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Highlights from legacy stories we've been honored to help tell. Shared with permission.
OBITUARY
Flags were lowered to half-mast on Balboa Island, California, when word spread that Geoff had passed away.
Geoff was one of those rare, unapologetically manly men: equally at home debating a fourth-and-goal call as he was perfecting a grilled steak. He could get misty over a flawlessly executed two-minute drill, or over meat pulled from the fire at exactly the right moment.
A graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy—and the youngest officer ever to captain a ship during the Vietnam War—Geoff was fastidious by nature and by training. He made his bed tight enough for a quarter to bounce, lined up his shoes with military precision, and tolerated no crumbs in his Mercedes convertibles, each washed religiously every Saturday for decades. No rings from the Mai Tais he famously poured, either—everything had its place, and stayed there. Each morning, he read a passage from the Bible, carrying it with him through the day, something steady to reflect on as he moved through the world.
We help families create eulogies, obituaries, legacy letters, milestone speeches, and heirloom histories—stories meant to last.
EULOGY
Teddi was a fashionista before the word ever came into existence. Honestly, no one here would be surprised to learn she coined it herself. From the latest shoes to perfectly applied makeup (even if her youngest granddaughter thought she could do a better job with the eyeliner), Teddi always looked smart, polished, and effortlessly stylish—trendy, but always age-appropriate.
Her love of fashion began early. After attending FIT, she worked as a copywriter for Macy’s, where she didn’t just describe clothing—she sketched it, too. And she never stopped sketching.
As you leave today, you’ll see many of her drawings. Please take one with you—a small reminder of Teddi’s creativity, her eye for beauty, and the joy.
LEGACY LETTER
I want everyone to know that I did finally get my handicap down to an 11. And I owe that to my Schenley Park buddies (all at least 15 years younger than me) who made me feel like I was never slowing them down. I appreciate the way that they all pretended that they wanted to take a golf cart, when I really knew that would have rather walked. Boy, did I love the game of golf. It was the first time at a driving range that I was able to tell my daughter how much I loved her and how proud she made me with her life choices. It was on a golf trip to Arizona with my son-in-law that I knew she had made the best choice of all. I want to say that golf has been a metaphor for my life.
…if I can give any advice at all to my grandkids, it’s that family needs to come first if you truly want fulfillment. And while I am giving out advice, remember to finish your swing...
“Gail helped me travel back to all those fun and memorable times with my dad and I was able to give a eulogy that he would have appreciated.”
– NAOMI, FAIRFIELD, CONNECTICUT
ANNIVERSARY SPEECH
On my 100th, I’d like to kick off today’s festivities with a few words of my own. Christened “Dellarose,” a name chosen, I was told, because my parents had run out of ideas by the time I came along—their sixth child. My mother asked a nun from our local parish for help, and Dellarose it was. Who knew a nun could be so creative? I never felt the name fit me. Too fancy. Too big for someone under 5’3” who never weighed more than 110 pounds. So I became Dee. Just Dee. To almost everyone—though some of my grandkids call me GG.
Did you know I was once a princess? A real Brownie Princess, in one of the first troops to sell Girl Scout cookies. Thankfully, it was after we were expected to bake them, too. I sold more than any other scout, earned more badges than could fit on my sash, and felt my confidence take off. I was
HEIRLOOM STORY
If this guitar could talk, it would tell you how a Martin classic acoustic guitar (circa 1963) became more than an instrument — it became part of Popi's essence.
It would take you back to Altadena, California, where it was given to him by his dad, Cliffie — an amateur musician who played mandolin in local bands and even once at the Rose Bowl. From there, it followed a dreamboat to Berkeley, where it had its full-blown hippie moment — strumming Dylan tunes in the Psi U house, chords echoing with protest and possibility.
It made a brief detour through Fort Bliss, where We Gotta Get Out of This Place wasn’t just a song — it was a daily anthem ….