I'm sitting on the shore of Fourth Lake in the Adirondack Mountains of New York. It's a balmy July afternoon, the kind of idyllic day that, in and of itself, seems to make life worth living for those lucky enough to experience it. The air is fragrant with summer flora, the water warm and refreshing, the blue sky dappled with puffy clouds, moving lazily in the softest of breezes. I can see why this spot garnered such pleasant memory for my father and his sisters, who spent many childhood summers here on the lakefront property their family owned and on which they built a small cottage.

Of the many wonderful qualities I identify with Rocky, it seems to me that "service to others" is the most fundamental. For some, service is something to do. For Rocky, service was an essential part of who he was. From my perspective, service was his first instinct.