I didn’t have any brothers or sisters, so it was left to my Mom and Dad to entertain me as I was growing up. As soon as I was old enough to throw a ball, my Dad and I became best friends. Every day was a competition with him, and I loved it. We played countless hours of basketball in the driveway. Dad put a chin-up bar in our living room (to my Mom’s chagrin) where we’d have pull-up contests. Our garage was full of weights. There are so many of my friends that would come over and workout --- and just hang out, and they all loved my Dad. Mr. Isaly (as my friends called him) always told the best stories, never judged, only gave advice when asked (and it was always right), and was very much respected. He also walked-the-walk. Whether it was throwing a baseball, shooting baskets (I remember him dunking), playing golf, lifting weights, etc. --- he was a better athlete than all of us. As incredibly athletic as he was, his true gift was his intellect. Those who knew him, know how clearly he saw things. Whether it was editing a paper of mine, helping me with calculus, explaining economics or explaining life in general --- I was always mesmerized how easy it all came to him. When I went off to college, I was very homesick and wanted to come home. My Dad wouldn’t let me; although I am sure it was a struggle even for him not to give-in. To help me, he wrote me a letter every day my freshman year. He would let me know how his workouts were going, golf outings with his buddies, and he even made up a few stories that he kept going that were hysterical. On Fridays, he would put in a $20 bill so I could get a pizza --- and on game days during basketball season he would put in a piece of gum, because he knew I liked to chew gum when I played. I remember after lunch going to my P.O. Box so very much looking forward to getting that letter every day. Even for the remainder of my college days, I would get two or three letters a week. As it turns out, I met Kim (my wife) my freshman year --- so yet again, my Dad knew best. As I look back on that --- he didn’t have to say “I love you”, he continually showed me. At the end of each letter, he would always say, “Keep your powder dry.” I feel that my Dad is reading this as I write it, so back at you Dad --- keep your powder dry as you move to the next wonderful thing. Love, Your Boy, Matthew.