Gone But Not Forgotten: Dave Rossi (1957-2003)

Our baby with her godfather (Jan 1996)

We lost David Rossi 20 years ago today. It's a good time to crank up the Isaac Payton Sweat.

Dave grew up outside Pittsburgh and studied Chemistry at the University of Pittsburgh. His name is inscribed in the Omicron Delta Kappa Walk, a stone path between the Cathedral of Learning and Heinz Chapel, in honor of being named Senior of the Year in 1979.

I had the great misfortune to meet Dave when Pitt won the national championship, the Pirates won the World Series, and the Steelers won the Super Bowl. All at once. He was humble and softspoken, but not about his "City of Champions."

We roomed together in Brooklyn Heights, and both worked our first "real" jobs for the Chase Manhattan Bank, taking the subway each morning under the East River to the basement of Chase Manhattan Plaza. Our training floor included 200 recent college grads from all over the country, and we fell in with a great group of friends whose mission was to discover Manhattan. 

Since many of our colleagues lived on the Upper West Side, Dave decided that he and I had to purchase "crazy hats" so we could ride the 7th Avenue Line without trouble in the wee hours of the morning back to Brooklyn Heights. "Wear it low, look crazy, and never make eye contact," he told me. Good advice.

We thought it would be fun to celebrate New Year's Eve 1980 in Times Square. We donned our crazy hats and headed into (what was then) a cesspool, watching as a gang of thugs at the edge of Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve television lights cornered people and stole their wallets. Interested only in cash, the gang grabbed the bills and dumped each wallet in the trash. Dave and I went fishing, and on the morning of January 3, 1981, we mailed 15 wallets full of driver's licenses and credit cards back to their owners all around the country. 

Dave invited me home the first Thanksgiving we roomed to meet his family. His mother served a vast, delicious Italian meal, and I remember thinking, "This is nice but unusual for Thanksgiving."  Then Dave's mom cleared the table and served an entire traditional Thanksgiving turkey meal. He just looked at me and said, "Now you know why I have trouble losing weight."

I roomed with Dave during our first year at Harvard Business School. He introduced me to the HP-12C, chocolate-covered pretzels, and Cotton Eye Joe. He convinced me that Harry Truman was the only person in history who could have taken over the world. Based on his obsession with Louis L'Amour novels, he warned me never to carry a knife unless I was prepared to use it. More good advice.

Dave was the best man at Sue and my wedding in 1984 and godfather to our Emily.

A frozen moment, frozen in time

In the time I knew David Rossi, all he ever really wanted to do was go into space. He might have been an astronaut, except for his poor eyesight. Between senior positions at Spacehab and Orbital Sciences, he got close. Even when the Space Shuttle Columbia disintegrated as Dave lay dying of cancer, he never lost his optimism or passion for the final frontier.

At Dave's funeral in Washington, D.C., six of us were asked to speak.  

As we chatted beforehand, I realized we all believed the same thing: David Rossi was our best friend.

We were all correct.

Only the good die young. 20 years ago and still with us. Rest in peace, my friend.