Sometimes you meet people, and you automatically know that they are someone you will know for a very long time, with a sense that you’ve known them before, in many previous lives. This was the way I felt when I first met Patrick Price. He was polite, cordial, but quiet when I first met him, but after several conversations, he had a familiar energy to him, that put me at ease pretty quickly.
The first thing I learned about Pat, was that he had an obsessive work ethic. He didn’t just take pride in his work, he was obsessive about making sure things were done, and they were done right–no excuses. When looking back through photos of after work events, where the rest of us were already blowing off steam, Pat was very rarely present, most likely back on location, making sure everything was put away, ready for next day.
If you deserved it, Pat would have your back. If you did not, you wouldn’t. Pat is someone I would have on my side in a gunfight, no matter where in the world, or where in time. He would have stood tall, until the final moments. This is how I picture Pat leaving this world, in a standoff, in a remote part of town, protecting a group of his friends.
When you came to see Pat, he was always on the phone with someone, and you almost always had to wait 10-15 minutes before he had time for you. This was the way it worked, you couldn’t just walk into the office, and he’d have time for you. Pat had a long list of tasks, and people he was dealing with—you always had to accept your place in line, and make the most of it when you could.
When I got the news of his passing, I was overcome with concern that I hadn’t stop by to see him, in the latest trip south from Oregon to Los Angeles. Then I remembered all the other amazing pit stops from the past, where I stopped and talked for 30 minutes, went for a drink, or had dinner. If you could wait 15 minutes to see him, he was always good for a meaningful conversation, that went deep, followed by a solid man-hug, before hitting the road again.
Pat was also a constant presence in the background of my digital self. While I cherished my memories of stopping in to say hello in person, I enjoyed his constant presence on every one of my Foursquare checkin around the globe, and Twitter interactions around random topics, places, pics, and experiences. Pat shared my love of food, drink, and good music, and took the opportunity to chime in, on every experience I shared on the Internetz.
I’m going to miss Pat. I will think about him regularly, throughout my life. He will never diminish in my memories, because I know I will see him again soon—for the same reasons, when I first met him, I knew he was my family.