It is difficult for me to put into words my sadness at reading Todd's Gahagan's report of Fred Cady's passing -- and that for many reasons, one of which I will always regret.
Fred was in Denver at the end of April. I had lunch with him and with another ham friend on the 25th. Fred seemed a bit tired, maybe from having just driven to Denver from his home in Montana; but if he was feeling worse than that he allowed no clue. Because he visited Denver from time to time our getting together was not unusual. Like every other time, conversation with him was invigorating and wide-ranging. And as always he was creative and good humored and interesting and knowledgeable, and genuinely helpful about questions I had been wrestling with and wanted to share. It was for me a delightful occasion.
A week or so later he sent a text saying that for medical reasons he would be staying a while longer in Denver, so we should arrange lunch again. Then he entered the hospital. I got a message to Fred via another mutual friend, asking if I could visit him there. The reply came back saying sure. I'll find him in his room among a bunch of tubing.
Because I have been, and still am, away from Denver part of this week and through tomorrow, I arranged to visit Sunday, right after I returned. I was going to bring him my KX3, with the binding post adapter and a makeshift stealth antenna he might surreptitiously dangle out the hospital window. I was thinking just last night about talking with him about the new K4 and how quickly there might be yet another KE7X text to help us make the most of it.
I did not know the precariousness of his condition and so missed the opportunity to say goodbye. And I missed the chance to do for Fred a small favor, a friendly though trivial thing, that would have been the tiniest fraction of all that he has done for all of us.