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Don Crabb

Rodney O. Lain

Kurt Christenson

Michael Bartosh

And now Stan Flack.

<sigh>

People might think various things about what I write. But I can tell you this, of all the articles I hate writing, and I mean hate viscerally, with every fiber of my being, is about someone I know who is forever left to memory. It's hard, because I never know what to say. Odd? Maybe, but I can tell you that what you are reading didn't exist more than one word in advance. I hate trying to distill down to a few words, everything I knew about a person. I really, really hate it.

But I couldn't not do it. Losing someone like Stan is a damned shame, but to let him pass without committing something to...I dunno..permanency?...that would be even worse.

I knew Stan in that odd Macworld way. I'm fortunate enough to be a part of a group of people who, even just once or twice a year, got to talk with him outside of the show bustle and hubbub. Here and there for a few minutes, maybe an hour or two, I got to know something about Stan. Not a lot. For that, you have to talk to folks like Peter Cohen, or Jim Dalrymple. Stan was, as Peter said, driven. That was obvious. Everything about him leaned towards whatever he was involved with. He had that look of someone who was not pissing around with things. Some days, he could be an intimidating bastard too. He wasn't loud, he wasn't obnoxious, but damn, that man was just everywhere.

But I also remember a twinkle in his eye, and a wicked sense of humor. He was fun as hell to sit with in a bar, knocking back beers, or at a party. A good guy to deal with, to talk to, to drink with. I wish I'd known him better, but I'm glad I got to know him, even just a little.

Good luck Stan, you'll be missed.

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