Our friendship began when our rooms were nearby in the Theta Chi Fraternity section of the Duke dorms. His mom sent a homemade cake from South Carolina every week (in fact, all the way through his MD/PhD!). It arrived on Friday afternoons, the perfect time to sit on the floor to eat cake and talk.
Many conversations with Keith stick in my mind. For example, on a college weekend on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, he was reading about black holes (for fun!), so he conducted a seminar with me as inadequate student as we floated in the ocean for two hours getting sunburned. Years later, on a rainy afternoon in New York, he showed off his newest skill of cooking chicken cacciatore, and we got jittery on too many cups of coffee while discussing arcane international affairs reported in The Economist, which Keith devoured weekly for decades. Jogging around Newton 15 years ago, he probed what I was hearing from business associates about hot political issues, compared to what he heard among academics.
In early 2020, he called to cancel visiting us in Dallas in connection with a research-related trip. The problem was a strange new virus just being reported in the US, and he discussed trying to distinguish signal from noise to understand it. A few months ago, we discussed his illness by phone and in particular my questions about pros and cons of understanding it as a scientist. He was at peace and 100% upbeat about managing it through regular treatments so he could continue his work and play. An hour later he texted me photos as he and Sandy kayaked in Maine.
Keith connected warmly with everyone, regardless of education or station. One of his dad‘s entrepreneurial ventures operated jukeboxes across the Carolinas, and during college, he maintained the ones in Durham. Each week, he received 45-rpm records in the mail and checked the jukeboxes’ mechanical counters to replace the five least-playing songs with new ones. He took the quarters out of the change box, kept a share, and deposited the rest in his dad‘s account. He used the chance to talk weekly with the staff and regulars of bars and diners. When he graduated and I was a senior, he handed the job to me and taught me that almost any jukebox maintenance problem could be fixed with an elbow, or with a damp cloth if someone had poured beer down the change slot.
The month he turned 21, we drove his father‘s pick-up to New York to move him into a dorm at Columbia P&S. All the way up I-95 from the Carolinas, we talked excitedly about his new life and sang along with Mick Jagger on the radio. That move began our regular sharing of our career experiences as he became a scientist and I entered business.
After college I was a junior consultant in DC and had occasional work trips to New York. I could submit an expense report for a flat per diem amount, so Keith hatched a plan: I always slept on his couch and we spent my entire hotel and meal allowance on elegant restaurant dinners. He introduced me to scientists behaving badly at parties, and later when I attended HBS, he described the interpersonal dynamics of labs and grilled me about my organizational behavior courses.
In our mid-20s, a snowy weekend in Quebec City was so fun that we scheduled a week in Nova Scotia. We booked several nights at the venerable Keltic Lodge, which lent us blue blazers so we could enter the dining room. Exploring the hotel after we arrived, Keith met a delightful young Toronto couple on their honeymoon. He charmed them so much that we effectively joined their honeymoon for all activities that occurred outside their hotel room.
The four of us decided to drive the 186-mile Cabot Trail around the perimeter of Cape Breton Island, and on a foggy Sunday afternoon we walked into a roadhouse in Cheticamp, called the Doryman. Over 100 people who all seemed related were drinking and singing and step dancing. As we came through the door, the room went silent and we didn’t see a single place to sit. We inched forward and a little boy stood to offer Keith his chair. The noise restarted, a barmaid appeared, and for hours we were city celebrities whom everyone wanted to meet. A few young men were enjoying their first day off after three weeks on a remote road repair crew and invited Keith to shoot pool. He accepted on behalf of both of us and I wish he had not agreed to play for money.
At Brenda’s and my wedding reception, Keith put an arm around each of us and stared at her for a long moment before asking me, “Are we going to let her go on our vacations?” I was better behaved when he and Sandy wed in Seattle and began their remarkable partnership.
Keith was an incisive and wise advisor. When I was a CEO leading a hard turnaround and had not had a day off in several months, he related to the experience of being overwhelmed and counseled me about how to keep my sense of self and place in the world. When I considered investing in a medical technology startup, in addition to explaining the holes in their strategy, he pointed out the bigger hole in my understanding, and said, “For you to invest in this would be like me buying an oil well.“
When our oldest daughter was an undergrad in Boston and had stomach pain during final exams, she phoned Keith in the middle of the night. That time, he withheld advice and nudged Sandy, who woke up and diagnosed appendicitis over the phone, and ensured that our daughter got an appendectomy within hours.
Every Keith story reminds me of another one, but it is so damned bittersweet to remember. He had exceptional curiosity, openness, warmth, and humor. He connected with every person and he made every interaction count. We lived in the same city for only a few months of a half century of friendship, but in every dinner and every phone conversation it felt as if we had been together last week.
Keith made me hope it is true that each of us is the sum of our closest friends. His memory will be a blessing.
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