Remembering Scott David Schroeder June 13, 1958 - April 16, 2024 When Scott was eight, he went to second grade in Oxford where his father, Dr. W. Widick Schroeder, Professor of Divinity, was on sabbatical at University of Oxford. Scott was the only American in his classroom, and the other kids used to call him a yankee, to which he would say, “No! I’m a Cub’s fan.”   In high school, Scott enrolled in three physics-based science courses called Special Science Sequence. You had to be in the top five percent of your class to take the course. It was a self-directed curriculum and Scott apparently spent a fair amount of time checking out record albums in the school library instead of studying. As a result, he ended up having to go to school for a month extra as a freshmen and sophomore. Scott was not alone in this behavior and the instructor did not continue the innovative program in subsequent years. Both of these stories (as told by Scott’s father, age 95) are indicative of who Scott was—a funny, incredibly smart, independently-minded, sports and music lover who was not afraid to go his own way. To live life on his own terms. He skied in jeans and never apologized for it. He snuck into Chicago jazz clubs when he was a teenager and skipped school to watch the Cubs. He crashed weddings with his sister Carla. He had to make bail a time or two. He had one dance move. He almost never rolled to a complete stop. He left cabinet doors open and rarely squeegeed the shower door. He had more mock turtlenecks than Steve Jobs. He was unapologetically Scott—and that, to all who knew him, was a funny, loving and kind husband, a proud father, a caring son, a great brother, and a true friend. In his professional life he solved problems, led teams, created products, started companies, saved companies, sold companies, met with governors, testified before congress, mentored people, and so on. But that isn’t what defined him. That was what he did and not who he was. Anyone who met him knew he was exceptionally smart. But you only had to be around him for a short time to see who he truly was, a kind and genuine soul. Scott believed in finding the humor in everything. He left no pun undone. At the same time he was deeply sentimental. He wasn’t particularly materialistic—his treasures were the things that meant something to his heart: The book his father wrote; the baseball stadium pins he collected on roadtrips with his best friend Paul; the Mickey Mouse sweater his son Matt wore to his first Rockies game; the Father’s Day poem his young daughter Erin wrote and he carried with him wherever he went; the funny 40th birthday card Hannah, his stepdaughter, gave him that he forever quoted. Handmade valentines from his wife, Christina, he read over and over and over. These were the mementos and memories that made his life rich. Scott leaves behind many people who loved him. The list is long, and here, they would only be names on paper. What mattered is that their names were written on his heart and his on ours—his cherished wife, his dear father, his deeply loved sister and her family, and his three kids who were his sun, moon, and stars. We did not have enough time with you, Scott David Schroeder. An eternity would not have been enough.