joking and teasing and making faces and inspiring everyone to enjoy life. I remember his crush on Debbie Gibson--who he called "the Gibber"--and his proposal, upon finding out that his baseball cards were worth some money, that he start up a Social Activists card collection. "Get that 1953 Ghandi card? I'll give you the limited edition MLK Jr. 'I Have a Dream' card and 2 '88 Caesar Chavezs," he wrote.

Thoreau stated in Walden that he went to the woods to live life more deeply, to live more fully, and not to discover when he had died that he had not really lived at all. Dave's life has been tragically cut short - there are so many things he still wanted to do, and the world was before him. But those years that he did live he lived deeply, and he lived fully--and I feel lucky to have known him at all.

Shane had said when he was sick that he felt he lived a very fortunate life and was genuinely appreciative for his many experiences and accomplishments. He showed remarkable strength while fighting his cancer and managed to make the most of his dwindling time despite the huge challenges. Somehow even in his sickness he was a joy to be with. He was however not immune to the occasional bout of gallows humor and took great joy in pointing out how refreshing it was to not worry about certain things like global warming.

Shane was truly blessed in having married his wife Dana whose strength and support for Shane helped him be the remarkable person that we remember. Dana and Shane took great joy and satisfaction in raising their son James together and if anyone can help with the loss of a father like Shane in James' life, it is Dana.

I am writing these thoughts of Shane from the business center of a Hotel in Buenos Aires, Argentina that Shane and I visited annually as our starting point for a fly-fishing trip down here. Aside from being at home with his family, and drinking beers at Dartmouth with his friends, fishing in Argentina was probably Shane's favorite place to be. Like most things he did in life, fly fishing for Shane was not only something at which he was very talented, but he approached it with great enthusiasm and energy as he outfished us all across the pampas of Patagonia.

"I miss Shane enormously and think of him constantly. I am so thankful for all the rich memories he made possible."

Dear Walter,

My memories of time spent with you will always be dominated by the utterly carefree years we enjoyed together as "students", fraternity brothers, teammates, and pleasure seekers. Few college memories make me laugh as reliably as those of the events that transpired during our Florida-to-Hanover college tour. The good times and hilarious adventures we have shared over the last 20 years are far, far too numerous to recount but, certainly, that makes the memories of them no less precious.

Equally valuable is the impression you have made on me with your dedication to career, your devotion to family and friends, and your strength of character under the most challenging circumstances.

Early in your business career, you set a lofty example for your peers. I witnessed the long hours, travel and energy required to build your success at JP Morgan. Few of us have the stamina you exhibited. Even fewer can combine that stamina with the intelligence, political acumen, confidence and daring that distinguish the true winners on Wall Street. You are certainly one of them. Among your friends (who understand well the magnitude of your accomplishments), you remained consistently modest and extended your coattails to help those you could.

You also demonstrated considerable skill and powerful foresight in securing a fantastic bride. As a husband, you provide yet another example to follow - you cherish and respect Dana, and rightfully value her contributions to the health and happiness of both James and yourself. You have expressed your love and admiration for Dana comfortably, frequently and sincerely among your friends.

Your commitment to family extends beyond James and Dana, you have consistently displayed generosity, caring and love for your Mom, Dad and Amanda. You appear to me to be the hub of your family and provide the force that brings them closer together.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, your strength in the face of adversity has earned you the highest respect in my eyes and those of our peers. I can't begin to imagine the challenges you face with James and your own terrifying illness, but you have remained miraculously upbeat, positive and free of self-pity. That has allowed those of us who enjoy your company and cherish your friendship to truly understand your courageous spirit. You have personified dignity and resolve and serve as an inspiration to your many friends, especially your Dartmouth cronies. We all would be well served to follow your example as a diligent executive, loyal friend, and devoted husband and father. I hope that some of us can emulate the fearlessness that you have displayed when it is our turn to be tested.

From our alma mater, evidence that you epitomize the Dartmouth man:

They have the still North in their hearts,
The hill-winds in their veins,
And the granite of New Hampshire
In their muscles and their brains;
And the granite of New Hampshire
In their muscles and their brains.

And later,

They have the still North in their soul,
The hill-winds in their breath;
And the granite of New Hampshire
Is made part of them till death;
And the granite of New Hampshire
Is made part of them till death.

With sincerest regards and forever 'In The Bonds.'

Freshman fall, we used to sneak into any fraternity that would tolerate us, practice all of the "basement games," then sing Dartmouth songs at the top of our lungs as we stumbled home. (Fairly typical, I suppose... but that was what we were looking for and we reveled in it.) I vividly remember walking with Shane to Topside one Sunday afternoon at 4 or 5 pm. We had been out until dawn the night before, had both slept all day, and were still hung over. I was feeling a bit guilty and depressed about wasting the whole day, but he was excited that we could still watch the late football games while we ate our grilled cheeses and fries for breakfast. You couldn't stay down for long around him. "College!" was his war cry.

Shane was also one of the smartest people I ever met. He was incredibly quick-witted, funny, and capable of conversing, engaging, and debating on virtually any topic. His professional accomplishments are well documented - he did more in a 15-year career on Wall Street than many people hope to do in 40 or 50, yet he managed to stay grounded and never lost his self-deprecating sense of humor.

We met up on vacation most summers. Dana is an incredible woman and Shane was head over heels for her. (He once cracked to me that they were debating about moving out of Manhattan to the suburbs -- Dana wanted to, but Shane didn't -- and so they compromised ... and moved out to the suburbs.) He was a wonderful and devoted father to James as well. He inspires me to live up to his example."

I first met Shane when we were pledging Psi U our freshman spring. To be honest I didn't know what to think of him. It seemed like he was trying to put off this tough-guy vibe, which looking back is very funny. He was unquestionably the worst dressed person I have ever seen (and that is saying a lot coming from a guy who wore topsiders until he was 29). I couldn't figure out his connection to the house, (for me, I was just blindly following a bunch of friends) but Shane knew that he wanted to be in Psi U.

It became clear Shane was way ahead of me, and everybody else, when it came to knowing what he wanted to be. He created his own major - American Studies. It wouldn't have ever occurred to me that creating your own major was even a possibility - let alone doing it when all of these other majors were available that required no incremental work to create. He interned at the White House (ok, it was for Dan Quayle) at a time when most of us were taking jobs as legal assistants at law firms. He knew from day one that he was going into investment banking, and there was never a doubt in his mind that JP Morgan was the place for him. And he stayed there his entire professional life. For Shane, who certainly achieved more in his short life than most, it was never about achieving someone else's version of success. For Shane it was always about his vision of the man that he wanted to be.

Shane reveled in the things he loved and he had a number of war cries that would precede many of them. Whether it was someone's nickname, or something with a more specific goal in mind like "Freedom!" you could always count on fun to follow. "Anchorman!" was one of Shane's favorite cheers, which became a chant and eventually a parade designed to coerce a bunch of exhausted 30-somethings on Nantucket to get into the kitchen and pretend they were still in College.

"College!" was a consistent cry throughout his life whenever he was with his Dartmouth friends and acting in a manner that was almost always age-inappropriate. Shane loved those times, because nothing was more important to Shane than his family and his friends. He wanted the best for all of them. And when what was best for them was best for Shane as well - all the better.

If a classmate needed a little extra cash, Shane would convince that person to streak through Safety & Security or a birthday party at Sigma Delta wearing nothing but a Speedo on his head. In return he'd raise several hundred dollars to sweeten the pot from some equally concerned classmates. Shane would convince friends who were unhappy in their jobs to make career changes. Those career changes made those friends happier and more successful. If, as a result, they just happened to wind up working with Shane at JP Morgan, so much the better.

Shane was a constant source of advice. That advice was always good for the recipient and usually good for Shane as well. As a result, he wound up surrounded with a wonderful family, with friends he truly loved, and with people who truly loved him.

Shane was a horrible golfer, but he loved to play, and I loved to play with him. His swing most closely resembled a street-hockey slapshot, but he hit every shot as hard as he could and when he connected he could hit it a long way. Regardless of how bad he was playing, he never picked up and went on to the next hole, something that would cause enormous frustration for his playing partners. He just never gave up. He would get into a bunker and just keep hitting the ball over and over.

Shane never cared to pay attention to the rule that you can't ground your club in a bunker. As a result you would be sitting on the green and see sand fly out on his backswing, sand fly out on his downswing, but no ball. Sometimes this would happen 20 times before he could get the ball out of the sand. Only in later life would he make a minor concession by throwing the ball out after five or six attempts. The last war cry he developed was "Roids!" This was usually followed by some sort of body builder pose (often "The Crab.") He put on a lot of muscle in the last 18 months of his life due to the steroids he was taking - and he was extremely pleased about the results on the golf course. In May 2007, a bunch of us got together on Nantucket and Shane, despite being sick, walked 18 holes every day. True to his game he would hit 3 or 4 horrible shots, but when he connected, he'd raise his hands over his head, yell "Roids" and strut down the fairway with a broad grin on his face like he was Tiger Woods.

People who saw Shane at reunion couldn't believe he was sick. What they didn't know was that he spent two weeks prior in bed, not even speaking, just to have energy for the weekend. He worked so hard the last 18 months of life to always be "on" for the people he cared about. It was truly awe-inspiring. Shane was certainly no saint and while he did a lot for a lot of people, it would a stretch to call him a hero. However, the way he lived his life, especially in the last few months, was certainly heroic. Like so many who were lucky enough to know him, I am proud to say Shane was my friend, and like so many of his friends, I truly miss him.