Pat at a comic book convention

I've been meaning to post these for a while, but just recently got them scanned in and online. In Spring 2004, Alice, Nate and I took Pat along to a comic book convention in San Francisco.

These are some photos of Pat with various, strange people in costumes. They are really charming and capture Pat's goofy and easygoing side well. I'm not sure if the comic-con was totally Pat's scene, but he was a really good sport when we made him pose with every possible costumed character. We all had a blast at the end of the convention, watching a "Masquerade" contest, where people showed off their handmade suits to win nerdy prizes.

I love these pictures-- and the bittersweet fact that Pat had them in his suitcase and had brought them over to Germany with him, as Lisette has informed me-- makes them even more important and dear to me. Enjoy.
-Ryan S.


1. Pat with Boba Fett.


2. Pat, looking slightly scared, with some sort of fruit bat.


3. Pat and Alice with an awesome dragon warrior dude.


4. Pat with... SHREK!!

Pat's Pomfret School Alumni Award

Pomfret School, where Pat attended high school, recently gave him an alumni achievement award. They very generously invited Bob and me to the alumni dinner where Libby accepted the award for Pat. Many friends from his (and Lib's) class of '01 were there, and we were able to share stories about prom dates and classroom jokes. Pat had a way of getting others laughing and then pretend to take notes while they got in trouble. The best part of the evening was Lib's acceptance speech which I'm including along with Pomfret's program.

Lib's acceptance speech

I'm so honored for Pat. Thank you to all that were involved in awarding this to my late twin brother. I'm not great with words these days, so I thought I'd read the lyrics of a song that fills my body and soul with thoughts of him.

This song is one I recently discovered from Radiohead's live album entitled "I might be wrong." Radiohead was one of Pat's favorite groups. As soon as I heard it, it stood out as special.

"True Love Waits" by Radiohead

I'll drown my beliefs
To have you be in peace
I'll dress like your niece
To wash your swollen feet

Just don't leave
Don't leave

I'm not living
I'm just killing time
Your tiny hands
Your crazy kitten smile

Just don't leave
Don't leave

Andtrue love waits
In haunted attics
And true love lives
On lollipops and crisps

Just don't leave
Don't leave

Just don't leave
Don't leave

When I first met Patrick, on the platform at Berlin's Bahnhof Zoo, I was struck by his eager smile and his restless energy; he seemed almost to bounce up and down as he talked. This is one of countless memories that will resonate with me in years to come.

I remember many good times with Pat, yet it was not always clear that this would be so, for our friendship was not of our choosing. Patrick was Ryan's friend and I was Ryan's boyfriend and, both solitary by nature, we approached each other with a certain wariness. Over time, however, we became friends in our own right because, quite simply, when you met Patrick you wanted to be his friend. So many of us were conquered by his natural charm and grace, and it is all the more difficult to accept that we were unable to understand him more fully, to embrace all of the Essential Patrick in these last terrible months.

After Patrick returned to Berlin, we would meet for lunch, dinner or a concert, to play scrabble or watch TV. And he was always so easy to be with, explaining the context of a particular symphony, sharing a joke and - unlike Ryan - actually staying awake to the end of a film. The best companions are those with whom conversation is not always necessary, where silences are not uncomfortable. Patrick was such a companion.

Patrick could be swept away by Mahler's Sixth Symphony, or laugh out loud at Chicken Run. At such moments he seemed entirely happy, growing into the world, appreciating its art and laughing at its absurdity. Yet the Essential Patrick ran far deeper than this, deeper than we would ever realise. For Patrick was, in essence, a very serious person and for serious people the world's absurdity can, at times, be hard to take. It is absurd that political and religious leaders should gain popularity by maligning one of the vital facts of your being. It is hard to laugh at such absurdity and feel good about yourself when you work hard and strive for honesty in your own life. Patrick was a thoroughly decent person and there was not one thing in his life to be ashamed of.

In those terrible hours on the 6th of February, as darkness descended on Berlin, I reflected on our last few meetings. It is easy to believe that everyone has the right to be left alone to lead their own life but we must surely hold our friends more dear than this. We saw but one aspect of the Essential Patrick, we should have dug deeper, intruded upon his privacy, for the pain he was feeling must not be borne alone.

I expected the good times I had with Patrick to be joined by many more. I looked forward to evenings spent playing Scrabble, not just old score sheets that bring a catch to your throat. Instead of seeing Patrick sat at the kitchen table we now open our magazines to find his half-finished crosswords. The memories are painful but they are vibrant, and in the realisation of what we have lost lies the joy of all we gained by knowing him. Patrick cut a swathe through our lives and his life, his death will echo with us down the years. For me, Berlin will always be Patrick.

Pat's tree in Berlin

I thought everyone might appreciate a picture of Pat's tree planted in Berlin April 20th. I've included a copy of my letter read by Ryan Wirtz for the occasion. The picture was taken by Karen Kramer, Director of the Stanford Center in Berlin which has graciously memorialized Pat and will add a bench and plaque in the near future. Love to everyone from Pat's mom

Dear Friends of Pat, or more aptly, dear German family of Pat,

We are so very sorry to miss this magnanimous event which represents tremendous effort on the part of the Stanford Center. We are deeply moved that you hold Patrick in such high esteem as to memorialize him with a permanent spot in the Stanford Villa garden. By doing so, you are making him a visible part of your history—a history which includes the renown architecture of this beautiful villa, its destruction after World War II, and its preservation by the City of Berlin and now Stanford University. By planting this tree, you have linked Patrick to an illustrious rebirth. This house and garden, threatened with ruination, now cultivates the finest students in the world. We were honored that you embraced Pat as one of those students, and today we are astounded that you are now including him in your history. By allowing him to share this land with events of immense significance, you are in turn extending that significance to him. It is a gesture of permanence and regeneration for which we are deeply grateful. But more than that, it is an honor for Pat to remain part of such a fine institution.
Please accept our deepest gratitude for your kindness and generosity. Patrick himself could ask for nothing more than what you have given. He loved each of you with all of his heart, and his heart was the biggest part of him. He loved the school and the city. The love that he felt was why he was here. He couldn’t wait to come back after graduation last June. I remember asking him what it was that attracted him. “I’m having fun,” he said simply, and that was enough for me. But his version of fun was not simple. That’s what you are showing by honoring him this way. You are showing that he had fun by giving to others. He spread laughter and insights, and sometimes just really good jokes. Friends have told me he could have them laughing hysterically in the most serious of situations. This was especially true in a particularly dry music theory class at Tanglewood in Massachusetts one summer. Some wanted to skip the class. It was, after all, summertime. But Pat’s friends would go just to hold their heads in their hands with laughter at his elaborate exaggerations.
As Pat’s mother, I was not the recipient of many of those jokes, but I did absorb his passion. Let me recall a conversation we had last Christmas, which was the last time I saw him. We were returning some German books, which I had bought him for Christmas. Being the frugal person that he was, he didn’t want me to pay the added charge of buying them in the U.S. “They’re cheaper in Germany,” he said, and he showed me the difference between Euros and U.S. dollars.
“How did you learn to read them?” I asked stupidly. He knew that any language but English escapes me.
“You get the sense of it and then it just comes. You absorb it,” he said.
That was Patrick’s version of “having fun.” He absorbed your culture and your love. Thank you for giving him that opportunity. Thank you also for giving him this lovely, tangible presence at such a venerated site. He would be blushing right now if he knew. Instead, we will shed tears as we think of you paying this tribute. May God do for you someday as you are doing for Patrick today.

All our love and gratitude,

Patrick’s family

Pat's Stanford Memorial Service announcement

I'm sure a lot of you have seen this, but it is such a radiant picture of Pat that I jumped the first time I saw it. Thank you Sheena for creating this beautiful announcement, and you too, Kyle, for creating the lovely program of the service. I'll try to get that picture on as well.

Love to all Patrick friends everywhere,

Lisette

Dear Stanford Friends of Pat,

This is another one of my inadequate attempts to thank you for your devotion to Pat. Your time, creative effort, Pat stories, conversation, Pat tour, dinners, hand holding, and shared crying will resonate with us always. You provided some of the few moments of relief we have known since his death. My tears fall on the keyboard as I try to summon the words and strength to tell you how dearly I hold your sympathy.

Sheena, you were the driving force behind the memorial service March 18th. I cannot thank you enough for organizing such a well-attended tribute. You managed to create beauty and meaning out of misery. Your heart showed through gallantly. You spent three days sharing the best and worst moments. The stories of Pat tutoring you in math for eight minutes and then yakking for three hours were like gold to us. To see the actual math building the next day was even better. It helped us picture both of you. I was desperate to know he had good moments and you proved that he did. I know we sapped your strength and your tears, but you gave us many good memories at a time when we are dwelling on the horror of loss. You are a dear to do so much for him and us. We will value your kindness for the rest of our lives. You have help to repair the shattered bond to him.

Lauren, you have also shared good and bad moments, but mostly bad, and you came all the way to Connecticut to do it. Then you were at Stanford when your own family was in crisis. Your quiet manner, your kind eyes, your silent grace were a model of what a good friend should be. Pat was lucky to have you and so are we. You have sacrificed your time, money, and academics because of us and I can only tell you that we are deeply grateful but also worried that you are under so much pressure. School, especially Stanford, waits for no one. I will feel better when you actually graduate. I hope your teachers are truly understanding. You should get A's based on character alone.

Ryan, you have given us some of the best moments since we found out the news. I cling to your stories and your pictures. I lost the most precious thing in the world to me-one of my children-and you gave him back to me as much as possible. I loved your eulogy. Your stories of Pat's humor (“Intense. Like campers?”) will stay with me always. I wished I could have stayed with you all night listening to Pat stories. You knew him as well as anyone and I treasure your memories more than my own. I felt that you shared my grief intimately because you filled in many years since he left home. Your pictures with captions in chronological order are safely backed up and I've looked at them many times. You were dear to follow up with such a time-consuming email. I know how long it takes to write. This one has been taking up much of the evening.

Kyle, you sacrificed so much time coming for the memorial all the way from LA. I was so glad to see you because I remember what a good friend you were freshman year. I was always relieved that Pat had a friend to drive down to LA. Thank you for the dedication of being there for us, of escorting us around campus with Sheena, and sharing all your support. Thank goodness he had you and your mom to take that fabulous picture in front of the Hoover Tower. It takes my breath away to see you both in such a magnificent setting, the world opening up to you on such an impressive level. Now it's left to you, and all other friends of Pat's, to make the most of your lives, to have the conversations, think the grand thoughts, have the intimate dinners, and see the world which Pat cannot see any longer. Do it for yourselves. Do it for him. Most of all, know that we love you and miss you desperately. Saying goodbye was like saying goodbye to Pat all over again.

Mr. Barth, I wish I had another night just to speak with you alone. It sounds like you knew Pat's first loves-German and music-and you could have explained much more to me about their effect. You understood the power of those poems, and I felt that you, better than anyone, could see their pull on his psyche. Somehow, I want everybody to see that. I want them to know that, as irrational as they may be, he had his reasons for doing what he did, and his reasons had a purity that he felt could be achieved no other way. I don't mean to glorify his actions. I want the trail that he followed to make some sense, even if it should never be followed again. I felt you understood that because you had an uneasy respect for the literature he loved. I would like to send you a CD of his music (if you wouldn't mind). And if anyone else would like a copy, please send me your address. I would be honored to have you listen.

To the very kind gentleman who gave the opening remarks, pardon me for not remembering your name. It's one of the many details which have slipped my mind as I try to absorb new sides of Pat's life. You were so right about friends indicating the quality of a person's character. His friends are now precious to me not only because they were Pat's life, but because they are perfect in and of themselves, just like Pat. Thank you for pointing that out so eloquently.

Andrew, your letter read by Sheena was a high tribute to Pat. You wrote so honestly about the dread with which life can be filled. To be honest, I was crying so much at the time that Pat would miss out on your friendship, that I didn't hear all of your letter. I would greatly appreciate it if you or Sheena could forward it to me. I would love to read it over and over. You were among Pat's best friends. Ryan has told me a few funny stories of visiting you at “Chappy” (do I have that correctly?) and getting loosened up before working on graphics at the Daily downstairs. Then Pat got to leave while Ryan stayed until 2:00 AM or so to put the paper to bed. Sounds like Pat got the better end of those evenings. Ryan said you were a good friend. I thank you with all my heart for the good times you gave Pat. I wish those years could have lasted forever. They seem to be the best of Pat's life thanks to friends like you. I give you my love and admiration for the moments when he was happy with you. I would very much like to send you a CD of his music also. If you could manage to forward your eulogy and send me your address I would be grateful.

To Alice, Patricia (whose stories of Trivial Pursuits sound a lot like mine with Pat. He knew trivia and I did not), Ali (whose pictures I have not even looked at yet. I'm nervous that I'm going to ruin them), Kathryn (who put us at ease about the storage unit. We did get his things successfully thanks to you), Meena (whose sad eyes and quiet voice spoke volumes of your love for Pat), Mike Love (whose facility with blogs has been an inspiration to me. All my love and thanks for creating this online tribute where I go for consolation and communication), and everyone else whose names I have forgotten-I love and cherish your thoughts for Pat. They have kept me going during the worst time of my life, and I will remember your kindness always. Please stay in touch, come visit so we can show you where Pat is resting, and call to cry with me. It helps immensely.

All our love,

Pat's family--Lisette, Bob, Libby, and Colin

The Essential Patrick

I've included below the text of my reflections of Patrick from the Berlin memorial service. - Ryan Wirtz

-- -- --
Over one month has passed since Patrick’s Berlin community learned of his death and the people close to him here have gathered—and continue to gather— in a variety of capacities to reflect on him.

On February 15, we held a celebration of Patrick’s life at the Stanford Center in Berlin. Beyond that, however, we have seen a constant conversation about Patrick on this side of the Atlantic because his life meant so much to so many. We’ve mourned him in our city’s smoky cafes and tea houses, at brunches and dinners, in universities and workplaces and discos, and privately, in reflection, in our cars, subways, parks and living rooms.

We want all of you in the U.S. to know that Patrick’s legacy in Berlin continues; it is alive as the tree that will be planted here in his memory. On the ground in Berlin, among those who knew him, his presence is as palpable as his absence, in how much people miss him and how much he meant. And today, I want to reflect on my Patrick story with you all, as one of the many voices that Patrick has changed.

I want reflect on the reasons why he came to Berlin, why he lived his life deliberately in the spirit of what his friends and I called “The Essential Patrick”, and to capture and celebrate his legacy.

Patrick Wood’s incomparable time with us touched us profoundly. He touched us long before the tragedy of his passing, a remarkable event for all of us that will leave many questions unanswered and many hearts crying.

He touched us not because we have lost his love of humanity and its questions -- but because he dared to ask them at all.

Patrick engaged with his world and sought to understand it, and press back against it at its most fundamental levels. He had come to find in his heart the answers to questions for which there were no words, only feelings, and endeavored to find for himself an understanding of the earth in a way that was uniquely his, an insight that he imagined and articulated with his own distinctive voice.

This is what I will miss most about my friend Patrick; yet this will be to me his most enduring honor.

Patrick and I knew each other casually at Stanford, but grew close together during the spring 2004 quarter here at Stanford in Berlin. I remember the dinner that marked the beginning of the term, when he was hobbling around the table in crutches.

It reminded me how Patrick could be painfully, yet endearingly, clumsy and disorganized – not because his exceptional gifts ever failed him but because he was absorbed in a world of ideas and music (and yes, even gossip and banter) that distracted him from the minor details. He was keenly aware of this, though, and he celebrated it.

Patrick didn’t do details unless he had to, and on his first of his many nights in Berlin, when he set out to explore the legends of the city’s nightlife at Kino International, he missed the stairs and dramatically and ungracefully fell. And thus, at the start of the term, he defended his perceived lack of grace and glamour, charmingly defensive and sensitive. That was the essential Patrick.

Patrick came to Berlin to learn lessons that he could only find here. He learned them well and in the two years we were together in this city, the arc of his amazing grace beautifully illuminated himself and those around him.

In Berlin, Patrick came to understand and embrace who he was, but he cared more about what he could and would become. This element of essential Patrick is evident in a monologue from one of his favorite films, "All About My Mother", when the feisty drag queen Agrado proclaimed, “A person is more authentic the more he looks like what he has dreamed for himself to be.”

In Berlin, Patrick was able to become the young man he dreamed of becoming. He found answers to questions that could be lost in the lights of the city and the serenity of Germany’s countryside. He could laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Patrick and I would talk about the world’s big issues and the irrelevant. We would joke about mathematics, about love, about Germany and the Germans, about art and music and literature. We would question together politics and the value of the ironic hipster scene, and we would discuss strategy to transform our dreams and ambitions into reality.

Last summer, when we had graduated, we explored Munich together and met at the university where the S.S. captured the White Rose student group in 1944. Their humanist and intellectual approach to resisting the Third Reich particularly inspired Patrick because he was a thinker and identified in those who could think with him.

Patrick could relate to this more than he could any politician. He didn't care for wars or occupation, and he didn’t care much for most political issues; instead, everything that he found fascinating about Germany either died long before 1933 or was a product of the 21st century.

However, he found a sort of purity in being lost in thoughts and ideas and therefore embraced the White Rose for doing what he thought was the same. He came to appreciate the political questions in the way that he cared about the world and cared about humanity and where it was going.

He followed the world because he was of the world, and read voraciously to understand its complexity. In his own words, his insights focused less on discussions about the balance of power and more on balancing equality. And in Berlin, Patrick saw himself as an expatriate who wanted to break stereotypes and counter the negative attitude towards Americans that he saw pervading his German friends, colleagues, and society. But he did it all so subtly and gently. That was the essential Patrick.

After finishing at the University and walking around the English Garden, Munich’s central park, we bought some blueberries at a kiosk and found a patch of grass along a stream in the garden. We reclined together. Patrick asked me to open my laptop and bring him a German symphony; I chose Beethoven.

Under our slice of Bavarian heaven, we reclined on the grass under the cloudless sky, blue as robin's eggshells, and talked for hours as the sun set. We even ventured to consider our own response if we were approached by Hans Scholl to join the White Rose. In true Pat fashion, he said that if he were approached by any German guy as attractive as Hans, he would have done whatever he had asked. Patrick would often reference that day as one of the most special of our time together and I am comforted that he knew how much he was cherished.

Patrick was a serious student who was growing into a gentle man, with a grin and goofy laugh that brightened the world around him. He solved puzzles and proofs, created music like a star and amazed everyone with his brilliance. Yet, he did it all so quietly, without ever wanting recognition, without ever wanting to admit to himself how spectacular the essential Patrick could be.

He was becoming the great man we all knew he would become and was finding peace with himself to accept that he would do things differently. That would lay the foundation and his big work had only just begun.

There was in Patrick the most amazing promise for things to come; in Berlin, he found a place where he could realize it all. He embraced the city and the city embraced him. In this environment, he flourished. By his own admission, Patrick had some of his happiest days here, and, in fact, some of his happiest nights.

But Patrick was in pain and his soul fell burdened under the weight of his illness and the struggle of his own emotions—emotions that, like so many aspects of his life, were superhuman. But his struggle was superhuman also and ultimately defeated him.

Patrick was a young person who could not continue to fight, despite his gifts; who could not continue to cry, despite the joy he brought to his world; and could not continue to live, despite his energy and passion.

He left the world just as he lived in it—deliberately, not impulsively, and after what he felt was a rational, calm introspection. We have no choice now but to accept the fact that he felt the time had come, but I also take comfort in knowing that he left us painlessly and that he also felt that he would finally find peace.

Patrick knew he was not alone when he was alive. He knew that legions of people would reach out to him and he communicated that acceptance in his own Patrick ways. He leaves behind many people who loved him and many communities that will mourn his loss.

I had dared to dream of a Patrick who would grow old with his friends, whose wrinkled face would betray a lifetime of those laughs and smiles that we would share together and those laughs and smiles that only he could bring. But Patrick had every gift a man could want except more tomorrows than yesterdays. And we will never forget him.

Dear family and friends of Pat!

My name is Tobias, I would call myself a friend of Pat. I got to know him in Berlin in 2004 and spent some wonderful times with him there, as well as in Munich or in the Bavarian Alps, where he visited me and my family for a few days last year. I will try to set a picture here...
(and sorry for my english - it might not be perfect)


Those last weeks were, as for all of you I think, the sadest I have had in my whole life so far.

When you grow up, the whole world seems to be kind. There are your parents, taking care of you. There are your friends you are having good times with. Everything seems just to be wonderful, in your little protected world.
But, you’re getting older. And the older you get, the more terrible things are going to happen.
People around you, people you love, are getting illnesses, others might have accidents... and others would die.
As this is not difficult enough to handle, Pat left by his own decision. Left all of us with nothing but questions. And there is no chance to ever be able to tell him, that he is really loved.

Defenitiley, the world has started to scare me. What will be next...?


Pat set this sentence in one of those internet-profiles:
„Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen“
It is the begin of a poem by „Friedrich Rückert“ that Gustav Mahler edited in his „Rückert-Lieder“ (=Rueckert-Songs)... I feel free to put he english translation in this blog, although it really is „hard stuff“, especially in this situation:

I am lost to the world
with which I used to waste so much time,
It has heard nothing from me for so long
that it may very well believe that I am dead!

It is of no consequence to me
Whether it thinks me dead;
I cannot deny it,
for I really am dead to the world.

I am dead to the world's tumult,
And I rest in a quiet realm!
I live alone in my heaven,
In my love and in my song!
(original from Friedrich Rückert)


I am just thinking, this is something he wanted to tell us.

For me, there is nothing left but looking at pictures of him, remembering the wonderful times I was able to spend with him and be sad about those, I did not have him around. I know, I should not question so much, due to there will never be any answers.
I am trying to keep as much as I got to know of „Pat’s world“ alive in my world. And I promise, I always will.
„I rest in a quiet realm“ – I really hope, you do, little Pat!!

Dear Lauren, Mike, and other contributors,

This is the hardest letter I've ever had to write--publicizing thoughts on the death of my son. It's inconceivable even though I knew it was a possibility during his last year at Stanford. I will be contemplating that dichotomy the rest of my life. I have no response, only questions, mostly pointed at myself. It is a torment from which I am reeling. There's a quote in Night by Elie Wiesel about knowing God through the questions we ask. Pat and I contemplated that idea once briefly, and then went on to something else. At the time it didn't seem important. Now, all I do is question. I am completely humbled, maybe somewhat like Wiesel during the Holocaust, but mostly I feel devastation that such a pure treasure in my life is gone. He knew I loved him will all my heart. Why I could not save him? That's one of my questions.

From the depths of this personal horror, the one message that becomes clear is to thank all of you. The only relief I have received is from friends like you. Your lovely cards, long letters, flowers, trips to Connecticut, participation in Pat's funeral, organization of a memorial service at the Stanford Center in Berlin, and now another memorial service at Stanford has moved us over and over again to tears. Yes, we are in pain and your demonstrations have sharpened that pain, but that is a good thing I am learning and that is why I'm so looking forward to seeing you at the service on March 18th. You have helped me to answer a few questions. Did he have good friends? Was he loved? Yes, thanks to you. Your memorial service will give me the reminders I desperately need even though I will constantly be wondering where Pat is when I'm out there. Without them I sink into unanswered questions and personal pain. I'm learning that shared pain is easier. I am deeply grateful that you have allowed me to do that and I take comfort from reading about yours.

Pat wanted more than us in his life. He would accept nothing less. I hope we can take some solace that he wanted more because he was the dearest person on earth and he needed to give his love to another, but I am still miserable.

Sincerely,

Lisette Rimer, Pat's mom

Hi everyone. I'm happy to have this blog as a place to share thoughts and memories, and sometime in the future I'll begin adding my own comments and pictures here. Pat was a dear friend, and I loved him very much.

Right now, I'd like to try and find contact information for Pat's parents. I have his grandparents' phone number, but I'd really like to be able to send my condolences to his parents, sisters and family in Connecticut. If anyone has their mailing address, I would appreciate you sending it to rsands @ gmail.com.

Thanks and best wishes.
Ryan Sands

Informal get-together this Friday

Hi everyone,

Sirisha, a close friend of Pat's from his freshman dorm, sent out an email to a big group from the dorm suggesting that Pat's friends come together this Friday by Lake Lag. I asked if I could send along the invitation and she thought it would be a good idea. Maybe people could add their RSVPs as comments instead of emailing.

"Dear friends,

As many of you might have already heard, our fellow Juniperan Pat Wood passed away last week in Berlin, Germany:

http://daily.stanford.edu/tempo?page=content&id=19305&repository=0001_article.

This comes as a great shock and heartbreak to us, especially given the
many memories we have of Pat and our experiences together. Therefore,
we will be holding an informal get-together this Friday, February 17
at 9 pm at the Lake Lag fireplace (intersection of Mayfield and
Lomita) to honor Pat, and to talk and share. We sincerely hope you can
join us.

Of course, please do pass along this information to others from
Junipero who might have been left off this list (or whose email
addresses are incorrect), and those who were close to Pat and who
would like to participate. Also, please do RSVP to this email if you
plan to come just so we can get an idea of how many people to expect.

We look forward to seeing you on Friday."

Memories of Pat

hi all,

I'm a friend of Pat's from Junipero and onward, a fellow math guy. Lauren Schneider and Pat's mom had the idea to set up a blog where people could post photos, stories, memories or anything about Pat, so here it is!

Mike Love