This second tribute to my father was written by my son Daniel, who gave me permission to post it here.
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My dear Grandpa Gerry died yesterday at 91, at home near Seattle with Grandma Ann and three of my aunts by his side. He had a sharp and curious mind undimmed by age, and a kind and sympathetic ear despite his deafness. He enjoyed many years of good health, and I particularly remember his smile after he kept pace with my father during a long walk up a sand dune, in his late 70s.
Grandpa was born and raised in Washington, DC at a time when slabs of ice were delivered in horse-drawn carts, and kids could freely roam the White House grounds and all the embassies, sneak up into the Capitol dome, and surreptitiously feed bubblegum to monkeys through the bars at the National Zoo. I hope the statute of limitations on that particular incident has run out.
As a cryptographer in WW2, Grandpa encoded messages with geared machines weighing hundreds of pounds, surrounded by walls lined with dynamite, yet he also lived long enough to get the hang of touchscreens, to print out this XKCD cartoon and tape it to the side of his iMac, and most importantly to Skype with his great-grandchildren. He got a DNA profile done, and seemed kinda bummed to find out that he was probably not descended from Genghis Khan. In his career as a sociologist he studied religion and technology and critiqued totalitarian governments (topics as important as ever today), wrote several books, and figured out how to edit his own Wikipedia page. I remember more than once in recent years when I stayed up late talking about my life and work at Intel with Grandpa, only to find that he had woken up before me the next morning, brimming with new questions and ideas.
He was an old dog still learning new tricks. On October 30 we went to his favorite restaurant. I drove, but Grandpa pointed out all the shortcuts in the dark. When the waitress came by to take our drink orders, I expected he’d get his usual deer-in-the-headlights look and blurt out “Bud Light,” at which point I’d protest and order him something more interesting. But this time was different. Without missing a beat, Grandpa set down his menu, asked for a Mac and Jack Amber Ale, and turned to me silently with a twinkle in his eye.
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