Requiem For A Friend

"You know," he said, looking up with tear-stained eyes and a slight smile, "that's Bradley, busting my chops one last time, letting me know he's still here."

In the coming weeks and years, there will be hundreds of little things like that to remind us of Bradley, our friend and colleague who died late last week after a long fight against colon cancer. He will always be here. Bradley was that type of person.

	Bradley, who was just 34, had worked with us at CMP for eight years, first helping to run the CRN Test Center before moving on to online development. There wasn't a time he didn't go out of his way to do more than what the job title defined, especially in the early days of the Internet when we were forced to make things up as we went along and before we had a formalized IT staff. Whether it was to fix a buggy computer, install some tricky software, or push through a piece of programming code, Bradley would acknowledge the request, no matter how impractical or time consuming, with what became his trademarked line: "Consider it done."

	He was a graduate of Queens College, New York, but Bradley learned technology from jumping in and doing it. He had a natural intelligence, a strong dose of street smarts and a curiosity to learn how to do a job well, if only to please whoever had asked him to do it. He was a graduate student of things they don't give diplomas for. Bradley never looked for credit. A simple "thanks" and a deeper bond of friendship were good enough.

Having grown up in Queens, making a local name for himself on the baseball diamond and football field, Bradley developed the confidence that made him comfortable around any type of person, from the CEO to the receptionist. He was the ultimate player who, through personality, character and native charm, got to know and gain the respect and friendship of everyone on the team, inside and outside the office.

	Part of that native charm was a gift for gab. Bradley loved to talk. After making sure he understood what was needed to do the job, he'd launch into some story that would help you get through the day with a smile or a rant or rave about his beloved Yankees, a team he is still cheering for judging by the Yankees sticker that was neatly adhered to the foot of his silver coffin. Most often, he spoke about the latest antics of his young sons, Bradley Jr. and Christian; his wife, Helene; his parents, John and Florence. Work was important to him. Family was his life.

	Early this spring Bradley left the office on disability and spent as much time as he could with his family. He asked us not to spread the word that he had cancer. He didn't want visitors. He had lost weight and his face showed the toll the battle was taking on him. He didn't want people to have pity; he wanted them to have hope.

Up till the end, he harbored an abundance of hope. He told friends he would pull through because he had to watch his boys play ball, graduate from college, marry. He had enough hope that he and his wife decided to try and have another child. They were hoping for a daughter to round out the family. Helene is expecting that daughter in February. The baby will be among the many things to remind us that Bradley is still here.

A trust fund is being established for Bradley's children. Donations can be sent to: The Baymack Children, C/O Barbara Egloff, 1855 Nitas Place, Wantagh, NY 11793.