One of the optional paper-projects in my architectural history class is an exercise in minimalism: write the obituary for an architect/designer (regardless whether they happen to have passed on).

Obits are notorious, in my research experience, for their tendency to remember the best and forget all the rest—not usually what I’m seeking. Imagine my surprise a couple years ago when the subject of the piece was me. Frankly, it was so good that I asked to student’s permission to save it for my own use, when the time comes.

Saturday’s mail brought an envelope from our roving researcher Richard Kenyon and a news clipping regarding the recent death of an acquaintance, someone Richard knew in passing at the post office. He has spoken of Doug Doyle several times, so warmly that I assumed they were on friendly terms. Richard admits he wishes that were so. Mr Doyle and his son Jeremy seem to have prepared for this moment, co-authoring Doug’s last message, not only for those who knew him but also for those who missed that congenial opportunity. I hope Doug—I don’t even know the guy and yet feel comfortable with that degree of familiarity—and his family won’t mind me sharing it with you:

We should all leave an impression like this.

Oh, and please take his advice: in lieu of flowers, go buy a book. Flowers fade; knowledge spurs you on to better and higher accomplishments.