Jane, Jackson and Drew (and Jenny and Phyl), you guys know from the moment we met in that snowstorm in January 1979 in Champaign that Steve became one of absolute dearest friends. After a tough day in law school I was always at home and Steve was always ready when I came down those stairs on Healey Street with a delicious fresh-brewed pot of coffee. We silk-screened Mid-August Classic t-shirts until midnight before many years of disc golf tournaments. We shared many a glass of beer or wine or bourbon or scotch together. We shared many a Christmas Eve at Jack and Dorothy’s singing and later here. Our 2 older children (Alexandra and Elena) were close in age to Jackson and Drew. While I had a 20 year head start in frisbee (and later) disc golf, I was thrilled you took up the game and only distance prevented us from playing more rounds together. You turned me on to the delights of Jackson Browne and your artwork adorns my office in Moline, our living room wall, and my third floor remote office now. We talked art and politics and culture. You and Jane welcomed Conchita to this country when she spoke not a word of English. We visited you at your homes in Rock Island, Milwaukee, East Moline, Cedar Rapids, and Ames. In Milwaukee I wondered why you had such strange toothpaste until I saw it was Jackson’s butt cream. We laughed and laughed. Your sense of humor was gentle and perceptive. Your elegance as a man was and is unmatched by any man I have ever known. My tears make autocorrect a benefit as I try and write this. Jackson still calls me Uncle Dale (but not too loudly anymore). Drew’s grin as he relates his adventures in Ames is straight from you and Jane. We will miss you immeasurably and already there is a deep hole in my life knowing I will only see you in heaven. But your mark in my life is as indelible as your artwork and your laugh. We love you so so much. Dale Haake and Conchita Lucas-Murillo.
