Lynne Engelke


Rich was an exceptional human being.  He was dedicated to doing the best possible job, but never lost sight of the people behind the work.  He strove to be the kind of manager everyone dreams of—inspiring, funny, enthusiastic, compassionate and generous—able to turn long hours and a stressful workplace into an enjoyable experience, and considered it his responsibility to enhance the career growth and development of everyone on his staff, from clerks and secretaries whom he helped train to move to more challenging positions, to programmers and systems engineers.  He was intelligent, widely read in philosophy, history, science and technology, but loved movies and music and pop culture. He was a musician and composer, and had a glorious voice which he most recently used in singing bed-time lullabies to his 22 month old son, and in reading him Harry Potter books aloud (with appropriate English accents and Scottish brogues), was a superb athlete—at 6’4” and 245 lbs, an ex high school football star and Yale (’91) defensive lineman.  Most of all, he loved and cherished his family.  He and Karen had just moved into a new house, and Rich was enthusiastically building wooden toy chests and book cases for their son Zachary’s playroom.  He had even cut back his legendarily long hours a bit, arriving at his office at around 5:30 (after having risen at 3am and checking in with the London office) and coming home by 5 or 5:30 to be able to spend more time with his family.  Even when he was away during his long hours at work, he would e-mail and phone 6 or more times a day, and send funny little electronic greeting cards in Zachy’s name to Karen for her to let Zach play with.  The walls of his office were papered with hundreds of photos of Zachary, which Rich would caption with his unique brand of humor, and he lovingly created CD’s containing photos and home movies documenting his son’s growth, which he would proudly send to all his friends and colleagues.  He will be sorely missed by everyone who ever had the honor to know him and especially those of us who loved him dearly.