Hey Pallie

I first met Jody just before his birthday. And I never told him this story-- I never told him because of how far this story went to kick off our friendship. Debbie Z had been insisting that we meet this "great couple" that she'd loved for years, and it just so happened they lived in the building next to us in Old Town, Chicago. I'd ignored her (so dumb) until finally she told me about how they'd just had a baby girl 3 weeks prior to the birth of our oldest daughter, Jane. That got us connected, and we got together just shy of Jody's birthday. Needless to say, I loved the guy from the start. We connected on a million different things, traded phone numbers, and I came away from that night apologetic to Deb and glad I'd met Jody.

The next day was my father's birthday. Thinking I was dialing my dad, I called Jody by accident. When he answered the phone, I went "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" And Jody was so touched that he went off about how cool it was for me to call him and how did I even know it was his birthday and wow was I considerate.

I didn't know who I was talking to.

I'm looking at Amy, pointing at the phone, thinking I'm talking to a total stranger who it just so happened shared a birthday with my father.

After a few minutes (and several references to the night before when we were together), I realized I was talking to this new friend I’d made. And I decided to keep my cover. I didn’t tell him that day… and then I never told him. I never told him because it was a moment that solidified our friendship forever, and I like to think it was meant to be.

What I’d gotten a taste of in that phone call was something core to Jody’s character. He had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world. Whenever we were together, whether it was at a concert, at a family get-together or the one time when I was living temporarily in New York City and he ditched whatever business stuff he had one night to connect with me. He’d always ask about my life, my work, my kids. He’d ask about anything at all with such enthusiasm that it took me a while to understand what made it so special. Here was this guy that was as interesting as they come interestED. He genuinely cared, not just about the answers but about the connection itself. And it wasn’t until he was gone that I realized how much that meant to me. He made people feel special, like he was psyched to be there—whatever the event-- to be a real friend. He brought that to every interaction.

Jody had two remarkable traits that made him unlike anyone else I knew. First, he made you feel like you were the most important person in the world. But second, and maybe more importantly, he was just so excited to be part of everything. Whether it was being a dad, a husband, a friend, or even just a guest at an event — he was always psyched. He got to do the thing, whatever that thing was, and that made it feel special for everyone else too. When Jody was around, you knew you were about to have a good time—and probably the best time.

There’s something almost ridiculous about how endearing he was. Every time I saw Jody, I couldn't help but grin, and I know tons of people feel the same way. You’d get the greeting "Hey Pallie," and you’d think, “Yessss! It’s Jody-- now it's ON.” It didn’t matter if it was just running into him by accident or something planned. It was always the same: pure joy. And I’ve seen it with so many of his friends and family. We all reacted that way.

Take the Beefsteak dinner, for instance. The Beefsteak is an annual event celebrating meat, friendship… and meat. He brought Dave Shuck and me into it and introduced us to about 20 new people who all became instant old friends: Micah, Zach, Brian, Frazier, Buban. That event became so much more because Jody was there, his excitement infectious. My favorite part of Beefsteak, aside from betting on the dumbest things imaginable, was just watching Jody’s energy spread through the whole room at the start. You couldn’t help but catch it.

And then there were the one-on-one moments-- a few years ago, he and I found ourselves the only ones to use these tickets we had to Wrigley to see a whole bunch of bands from our hair metal youth. He and I stood there in the middle of this crowd, singing along like no one else was there. From the moment we were together to the late-night goodbye, it was in-the-moment joy. Or the vacation when I found him out on the balcony of the rental we were staying in, convinced everyone else had gone to sleep. He looked at me, surprised, and I told said, “I’m not done yet, let’s hang out.” He lit up like a kid, almost teary-eyed with excitement, and we stayed up talking until the early hours of the morning. I knew I’d be exhausted the next day—and I was—but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

Jody was the kind of person who, when you’re with him, you have to be all in. He made sure of it. And when he was with you, he was all in too. He was so excited to be here — and that’s how he lived every day. So I'm all in on missing him, remembering him, and celebrating.

Celebrating what made Jody, Jody.