My Father, Philip Rothman, was a serious and extremely smart man. While he could become interested in irony, and brought to smile by exaggeration, for him, life was serious. He rooted for everyone and their families who were working hard trying to improve their lives and anyone who was an innocent victim. I will miss him always, but I have the good fortune to know that he loved me deeply and that he knew that I loved him deeply and how extremely grateful I was to him.

When I was 24, I met Richard Sheffield. He was born and raised in Newark, one of 11 children. Sheffield was a powerful force of nature who possessed the wisdom of Sun Tzu and Niccolò Machiavelli. Within months of our meeting, Sheffield (a father of 3 daughters) would tell the entire world, including my family, his family, friends and strangers that I was his “son.” He became my second father and I became his son. We loved each other very much.

I first got to know Jack Drakeford as the young man that his best friend Richard Sheffield called his son; then as Jack’s student; then as his colleague at the top of Englewood’s government; then as a dear and devoted friend; and for the last 20 years of his life, as Jack’s younger brother whom he loved and who loved him dearly.