Where to begin articulating my feelings about George, the chapter of his story that we wrote together, the indelible mark that he left on my life? These questions have been percolating since his death, mingled with grief, as well as empathy for Patti, George’s kids/family, and all of those who loved him well. But to put any of it in words? Oh boy. I will try!

Having spent the better part of my live in and around Aspen, I had certainly heard of George, but never met him in person until I was 32. (Side note: my mom, Su Lum, was one of the first parents when ACS first opened in the Physics Center and she enrolled my sister, Hillery in Kindergarten. I had no clue about any of that until well after I began working with George and found my mom’s name in early minutes.) The spring before (1994) my then husband, Steve, and I attended our first 8th grade graduation. We were so blown away and moved that we determined then and there to figure out how to enroll our daughter one day. The school was private, we were broke, Riley was only 3—but that was when the tiny spark was lit.

Fast forward a few months. My work as a travel agent was increasingly consuming, Riley was the first to be dropped off at daycare and the last to be picked up. I was struggling to balance making a living with the much more important task of being the best mom I could be. And then a powerful reminder to live life TODAY the way we want to live it woke me up: Kathy Daily and her sons were killed in Glenwood canyon. I called George cold and asked if I could come meet with him. Without even asking what I wanted to meet about, he said okay. Isn’t that so George? Brings tears to my eyes.

The day of our meeting happened to coincide with a snow day. I plowed up the unplowed school driveway (if you can call it that) in our old Mercedes. George met me at the gate, where he was saying goodbye to Jimmy Ibbotson, and led me to his “office”…a chaotic room stacked with boxes and books and papers and a Mr. Coffee and his desk barely discernable in the back corner. He cleared off a seat for me and we proceeded to talk for over an hour, getting to know one another, sharing stories. We had an instant ease and rapport with one another. I told him that I wanted a change, that it was important to us that Riley attend the school, and that we could not afford tuition. Might there be a job I could do in exchange? Clean toilets? I didn’t care what.

At the end of our meeting, George said he would think it all over and would let me know if something became possible. As I drove off of that mesa, I wanted to be a part of that place and that tribe so much I could taste it. I had never felt that way before.

A few days later, I sat down to write him a thank you note. I literally had the pen in my hand when the phone rang. It was George. He wanted me to come up and speak to him about a job. I wasted no time in getting there. George looked at me, surrounded by the messy vitality of his work space, and said: what I really need is a personal assistant. I was blown away, but managed to utter: George, it’s a glove made to fit me.

And it was. I loved it, and we were a helluva team. My initiation was to organize the “office” and George’s files, then to clean out the barn loft (!!), and then to inventory and restock hundreds of science kits that practically filled the gym floor. From there it was recording minutes for the AERF Board and the Woody Creek Caucus, paying bills, scheduling meetings, writing letters, walking ditches, cataloging photos, scheduling surgery…you name it. No day was the same as the day before.

George saw me through thick and thin, trusted me completely to do what I needed to do, and to do what I said I would do. He encouraged me to make motherhood and family a priority, while lifting me up as an individual and a professional. George recognized the leadership qualities inside of me long before I did, and I may well have missed that fork in my road without his empowerment. George saw possibility unfurling in a person, and opened eyes. And he never said, “You see what I’ve given you?” Instead he said, “This was in you all along, look what an amazing person you are.”

George taught me to question, to think harder, and to participate. He made me uncomfortable, he made me strong, he helped me find my voice. We didn’t always agree, but that was safe, because we loved one another. He was a mentor, a father figure, a friend. We worked closely together for seven years, but George has been an influential presence in my life for a quarter of a century now, and will remain so for the rest of my days.