I need your help. I want to build something.

Some of you may recall the post I put up a short while back about the passing of my dear friend Tony. Well, as always happens when a loved one passes, I've been dwelling on it a lot. It's funny how the image of his hands with their surprisingly thin skin seems to hit me with more force than his face sometimes, or how I'll spend two hours unable to stop reliving a 10 minute conversation. I don't think I ever once drank rum with him, but he was known for his taste for it, and every once in a while, I take some time to just sit and slowly absorb a small glass, sip by melancholy sip, fancying myself closer to him somehow.

Tony was a marine biologist by training and spent a lot of his time volunteering at the Cal State Long Beach Science Learning Center and with their Mobile Science Museum, which went around to elementary and middle schools and showed off lots of little educational and fun demonstrations to get kids interested in science. Tony loved the sea, and his favorite portion of the display was the tanks that held the sea life. There was a loop playing at the funeral which included video of him showing sea stars to kids and playing to a crowd.


My wife still can't think about Tony without remembering the visit to his home when she opened a cooler looking for a drink and was attacked by the many tentacles of the octopi Tony was caring for in anticipation of bringing the Science Learning Center some new specimens. Even as a kid he loved the sea, and he volunteered at the Science Learning Center because he wanted to bring his passion to other youngsters. I have a very clear picture in my head of that exact image you see above, but with him as a boy, from when we were maybe 10 or 12 years old and we went to a local aquarium, that same amusement on his face as he reached into the touch tank. Here he is as a child, not too long after I first met him, I'm sure, with his beach-art of an anatomically correct shark (count the gills!).


Well, I recently got a very solid reminder that despite my feelings of loss, he isn't entirely gone from this world, and I decided I'd ask you all to help me keep another little piece of him with us. After his death, Tony's sister, Jane, and the director of the Science Learning Center, Jim McKibben, collaborated to set up the Anthony T. Liaw Memorial fund. I recently opened my email to see a notice from Tony's sister that the fund has until December 31, 2009 to hit the goal of $25,000. If we can meet this goal, that turns the fund into an endowment. That is, the funds would then be kept permanently and invested to provide income for continued support of the organization Tony spent so much time with. Currently, the fund is at around $17,000, which is certainly not too shabby. I'm writing this post in the hope that you all can help me push it over that line so it isn't just a one-time donation.

I also think it may be worthwhile to include a partial transcript of Jim McKibben's words at Tony's funeral, to give you someone else's perspective on why he was so special. After a brief introduction, Jim had the following to say.

He tutored many of his classmates. I would often walk into the Student Learning center to see Tony helping other students preparing for exams. From that point on, Tony became a regular part of the Science Learning Center. I would see him on an almost daily basis. Needless to say, through the years, Tony volunteered literally hundreds of hours of his time to make the program a success.

Because Tony had such a fondness for all animals, he took on the responsibility of helping to maintain the various animals in their enclosures. He took a great deal of delight in getting one of the snakes out for our presentations to our young visitors. He encouraged them to touch the snake, to overcome their fear of snakes. Tony was truly a natural when it came to helping people become comfortable around snakes and other animals. Tony mentioned to me on one occasion that he remembered when the mobile science museum had come to his school, and how it had made a lasting impression on him.

He was, without a doubt, the most reliable and dedicated volunteer the programs have ever seen. He was always punctual and I knew that I could count on him for his help whenever needed. Even after graduation, when Tony began working for California Department of Fish and Game, he told me to call him whenever we had an upcoming trip with the Mobile Science Museum, and if it was at all possible, he would be there. There were some special occasions when Tony was able to change his work schedule to help out with the Mobile Science Museum....Tony could always be seen at the touch tank, encouraging people to explore and touch the sea creatures that he found so fascinating. Tony was more than just a student volunteer, he became a close friend.

We talked about a whole range of topics as we rode in the mobile science museum to our visitation sites. ... Today, I can't help but walk by the Science Learning center and expect to see Tony sitting at a computer, looking up with his beaming smile and saying, "hi, Jim!" He will be forever missed, but he will be never forgotten.

The official announcement establishing the memorial fund included the above two photos and the following text.

The Anthony T. Liaw Memorial Fund has been established in his memory to support the Cal State University Long Beach Science Learning Center and Mobile Science Museum, a wonderful opportunity for children to learn about science and marine biology first-hand. The CSULB Foundation is a 501 C3 non-profit charity, and tax-deductible gifts may be made out to:

CSULB Foundation

c/o Jim McKibben, MS

Director, Science Learning Center/Mobile Science Museum

College of Natural Sciences & Mathematics

1250 Bellflower Blvd, FO5-104

Long Beach, CA 90840-4501

mckibben@csulb.edu (562) 985-4841

The Science Learning Center/Mobile Science Museum program website is under development at: www.beach-science.org.

Please help us establish this endowment, to let Tony's legacy continue to bring joy and education to thousands of kids in and around the Long Beach area, so that he may never be forgotten. Please help me do this last thing for my friend.

I lost a friend this weekend

Editor's Note:

The phrase "worst day of my life" has come to be something of a joke in our home. I mean, when we were dealing with flesh-eating bacteria, that was the worst day of my life. Little Monkey's first 5 hour cranio-surgery? Worst day of my life. Needlenoggin and Rorysaurus' fall? Yup. Worst. Day. Ever. After that, even more cranio surgery couldn't compare (although a CF diagnosis would have trumped the fall, I think).

Well, had this been 2006 instead of 2009, this would have been the worst week of Tuffy's life. We were in SoCal, doing the family thing, taking Rorysaurus to D-Land, and taking his best friend out for a birthday dinner. Tony, known to many friends as the "shady Asian" turned 28 on June 18th, and Tuffy and Tony's sister Dr. Jane all went out and had a nice grown-up meal. I stayed with the kids, which didn't make me cranky until Little Monkey started throwing up. I thought about texting and asking him to come home, but he only got to see Tony two or three times a year, so I figured I'd just ask him to pick up baby tylenol on his way home. They did one better when Dr. Jane wrote out an Rx for anti-nausea meds. They hit the friends' house we were staying at at ten-thirty-ish and hung out until midnight. Then Tony and Dr. Jane got up and left.

Friday and Saturday were just a lot of driving and dealing with family (AHHHHHHHHHHHHH), but we made it home. We were making all the "got home safe" phone calls, I in the living room and Tuffy in our room. All of a sudden, he calls out for me to hang up the phone and get in there. I do, wondering what on earth could have upset him this badly.

"Tony drowned." Quietly, Tuffy relayed all he knew of the story, that Tony had been leading Dr. Jane and some friends on a diving trip, they'd all finished and he'd gone back for a diving buoy. Once her equipment was returned, Dr. Jane realized that he wasn't back, and asked someone to go look for him. The guy dove under, and came back telling her to call 9-1-1. He was brought out of the water but couldn't be resuscitated. He was an experienced diver, and as of now, no one knows what caused the accident, and there's no date yet set for the funeral, because the coroner's office isn't done with their job.

I can't eulogize Tony the way that Tuffy can, so here are his thoughts in his words:

Hey, All. I don't normally post here, leaving that to my hard working Round Peg, but this definitely qualifies as a Mishap. Round Peg knows me well, knows it helps me to write, so she suggested I post about it here.

A mere two days after I had dinner with my oldest friend for his birthday, I got word he'd passed away in a diving accident. Tony was a very experienced diver, and I still just can't grasp how this happened. Here he is enjoying the ocean, probably still in high school at the time the photo was taken.


As Round Peg commented after she heard, short of a zombie attack or pirates on the high seas, this was probably how he wanted to go. It was way too early, but he died doing something he loved, with someone he loved. He was a marine biologist by training, and a mischievous prankster by nature. Part of me still expects another phone call apologizing for a joke gone too far, one big Tom Sawyer for which I can laugh, beat the hell out of him, and go back to normal.


Anyway, I wrote up what I'd like to say at his funeral, and thought I'd post it here with some photos added for flair.

Eulogy For Anthony

I first met Tony in the third grade. Mrs. Jamile at Anza asked me to show this skinny new kid around, teach him the ropes. One of the rules we had at recess was that as soon as the whistle blew for the end of play time, we had to freeze in place so the teachers could count heads, and the kids all made a silly game of it like freeze tag. Some of us would try and time it so we had to maintain awkward positions until the teachers said we could move again, sometimes falling over. I told Tony about this ahead of time so he'd know what to do, but when the whistle actually blew, he froze like the rest of us only for a moment. Then he looked over at me, grinned is crazy grin, and changed positions when nobody was looking. Then he did it again. Well I was stunned. I knew this kid would play with breaking rules forever, and get himself into a lot of trouble if I didn't try to keep him in line. So I spent the next 20 years trying to be a moderating influence on him, and he was ever the mischievous devil on my shoulder.

Tony brought me a lot of joy. No matter how upset or down I was, he could always get me to laugh. As another close friend of mine observed after meeting Tony just once, he was determined that life not be boring, and that was always fun to observe, and to share in.


I don't know if I was as entertaining to him, but I did my best to give what I could, and the most obvious thing for most of our friendship was related to our difference in size. Some examples:

When he took me to a Less Than Jake concert for my 20th birthday, Tony wanted to get right up to the front of the stage. For those of you who've been there, that means a very tight, suffocating press of people. I played bodyguard and literally spread my arms against the crowd to give Tony breathing space and let him see the show in peace, and in the process took a protesting bite on the arm from someone angered by my push-back. With Mike playing wingman, I'm sure some there thought Tony was a very wealthy trust fund baby with a pair of thugs guarding him.

When we were kids walking home together from middle school, I would strap his overweight backpack over the top of mine and carry both so that he wouldn't have to. He didn't force me to do this, but he did thank me with many a hotdog from the 7-11 we passed on the way. That scene, of me carrying both backpacks on a mile and a half walk, was echoed maybe a decade later on a backpacking trip. Yes, Tony was unprepared for the weight of his pack and the effects of the elevation, and though he started out carrying his own load, by the time we made it from the car to the lake five miles away, the only thing he was carrying was his AR-15, which made quite a sight. I'm sure our banter and the grin on my sweaty face was the only thing that kept passersby from running to the ranger station with stories of a hostage situation. We scared the hell out of some boyscouts.

He wore a firearm under his tux to my wedding. He lit fire to gifts from an ex-girlfriend and danced around it. He made explosives as a gifts. There are dozens of stories I could tell you about him, but we'd be here all day.

Tony wasn't perfect. His faults were plain to see and he didn't shrink from them; in fact he'd constantly challenge your interpretation of such things. But he was always there for me. Any time I needed anything he could provide, he came through, whether it was lockpicking services, a ride somewhere in the dead of night, or a place for my high school girlfriend, now my wife, to stay for a night when her parents had kicked her out and I was out of town. (Thanks for pretending not to notice your room had been stayed in, Jane.) He would demand payment in the form of food or doughnuts, but would come through even if none were available, if only with a loud and obnoxious pretense of irritation and inconvenience.

I never managed to get him to sign my yearbook in high school, and I never got him to visit me in Northern California after I moved away. He didn't like being mushy. He only accepted hugs from me on rare occasions. Aside from the love he showered on his dog, overt displays of affection were rare. One of the most surprising for me was when on the day of our graduation from High School, he asked me to take a picture with him. Now, this was Tony. I'd figured it wasn't worth my asking him for a picture, and then he asked me for one. I was honored.



Tony taught me a lot about how to enjoy life. I am who I am in large part because of him. I loved him like a brother since we were children, and I'll miss him for the rest of my life.

Thanks for reading.