It’s great fortune to make it through four dozen years of life and never have lost someone close to you. As ever, all such streaks come to an end, usually tragically, and my story is no exception. 

2015 has no right feeling as long ago as it does, but nevertheless, that was the year I met my other dad. I had flown all the way to Florida to watch a dear Academy classmate get married. As I wandered in later to the festivities than most of the local guests, I went to find the groom, who quickly introduced me to a friend and mentor of his. This otherwise unremarkable guest was an old (well, old-ER) Army pilot who he thought I’d hit it off with. Boy howdy, was he was right. I sat down to talk to Charly Schell for the very first time that night, and we didn’t wrap up until almost three hours later, when both of our dates finally separated us just to get to bed. In the subsequent days, I was more formally introduced to Charly’s chaperone from that evening, his wife Kelli, and to his extraordinary wealth management practice (and its principals). We extended our conversations over the phone, and back to our respective hometowns.  

At that point, my relationship with my own father was less than a year away from exploding in a pique of politically-fueled rage and false criminal allegations (that still keep our family apart), and I would shortly be in need of a male role model in my life. Charly was one of the few people who helped me to make sense of my family breaking into pieces over politics that none of us had really cared about that much, and the directionless and detached feelings that the separation would bring. Our phone calls almost never clocked in under an hour, and while there was plenty of conflict, there was always more love than anything else.  We never concluded a talk with anything but.  He helped me through the starts and ends of relationships, business ventures, and chapters in life. In time, Charly would come to sign his emails to me, as he did to countless others, with the only title he really ever cared about: “Dad”.

There will be a larger crowd gathered to memorialize Charly than most of us will expect. Charly had a way of making everyone feel like they were the most important person in his life. It’s a shame that this is how many of us will finally realize just how many lives he touched in the same way, but there’s a beauty in it, as well, and I’m hoping to hold on to that for as long as I can.  I am heartened to know that neither Charly nor Kelli will have to suffer this world without one another.  I don’t know two people better suited to be together, and wherever they are, I’m glad they aren’t alone. It’s to those they leave behind to remember that we aren’t alone, either. It’s up to us to care for their legacy now, including Carter, Savannah, Cateechee, and so much more. I’m confident we’re up to the task, I just wish we didn’t have to start so soon.

I’ve often said that I refuse to eulogize anyone with rose-colored glasses. We ought to be, in death, the sum of what we were in life; no less, but certainly, no more. To that end, Charly was not a perfect man. He struggled with his own demons, but he almost never cared to share that fight, the wounds it left him with, or what he had lost along the way. Like the consummate father, he kept a stiff upper lip, his chest out, and his head held high. Even in his weakest and darkest moments, he found grace in paternity, and in giving peace to others, even as a war raged inside of him. Charly was a world-class pilot, financial and tax strategist, and leader of men; but I expect he would have traded every bit of that in just to be remembered as a great father. In some way, I suppose he has and now he will be.  

Rest in peace, Charly and Kelli Schell, from one of your many adopted sons, who loved you both more than he could ever say.