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Wow, bit of a shock discovering this news. Doesn't seem quite fair.
A lot of familiar names here, Andy did a lot and touched a lot of people along the way. Some wonderful and moving anecdotes. Lots of friends from the rowing world, no surprise there, I am part of that world too, but my first encounters with Andy were something a little different ...
... we were fierce rivals in light club hockey at Exeter. Light club hockey was for the beginners, below heavy club, which was below JV, which was below varsity. To the chagrin of my now wife, then women's varsity wing, light club practiced with the women's varsity. Andy and I were two of the larger, faster moving light club objects, never on the same team, gunning for each other at every opportunity, while trying to avoid damaging any of the women's varsity skaters. We both got our licks in, and things were sometimes heated, but we had a lot of fun and laughs.
And the rowing, well just look at some of the names here, reads like a who's who of the elite rowing world.
Well done Andy. Thanks for the memories, and we'll miss you.
- Marshall Burchard - PEA Light Club Hockey '78 / Cornell Heavyweight Crew '82
“I Will See You in Heaven”
For our citizenship is in heaven, from which also we eagerly wait for a
Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.
Philippians 3: 20 (NAS)
Read John 14: 1 – 3
Andy lay frighteningly still, barely able to move or speak. He was nearing the end of a tough battle with pancreatic cancer that had ravaged his body so much he was barely recognizable. My memories of Andy, from when we were teammates, are of his powerfully muscled physique and broad grin that used to light up his entire face. He had been the greatest American rower of the 1980’s. Now cancer was just a few hours away from finally destroying his body, but not his soul.
The news of Andy’s cancer diagnosis just ten months earlier was shocking. Andy was just 43 at the time. Statistics show that pancreatic cancer takes a very large percentage of its victims in less than one year. Andy’s positive reaction was “I’ve been 99th percentile my entire life, I’m going to try and be the same now.” I had seen Andy the year before when he told me that he was a member of Grace Chapel in Lexington. When we met after his first operation our conversation eventually turned to Christianity and eternal life. Andy’s soft, quiet voice became firm as he said, “I have put my faith in Jesus Christ as my Savior.”
Ruth, Andy’s devoted wife, and I stood next to his bed and spoke of the joys of their relationship over the past two years. My voice started cracking with emotion as I realized this would be the last time I would see Andy in this world. “He definitely recognizes you,” Ruth said excitedly as Andy feebly lifted his bony left hand. I took it and held it tightly. “I love you Andy. All of us love you so much.” The conversation eventually drifted off; the time to leave had come. I leaned over and kissed Andy’s forehead, speaking softly into his ear, “God bless you and keep you. I will see you in heaven.”
Have you ever spoken the words “he is in a better place” or “she is at peace now” to someone who has had a loved one pass away? Those words are comforting to hear especially if the loved one had suffered through a lengthy illness. I must confess that sometimes when I say those words of consolation about someone that I am unfamiliar with, I think to myself, ‘Do I really know they are in a better place? Am I sure their soul is at peace?’ Jesus was not sent into our world to judge us. He came to save us and give us life (John 3:16, 17). It is definitely not up to me to judge whether anyone’s soul is in heaven or hell.
Believers in the salvation offered by Jesus Christ can put their complete trust in His promises that there is a place for us in His Father’s house (John 14:2) and that our names are recorded in heaven (Luke 10:20) where we will live in eternal peace and joy praising God once our earthly life is over. I have been close to only two Christians who are now with the Lord in heaven. My mother was the first, Andy is the second. I smile and am so happy that they are with Jesus and all the citizens of heaven. I do not fear death because of this blessed assurance. I am a bit nervous when I stop to ponder the means of my death. However, I am certain that God will give me strength, as He did to my mother and to Andy, to make it through the darkness of death into the brilliant presence of Jesus.
Dear Heavenly Father,
We praise you for sending your Son to reconcile us to yourself. We pray that
we may glorify you with our lives in this world and that you will, in your time,
usher us safely into the next. Amen
- Fred Borchelt
Dearest Ruth - A little story. Last week I was talking to my brother, Jay Paris, and mentioned that a friend's husband had just died after the most magnificent encounter with illness I had ever heard about. I explained how you had kept us all with you both in a generous and gracious way -- tender, joyful, honest, helpful-to-the-other. I also told Jay how very happy I was to have had dinner one night with Andy in New York just to have taken him in, to get a taste of this so obviously remarkable man who so obviously loved you with all he was.
Something prompted Jay to ask what Andy's last name was. I said Sudduth. I could hear Jay stop, telephonically, in his tracks. "Andy SUDDUTH?" he asked, with emphasis. Yes, I replied.
He then told me for the next twenty minutes about, Andy Sudduth, the greatest stroke who ever was. (Jay rowed for the Union Boat Club, stroked the Princeton eight in the late 60s and early 70s among other boats, and has written from time to time about the magic and spirit of rowing. Last summer he and Steve Brooks, who stroked the Harvard crew in those years, tried rowing from the Newell Boat House to Deer Island. Don't ask!) Jay had never met Andy, but he felt that he knew him, that they were brothers, somehow. For Jay, it wasn't just that Andy was the quintessential rower; he embodied and extended the values that great rowing both relies on and expresses. Tears streamed silently down my face as Jay was talking, without a pause, about the truly amazing (if the human race is lucky) once-every-few- generations-Andy-Sudduth. Over and over again he said, I cannot tell you how great this guy was.
I am not writing you anything you don't know, both from other people's stories and from your own experience. But I wanted you to hear again that Andy's vitality and principles and standards found their way into the lives of people who never had a chance to work or talk or laugh or sail or row with him. You did, and I hope that somehow your life will be forever buoyed by having loved and been loved by this particular man.
With boundless affection,
- Susan B.
Andy talked me into joining the crew team our senior year at Exeter. I managed
to make the 3rd varsity boat. We went undefeated and celebrated the NEIRA championship
1st boat won that year (1979.) After Warren Allmon had graduated Exeter in 1978,
Andy used my room as his on-campus hangout so we spent a lot of time together.
One practice the coaches took us out to a big hill and had us run sprints up
it repeatedly. I wasn’t a fast runner but had some endurance. That day
I had enough even to keep up with our team’s best rower, Andy Sudduth.
Andy and I were good friends, and misery loves company, so we took this hill
together each time. On the last climb Andy began to race me. I stayed with him.
He went faster. I stayed with him. Faster still, but I wouldn’t give up.
Every part of my body was screaming for me to slow down, but I wouldn’t.
We ran faster, step for step, side by side, sprinting up that hill. Finally,
with about a third of it left, I lagged a half-step behind him. Soon he was
a few yards ahead and then waiting at the top with a big smile beneath his shock
of strawberry blonde hair.
We patted each other on the back, too exhausted to talk, descended the hill
and ran together back to the boathouse.
Years later we shared a laugh about that day, and he remembered as well as I
did the very moment he finally pulled away. He said, “If you had gone
one step further you would have had me.” That was nice of him to say.
His constant humor and encouragement made him a good friend. But even if he
thought it was true, it wasn’t. Had I gone another step he would have
gone two. Had I gone 10 he would have gone 12. Andy never gave up. He never
gave in. He never rested, never stopped training, and never lost focus. That’s
what made Andy a champion.
We lost touch as family and career took off over the years. Today I am an Episcopal
priest serving a lovely parish in Florida. I shared Andy's story and witness
with my congregation last Sunday; he touched 160 more lives. Always a step or
2 ahead...
I know Andy is at peace, thank God for our time together, and pray his witness
and example will carry on for all of us. God bless and keep you, Zoe and Sophie.
Your father is right about that. How fitting that his girls are named for Life
and Wisdom.
- Tim Nunez
Ruth - In keeping with his jovial but dedicated nature, I think you will enjoy the first memory that came to mind when I reflected on him. It was close to the end of the term, the day of final presentations for one of our classes. Andrew had stayed up all night preparing and was clearly exhausted. He and his team were presenting on stage and one could help but notice Andy swaying and doing an occasional head bob. Then it was his turn at the podium and he began fine. About half-way through his dialog, his words began to trail off and he with his eyes still open, he fell backwards completely asleep. A couple of worrisome seconds past and he jumped up, apologized and continued where he had left off. (Or at least he tried anyway, everyone broke into laughter because of the way he tried to pass the event off as typical and usual.) The way Andy kept a straight face, I frequently wondered if he was aware how funny his off-beat gestures were.
I hope you and your family find peace and happiness in the wake of his wonderful life.
- Dave Sprogis
Posted by Steve Dalzell, coxswain of the 1983 UCLA crew:
"I was the stroke for UCLA and Andy was the stroke for Harvard in that
race. There were over 5000 people, UCLA cheer leaders, and the race announcer
Mic Fleetwood of Fleetwood Mac lining Ballona Creek.
"We were so radically pumped at the starting line that when the French
commands were given, we went off at a 47 settling to a 39. We had 6-7 seats
at 500 when I heard their cox say 'alright, they've had their fun!' With that,
they matched us and...they were gone. By 1000 they were even and by 1500 they
were three seats open. Even though I had to hand Andy my shirt in front of Mindy
Miller (A cheer leader who still gets me through lonely nights on the road),
the roar of that many people and the incredible energy of that day I will take
to my own grave.
"Harvard won the national championship that year and I hope that Andy is
now rowing on a clear patch of windless water. He is going to need the practice
because someday I'll be visiting him and we are going to have a little re-match.
Thanks for the memories!"
- Augie Johnson Stroke, UCLA 1983
It's easy to lose count of the races where Andy did something incredible, but there was one year, I think it was 1985, when it seemed that Andy was capable of anything. Andy somehow seemed able to control a race from anywhere, even from open water down. I remember standing on the crowded little beach near the finish line of the Eastern Sprints as the varsity eights final approached. If I remember correctly, Andy and his Harvard boat were well back of an excellent Brown (? I think) crew, but everyone was waiting to see when Andy and his crew would turn it on. Sure enough, as they passed the beach, Harvard caught the leader and got their bowball in front just in time, as if Andy had choreographed it.
I know it's only rowing, but at the time it meant nearly everything to me and many of us watching from that beach, and to see such mastery of the sport - and such a passionate commitment of body and soul - was something to behold, and something so rare in day-to-day life.
There's a line near the end of "A River Runs Through It" that comes to mind. It comes as the family goes fly-fishing together one last time, and Norman is watching his brother reel in the best catch of his life:
At that moment I knew surely and clearly, that I was witnessing perfection.
My brother stood before us,
not on a bank of the Big Blackfoot River...
but suspended above the earth
free from all its laws
like a work of art.
- Eric Hamilton
Ruth - I've been reflecting about Andy quite a bit since his untimely death,
and wanted to pass a few thoughts on to you. Andy was a very unique person.
He was very talented and accomplished in so many ways, but quite humble. He
was inquisitive, tenacious, thoughtful and kind. When we were interviewing Andy
at American Internet, I spoke with a former colleague at Centerline, checking
Andy's references. I was struck by how much she cared about Andy being happy,
and finding fertile ground for his steady stream of ideas and innovations. I
think Andy often engendered that kind of caring and respect, because he always
believed in himself so much. Whether his belief in his & ideas left you awed
or frustrated, it was something you had to respect. And he could walk the walk
too. Andy could write code like a whirlwind, and whip up prototypes and implementations
faster than almost anyone.
Andy had the kind of optimism that many folks would envy. It wasn't based on
blind faith that everything would work out for the best. It was based on his
belief in his own abilities, strength and fortitude. As he showed time and time
again, it was well-placed. I'll miss Andy's smile, and I'll miss the challenge
of keeping up with his thinking. I'll miss a lot about Andy that's hard to put
into words. I'm so sorry for your loss, a loss which echoes through so many
who knew Andy.
Sincerely,
Josh Littlefield
Last Friday, I met a man whose wife recently died of cancer. Thinking of you,
I asked him what was the most helpful thing anyone said or did for him. Without
considering it a second, he mentioned a passage from a book of writings by Marcus
Aurelius that someone gave to him. I've copied the passage, attached and below,
and am sending it -- it describes both you and Andy.
After talking with the man for about two hours, we discovered that he went to
high school with Andy. His name is John Hays. He sends his love, and so do I.
From "Marcus Aurelius: The Emperor's Handbook", a new translation
by C. Scot Hicks and David Hicks
49. Be like a rocky promontory against which the restless surf continually pounds:
it stands fast while the churning sea is lulled to sleep at its feet. I hear
you say, "How unlucky that this should happen to me!" Not at all!
Say instead, "How lucky that I am not broken by what has happened and am
not afraid of what is about to happen. The same blow might have struck anyone,
but not many would have absorbed it without capitulation or complaint."
After all, why do we speak of good luck and bad luck anyway? Would you call
something that is not contrary to a man's nature a piece of bad luck? And can
something be contrary to a man's nature that nature wills? Well, you know perfectly
well what nature wills. Do the waves that crash upon you prevent you in any
way from being just, forgiving, moderate, discerning, truthful, loyal, free-spirited,
and in possession of all the other noble qualities that nature wills for man's
well-being? The next time you are tempted to complain of your bad luck, remember
to apply this maxim: "Bad luck borne nobly is good luck."
- Lynda Radosevich
It is interesting to me: I think each of us has one friend that is a constant, or a given...always there, doing his thing, sort of a constant force. You know you could fall out of touch for a while and then pick up like you had seen each other last night. Well, the thing is, Andy was that for me! Each time I saw him, he had the same energy, force, will, just focused in a different direction. He was there, shoulders sloping, hands jammed into pockets, bouncing on his toes, looking like there were 1000 issues he needed to solve, yet he wanted to take time to talk. Sort of a constant battle raging within him. I smile when I think of that image, and of all of the memories and images Suds and I shared, that is the image I will carry of him. Yes, I do need to call him Suds, because he was always that to me as well...
One thing that really struck me in the end was indeed what you said: he was complete. I am sure that, unlike me and probably many others, he always knew what was going on inside himself (he was that smart). His ability to communicate what was going on in the last couple of years was incredible. I left the hospital after he spoke with his cousin abut the "why you don't need to worry about me" discussion and I was really awe struck with how incredibly smart, caring, noble and dignified he was. What a great journey.
- Jon Smith
I worked closely with Andy at AIC. I hired him, in fact. We worked together on AIC's first product (a web server) and several subsequent products. We were certainly side by side in the early days.
I didn't go to work for Cisco and subsequently we've had 2 children so I've been busy and have fallen out of touch.
I only recently learned of Andy's illness. Josh Littlefield and I wanted to come visit just to say hello and see if we could make Andy laugh. I guess we ran out of time.
As you can imagine, both of us being perfectionists (and neither admitting it) Andy and I butted heads a lot. But I have to admit, he was always cheerful and gracious. And with nothing short of unbounded optimism. He was amazing to work with. I like to think I'm pretty good and he could still best me without breaking a sweat. Thankfully I've never been a rower or he'd have spanked me there as well.
I have always had great respect for Andy and his accomplishments. Maybe even a little jealousy. He did so many things well and yet you'd never know unless you happened to ask or somehow accidently found out. I remember him telling me stories about working at Harvard and rowing and the Olympics. I remember wishing he'd gotten a gold medal - it sure seems like he deserved it.
I just wanted you to know that I enjoyed my time with Andy and I'll never forget it or him. He "set the bar high" and we all chased after him and were better for it.
I am sorry for your loss. If there is anything I can do to help, please ask.
- Brad Parker
Ruth - I am sorry for your loss. Andy was a huge part of some great memories
for me and many others. He was truly a special and unique person. I will miss
him and I will never forget the times we had together.
Whenever I would see Andy I always enjoyed calling him, "Young Andrew".
A title coined by John Everett who rowed with Andy in a silver medal winning
coxed 4 in 1981. Andy had just finished his Freshman year at Harvard and was
now one of the youngest rowers to ever win a medal for the US National Team.
This was the start of an incredible rowing career for Andy and a nickname which
for me personified the person. Young and full of life. We had some great times
together. The ones I remember the best occurred away from the race course. After
a successful competition in Munich the team was celebrating in a German beer
tent. In our enthusiasm Andy and I accidentally broke our beer steins together
as we toasted our hosts and competitors. It was a moment of surprise as we both
stared at the shards of glass handles left in our hands but the revelry continued.
Another memorable moment for me was after a pre Olympic regatta on Lake Casitas.
Andy and I borrowed two rubber inflatable referee launches and played bumper
boats while speeding around the lake. I was sent flying into the lake by a well
timed hit by Andy and he sped away laughing in his beaming way as I splashed
about. Andy knew how to handle boats. He was mischievous and reveled in his
pulling one over on you. Once on a bus ride to a competition Andy asked to see
my digital watch and like a master rubics cube player he changed the date, time,
year and every other setting I had on my watch in about 10 seconds. Again well
played, Young Andrew.
A few weeks ago I met with Saiya, Zoe and Sophia at Darwin's coffee shop outside
of Harvard Square. I had never spent much time with the Sudduth children before.
I was both thrilled and comforted by the fact that I could see the same spark
of life, energy and enthusiasm in their eyes as we all found in Andy's. Whether
Zoe and Sophia find their passion in the beautiful combination of boats and
water or in the pursuit of deciphering a computer program or simply reveling
in this beautiful world around them and testing the waters on all the choices
the world has to offer them. I am sure they will find there way as there father
did with quiet thoughtfulness, intense enthusiasm and a complete dedication
to living life to it's fullest. I am reminded of a quote that a friend of mine
found inspirational. The quote is by William Shedd; "A ship in harbour
is safe, but that is not what ships are built for". Whenever I sail, row
or simply splash about I will think of Andy and the good times we had together.
Take care,
Tom Darling
The world has lost a great & kind friend.
I am not surprised to hear Andy was planning to ride in the Pan Mass Challenge this summer and raise money to defeat cancer…his big heart hasn’t changed since I first met him in Cilley Hall, at Exeter in 1975. Andy spent much of his time at Exeter studying in Warren Allmon’s room on the fourth floor, comfortably ensconced in Warren’s pride and joy, a decrepit worn out arm chair, held together with white athletic tape.
It was clear then he was a special person…smart, kind, infectious smile, no hint, yet, of the oarsmen he would become…and of course the red hair.
At thirteen, his feet had already reached full size, and he seemed that year to be a little awkward on land. But on the water, whether frozen for hockey, or flowing on the river, he was truly in his element.
Later that fall I met his family; they lived just a few blocks off campus. For four years they opened their home to Andy’s friends and made us all feel like members of their family. The Sudduth’s were great hosts and his mom made sure we all had some well needed home cooked meals.
Four years later, Andy had already started to make his mark in the rowing world…but what was most amazing was the humility that, if anything, grew with his success. He had a great senior year rowing at Exeter, but when we went fishing in Quogue that summer of 1979, he spent no time talking about his own performance and instead extolled his teammates virtues…I almost believed him, but then remembered watching coxswains try to steer a straight line when Andy was at full power!
Our paths next crossed at Henley in 1981. Not surprisingly, his boat cruised…but in the midst of all the pomp and circumstance one of the rowers in my Trinity crew needed medical attention after finishing a tough race…Andy had come by to catch up on old times, saw my friend needed help and found his father, the doctor, who got my friend back on his feet…
For Andy’s family, my thoughts and prayers are with you…one could have no better friend and no better inspiration than Andy…
- Richard Malabre
While I get briefly (and selfishly) saddened by Andy's passing, I find the feeling doesn't last long. I've found my brief grief is rapidly washed away by a flash of some (generally mundane & hilarious) memory of my time with Andy. The moment I met him at JFK before the flight to Belgium... him chugging the yogurt in Hazewinkel and proclaiming the milk was soured... the way he helped transform a broken boat into a National Champion in 1983... his daughters climbing over him at the farm that Fall day last October... and innumerable others in between. He touched so many in ways that he was probably not aware. What is unique is that his impact was based on his actions and not his words. I need not tell you, but what a unique, quiet man of Ruthian stature.
Please let me know if there is ANYTHING I can do for you & the girls.
I take solace in the fact that Zoe & Sophie have you. I know you will never let them forget how wonderful and special their old man was. And how much he loved them. When a vessel is half-filled with liquid the natural question is "half empty or half-filled". Mine is half-filled. While I will miss the opportunity for future memories unmade with Andy, I feel honored that he touched and influenced my life. Be well and remember that you are in my prayers as you transition to life after Andy's passing.
- Dick Atkinson - US Junior Team 1979, Harvard National Champion Crew of 1983
Andy had a very rare grace. I loved his smile, his warmth, and quiet friendliness.
I have a two distinct scenes when I think of him. One was in 1985 at the World Championships in Belgium. I had retired from racing and was chair of the USRA’s Light Women’s Committee, there to watch the World Championships (the first to include Lightweights) and also to push the FISA Congress to include Lightweights in the Olympics. Andy was, of course, racing the single. There was a lot of pressure on Andy, people had high expectations for him.
We had printed some shirts and stickers that said, in French, “Lightweights in Seoul” and asked people to wear the shirts and apply the stickers to their boats. Many refused, some because they didn’t support us, some because they didn’t want to mix politics with their racing. It seems minor now, but it was very heated and controversial. I remember that Andy easily agreed to put a sticker on his boat. The FISA officials, in their blue blazers, were quite upset about the sticker, but had to let Andy launch with it anyway. Sandy Kendall remembers Andy later wearing our shirt too.
In very exciting racing, Andy won a Silver medal. He was rowing with wooden blades, which was unusual in 1985, and I have a picture of him really bending those sculls. I remember chatting with him under the tent after the races, he was relaxed and contented, and Tommi Keller, Head of FISA, came to congratulate him. After Keller left, Andy turned to me and made some wry comment in regard to Keller’s opposition to the lightweights. I so appreciated that Andy was with us at a time when many heavyweights were not. He didn’t care what others thought about his support of the lightweights, he just did what he thought was fair. And did it with a grace and ease that eludes most people.
The other scene I recall is watching Andy on the PBS NewHour talking about the internet virus he found and warned people about. Often, the NewsHour has people who are very full of themselves. Andy seemed surprised at the attention and spoke in his quiet way, explaining the problem and what he had done. And, it just seemed so typical of him, to be so unassuming about his accomplishments. I thought to myself, that’s Andy, and was delighted he was on the national news, and at the same time thought he was probably an enigma to the interviewers.
What I most want his daughters to know is that Andy had a sense of fairness
that was not inhibited by what others thought and that he was graceful in a
way that few are.
- Annie Robbart
Ruth - As both you and Andy were, I had the pleasure of being part of BRC though the 80’s. We all spent hours and hours perfecting our passion. Our lives had singular focus. Our friendships deepened and became life long as a result of this experience. We won, lost, laughed, cried, and celebrated our time together. Reflecting, it was a time in our lives that helped carve us into who we are today.
We all trained together, men, women, lights and heavies. Through this process, Andy always stood out as a humble, yet great beacon of inspiration, strength, confidence, and spirit. His love and passion for what he did greatly influenced me and had rippling effects on everyone. I will always be grateful for our time together.
I am truly saddened by Andy’s passing. The time we all spent together seems like yesterday, great memories and now deep reflection. The community of friends that was created is still strong and will live forever. You can always count on us.
Ruth, my prayers and thoughts are with you and your family as we both mourn our loss and celebrate Andy’s life.
- Peter Kermond
Lofty language to describe Andy comes easily to Emily and me, since this eldest stepbrother always seemed to be up on a pedestal. What did two kids, 10 and 8 years old, think about their new big brother: the Olympian extraordinaire who nearly twice our combined age (and height) at the time we met him? I'm not sure what we thought, but I recall that this larger-than-life Andrew always held a bit of mystique, an opaqueness that we found simultaneously distancing and compelling.
Emily and I had grown closer with Andy in recent years, and with the addition of Rosa to the clan, she got to know him as well. Emily and I found Andy to be a much more sensitive and complicated man than the one we had long admired from afar. He was raising two bright, gorgeous daughters, had loved two remarkable women, had a successful career, and was still a marvelous physical specimen. He returned our interest in him in kind, and even asked us for advice now and then on his life situations. The man on a pedestal had stepped down to meet us, and interestingly enough, he was no less impressive up close.
This became even more pronounced as he fought his illness. During a visit Rosa and I paid Andy at the Brigham a few muggy June afternoons ago, he explained to us why it was okay for him to die. Experts from religion to psychology have much to say on this topic, but Andy spoke on it more profoundly than any expert I've ever heard in my life. It's hard to say that a man's spiritual life could come full circle when it is unnaturally shortened by disease; however, if anyone has pulled it off, I'd say Andy did.
This is why we want to thank him - for his friendship, for his strength, for the example of his life - and this is why he will be sorely missed. But while we are sad, we know that the strength of his persona and legacy will never fade from our consciousness, even as the light of his soul leaves this world to add luster to the light of Heaven.
- Thomas Ostrander
I look at these pictures, and, with vivid detail, I can remember the individual moments when they were taken. Andy was always gracious with his time, and patience, and was one of those athletes I loved following behind in a coach’s launch. I was always mesmerized with his power, grace, and focus. For me being out there on the water with him was a privilege and when I think back on those days, they were all a testament to how he is a true champion on the water, and off.
- Brian Hill
I wanted to write to you at this time with a few thoughts. We do not know each other well, although we have seen each other periodically over these many years since the 1980s in the Newell, and for me the Weld, boathouses.
During the college years I admired you from afar as you stroked the heavyweight boats. From my seat, as the lightweight women's varsity stroke, on the slowest of Harvard/Radcliffe's four varsity boats, I watched you row with such ease and power. It gave me a calm, strong feeling and was a hinge on which to visualize my own rowing. For that intangible feeling and mental picture, I am forever grateful to you.
Since college we have seen each other through mutual friends, especially Ruth and Jess. Over the years and in so many different ways, you have made these friends of ours very happy. I know they have each relied on your steady friendship through life's vagaries. And now I am joyful that you and Ruth have found each other and have gained strength of many types in your love for each other. Thank you for filling the lives of two of our mutual dear friends.
I know from Ruth's updates that you are with all the people you love so much. You have experienced life fully and deeply. So many of us are thinking about you with smiles and inspiration. Thank you for the person that you are. We are all blessed by you.
- Chris Doyle
My mental image of Andy is of the wicked gleam in his eye as he's about to
say something snarky about a troublesome co-worker, or watching him loping around
a croquet ground (behind his house in Marion) gleefully knocking everybody else's
balls away (including the kids), or the clever and idealistic ideas he had for
how a small software company should be run, or the sheer pleasure he got from
sailing. In a strange coincidence, my wife and I, who were out last weekend
on the sailboat my father-in-law just bought, (a Rhodes 22 if Andy's interested)
had just been discussing the time Andy took us out on Buzzards Bay years ago
and how we ought to track him down and spend some time with him.
A hard lesson learned.
- Robert Brazile
I picture Andy gliding through the water in a shell that is perfectly set and running out - when it all becomes easy. George Pocock once said that the "perfect stroke has never been taken". The closest I ever came was an afternoon row with Andy in 1984 in Sarnen - I can still feel it to this day. Ask Andy if he remembers and if so to hold onto that wonderful feeling. He is about to take the perfect stroke, sadly in his single, not with all of his friends that care so much for him.
I was down in Marion a fortnight ago for my Tabor 30th (wisdom, not age)- I sailed up into cove and by his boat so I can picture him now which is a wonderful thing for me.
The hardest thing for all of us is that we are a group of "doers" with nothing that can be done except share our love and prayers and admiration.
Please let Andy know that it is alright to let go - we will all take care of you and yours.
- Charlie Clapp
Well, I just thought I would say that whenever I picture Andy, I think of two images. First is a photograph, maybe from the cover of US Rowing? He's in a single, looking slightly over his shoulder, mid stroke. Hair flying. The look of a fierce competitor on his face. And perfectly confident, but human, almost with a gleam in his eye. The second image is the day I was in Stow. Just catching a glimpse of him walking away along the path outside from a distance. I got the same feeling of confidence. He didn't walk like a sick man, just a man taking a stroll, tall, athletic, observant and in thought.
- CB Sands
There are a lot of people here who have very good memories of Andy, and most of us are still in awe of his raw intelligence, drive, and passion. I've worked with a lot of brilliant people in my career (including a stint at DEC's AI lab), and I've rarely encountered *anybody* as smart as Andy. It was difficult for most people here to keep up with him, he is always so far ahead of what everybody else is thinking.
- Brian Shorey
Andy loves women. Sure, you say, he’s a guy. No big deal.
Let me explain.
Andy loves being in the company of women. He especially loves smart women – accomplished women. There is no jealousy in him or need to dominate. He does not need to be the center of attention – even though in his athletic career he often was. He takes pride in what the women he loves have done, what they can do and what they will do.
When I learned that Andy had two daughters, I knew that he would not only be a great dad, loving them and cherishing them. I knew he would support them in whatever they chose to do and encourage them to do their best, just as he had tried in all things to do his best.
What I hope he has given them is his ferocious determination to excel AND that honest, kind, gentle, tolerant, and forgiving spirit – always optimistic and indomitable. He demands a lot of himself, but he also gives of himself generously.
Living on the west coast, what I’ve missed most is that big smile that can light up a room, the sheer joy in living and, especially, that glint in his eye when you’re sharing a private joke. I want his girls to know how wonderful and remarkable their daddy is. And how dearly he is loved.
- Eleanor Sacks
Please tell Andy that I am thinking of him. He was a tremendous force and influence
in my life, and I learned so much from racing with him. He knows we won the
nationals because of him—we had a fast boat, but his power, experience,
competitiveness and laser vision are what got us over the line first. I’ll
always remembering him saying, “PRINCETON!”, and looking over and
seeing Princeton making their move—one we were able to shut down because
of Andy. I always prided myself on my abilities in a six boat race, but he was
the stroke and the coxswain in that crucial moment—he saw them move before
I did.
I don’t know if he ever told you, but really my main concern when coxing
the 85 crew was whether Suds would run the rest of them into the ground too
early..he operated at a level all his own. He was alternatively the most obnoxious
and the most professional athlete of all those guys—and I literally hoped
that on any given day I could match his talent with my own. He was also incredibly
thoughtful, thoroughly critical and extremely supportive—and he made me
better at my job every day I had the opportunity to work with him.
There are a few moments with Andy that come to mind that helped me so much, to understand the world of Harvard Crew I had happened upon. My sophomore year, I was on the varsity, and we had a bad year, really lost races we shouldn’t and the final insult of losing the Harvard/Yale race really stuck in my craw, so to speak. I kept going over every race and practice, and also the rowers and how we coalesced (or didn’t). My junior year, when Andy came back, we had a brief chat about the guys who were seniors who had graduated and their attitude and how, for a few years there, the members of the Harvard Crew Team really just relied on the idea that they were the chosen ones, that Harvard was a dynasty. Andy made it clear to me that what it really took to win races had nothing to do with whether you went to Harvard or somewhere else. We were just out there to prove to ourselves and everyone what we had in us, and it was a personal thing out there. I was so relieved to hear that, because I really wanted to prove myself and I wanted to win badly, and I needed to know that the guys who won (like Andy) felt the same way. We were certainly a rag tag bunch my junior year, but we won a lot and it wasn’t because we were Harvard or what our last names were. (not that mine is any great shakes to begin with). With just a few words, Andy knew what I was struggling with, and he reassured me, and also gave notice that that year was going to be about pure meritocracy, and it was. (I spent a large part of it on the JV, and that was good for me, too.)
Andy probably never told you this, but he also nominated me to be the captain for my senior year—I wasn’t elected and I think some of that had to do with being put back on the varsity right before the Harvard/Yale race...a long story...but I always remembered that he did that, even though it was a controversial thing to do way back in the 80s! It was a quintessentially Andy gesture—bucking the status quo in order to do what he thought was right. I was flattered that he thought I should be captain. Earning respect from Andy was a worthy goal, and everyone on our boat felt exactly the same way I did about that.
It doesn’t take much to bring up these memories, because they are an active part of what has shaped me—they are not buried, but right there, guiding me still.
I know it is a silly thing to say from out here in California, but if there is anything I can do, I would love to do it for Andy and for you. I wish I had more photos from that time period—unfortunately in my own determination not to be sentimental, and in all my moves, I haven’t saved much—stupid me. But I still have that unwavering set of expectations, from those time on the river with Andy, that bar that has been raised and held aloft, that standard of performance, strength, and perseverance that have meant so much to me. I would like to thank him for that. He made me an honorable warrior, and for that I will always be grateful.
- Devin Mahoney
Andy is too modest to believe this, but he has had a huge inspirational effect not only on me, but possibly hundreds if not thousands of oarsman and oarswomen who have followed his hard work and success. Had it not been for Andy and the positive experience he had with Exeter’s rowing program, I would probably not have signed up for a sport which, in hindsight, had such a positive impact on my confidence in high school, college and beyond and eventually helped form the person I became.
There were plenty of great memories of time spent with Andy, mostly during our rowing days at Exeter. I’ll never forget driving down to Cambridge on a Saturday afternoon in the Fall-we borrowed a couple of sculls from Harry and explored the Charles. Having never sculled before, I eventually experienced the famous slow roll, and Andy was there to make sure I sorted myself out. After a special afternoon, we were treated to a few cocktails by our host, Jon Leness, two years our senior from Exeter, who knew exactly how to impress a couple of Exeter Seniors. Andy will probably recall my meeting some nice co-ed who managed to share her mono with me, which made our Head of the Charles race the next week more difficult than normal. Suffice it to say, that weekend and Andy Sudduth were enough to convince me that Harvard was the place to be the next year. The rest, as they say, is history.
This is a long way of saying that I am a much better person and the world is a much better place because of Andy. The events of the past nine months would confirm that life is precious, but it is not always fair. Please let Andy know that his old buddies will always have a place in their hearts and minds where a little bit of him will reside. We will always make sure his girls and his bride are looked after. We will look forward to the day when we too cross the ultimate finish line and with luck, get a chance to share old stories and tell old lies. I will never forget him-he will always be a mythical and legendary figure to me.
Dick Atkinson and I had a good chuckle when I mentioned that eventually we would all be together and we would have a chance to relive our old glory days. Dick astutely pointed out that Andy’s spot up north was a given, but Dick and I had a lot of work ahead of us if we wanted to have the privilege of catching up with Andy.
- Gene Lynch
You know, I could write pages and pages about Andy just off the top of my head. I was wondering how to organize it all, and I think vignettes would be best.
Mostly they are rowing stories, of course, and random others from just being around him in the 1980s.
I have a memory of a trick Andy did with a computer once that really amazed me. I was hoping to run it by him yesterday, but maybe you could do that for me when the time is right.
In the early 1980s we were sharing an apartment in Cambridge, and apartment that had Mike Ryan and John Smith in it, and Jamie Fargo and I came and went at various points.
Andy was putting together a HeathKit computer, and he was almost finished. He was taking a course where he was writing his own operating system. He also had a paper due the next day. I had a KayPro computer which I offered him, but no, he was almost finishing building his own computer. I had a word processing program called WordStar which I also offered him, but no, when he finished putting his computer together, he was going to write his own full screen editor. Then he was going to write his paper with his own editor on the computer that he built, all by the next day. I had no doubt he could do it, but I realized he was the only person I knew who would take on such a challenge, and then meet it with a perfect plan and a calm smile.
That memory has stuck with me all these years as symbolic of Andy's attitude about work.
- Geoffrey Knauth
I probably don't know Andy well enough to add to the scrapbook which I know will be so important to his girls and to you. I do know that he chose to spend the rest of his life with you and that's incredibly special and irreplaceable. I know you two shared your first smooch back in the day at the corner of my street (what was once your street) - that always makes me smile/laugh. The other image that always makes me laugh is the day I met Andy (the same day you told me the story of that smooch) - you and he pulled up in front of my house and Andy somehow managed to fold himself out of that tiny, sporty little Audi of yours - he's just so tall and lanky - I couldn't figure out how he was driving the car comfortably without his head touching the ceiling.
These aren't really the stories that you're looking for, I know, but I thought they would at least bring a smile to your face anyway. (After all, I've known all the cute "falling-in-love" stories from you from the beginning...you definitely had the happy, young and in-love aura - it's really charming and special because you still see it in your emails). Andy's very lucky to have you.
- Margery Siegel
I was shocked and saddened to hear about your medical condition early this spring. I have thought about your situation quite a bit this spring and summer and have wanted to write. Fred B. forwarded me one of Ruth's updates so I thought I'd send you an e-mail.
I remember with great fondness a sculling race we were both in at Canadian Henley early on in our sculling careers; I think it might have been the first for both of us. You were reading a textbook of physiology in the spare time between races.
Another time I remember was doing the dam to dams with Harry, Tiff et all just as you were beginning to get really fast; I'm glad I was mostly retired when you really got your speed!
You have lived a full and passionate life so far and seem to be maintaing a good attitude with very positive support from Ruth and both of your families, keep it up.
My mother died from breast cancer when I was young, about 12; one regret I had was not having had full communication with her and the rest of my family, about her life and death and how we might remember eachother and be able to move on after losing her. I am sure you and your children are doing better on that count than we did in our family some 36 years ago.
It is really humbling to think about how our lives can be challenged at any time, no matter how strong and healthy we seem to be.
I will continue to think positive thoughts for you and your family. You are a great man.
- Joe Bouscaren
I would like to write about you, Andy, but I’ve never had the opportunity to meet you. I have had the opportunity, however, to “know” you, but only through Ruth’s voice and email messages.
Those messages tell a wonderful story about a great love. To be loved by Ruth must really be something. Her intellect, sensitivity, optimism, athleticism, willingness to share, and sense of humor make you a very fortunate man. Like you, Ruth is a great competitor.
I thought of Ruth recently when I received a letter from Phillips Academy Andover’s Head of School. She quoted a letter from the parent of a senior describing the glories of her post graduate year. When I read the last several sentences, I thought of Ruth’s parents and what they might have once said about Ruth. The parent had written:
“We sent our lump of coal to you. Months later, we got back a polished gem. A polished gem, but retaining the unique fire of the coal.”
So there’s your Ruth, Andy, a “polished gem with the fire of coal”. From everything I’ve heard from others about you, you deserve her, and she you.
You and I will meet some day.
- Robert W. Doran
I also had two observations about Andy that occurred to me that I pass along for what they are worth.
First, at work, Andy seems to have a pattern of working on a problem and participating in the solution to the problem. Then, he seems to frequently look at the problem in a different way and often finds a completely different way to solve the problem (or most of the problem). Trouble is, this way is often so much easier or so dramatically different than the existing solution that it means that the investment in the existing solution will be -- not exactly wasted, but not as useful as it might be if the existing solution were still considered the "best" solution. So there is often considerable organization resistance to Andy's "better" solution, since to accept that means that the existing investment must be to some degree written off. And people really don't want to do that.
I think that is what he told me happened at Centreline, and it certainly happened several times here at AIC/Cisco.
Second, when working with Andy, it became pretty clear that he didn't approach projects and work the way most people do. Most people either look at the next step and then do that and then the next, or they look at the goal and then do the steps to reach the goal. Some people plan short term, some long term. Andy, on the other hand, looked out about two weeks, two months, and two years all at the same time. At any instant he was working on things that would complete in two weeks, in two months, and in two years. All the time. Kind of a fractal view of time. This made it very hard for him to communicate with managers about schedules, since he was always working on all of these time frames at once, and it was hard to disentangle the short term from the long term work. It also made it hard for him to finish things, because that wasn't how he looked at work or problems to solve. He would be solving today's problem while working on next months major fix for the problem and next years re-architecture to make the problem go away. All at once. Very neat, and very hard to fit into any sort of standard planning process.
- Kim Kinnear
I have known Andy for more than 20 years, and don’t remember meeting him. Probably it was in some tiresome USRA-organized travel scenario, waiting for a bus from Antwerp to Hazewinkel or something, with a bunch of other people we probably knew by name or even face but were only first becoming acquainted with.
And we have gravitated in each other’s solar systems ever since, pleasantly sharing mutual orbits here and there, knowing each other well but at a distance. Indeed, I must admit I have known Andy largely through the women in his life. (He has always had good taste, by my reckoning!)
We’ve been at the same weddings and parties and national team functions; there’s a sailing link with Ken. We know the same people. Belong to the same boatclub. (I wouldn’t presume to write as though I had important memories to share, except that I imagine there are a lot of friends like me. And it is an honor to do it.) It’s more than once occurred to me that if the expression “still waters run deep” hadn’t already existed, some one would have come up with it to describe Andy.
For one thing, you think he’s a very quiet guy, maybe even a shy guy, or is it surly? And then he talks, a torrent in short bursts. Knowledge, enthusiasm, friendliness, interest. Can you picture the kind of bulk food bins where you lift a spring-loaded gate and the rice pours down a sloping spout? And then you drop the door and it stops? There’s a conversational equivalent in there somewhere, delightful and surprising. Intense.
And the smile. You think he’s serious, or beyond serious, maybe, a sober-sides. But the grin beams out with a July-sunshine warmth. It’s not just a smile of pretty teeth. Even recently, I saw Andy after some unpleasant surgeries, and he didn’t look well, but then he smiled his large smile and looked entirely himself. Warm.
Thinking back to those Reagan-era rowing days, I think how absurd for athletes to use steroids, given how we were in the natural course of training for our objective all just about busting out of our skins with our own strength, youth, health, passion, readiness, and libido. It is a fine condition to have been through.
We have all to varying degrees left that glow of effort and achievement behind as we’ve raced off into the obscurer challenges of adulthood. Andy was always faster than just about everyone, and, wishing it were otherwise, I see he is crossing the finish line we all toil towards much sooner than his peers, and doing it with his customary grace.
My brother-in-law, as an aspiring junior rower, had a rowing magazine cover photo of Andy pinned to his wall. A model to follow. In trying to live our lives well, we who trail Andy will do the same.
Lots of love,
Sandy Kendall
When Andy began fooling around with sculling, still at Phillips Exeter or maybe younger, his father brought him over to an ocean shell race that we used to run out of Great Hill. We started in alphabetical order, no great seeding sophistication, which put Andy behind me. I remember thinking for the first mile or two of the race, "What is this kid doing staying with me?" Nervy I thought, but I began to work on him for Harvard.
Many times thereafter, but no where near enough, I enjoyed sculling, rowing or riding with Andy. Even when he showed up confessing to a multitude of training sins and professing to have a body of jello, he pushed us to higher speeds and more fun. The two don't always go together, but for Andy they did.
Well after I stopped competitive rowing Andy joined me for a row from Newell to the bottom of the basin and back. We clicked along. It was effortless for him and much easier than it should have been for me. At the end I looked at my clock and realized it was close to a PR set years before. For Andy, it was just another row, for me pure delight.
I shall greatly miss aging with you my friend.
- Gregg Stone
As you well know, Andy is a remarkable guy and I have some great memories of him. One evening the rest of us (Andy wasn’t there) were lounging in our common room watching Hogan’s Heroes or something and Scott Pruitt knocked on the door. Scott rowed with Andy on the crew team and he said he had something that Andy might want to hang on to as a memento. He brought in one of those indestructible 12 foot long fiberglass oars. In two pieces. Andy had snapped it that day at practice. We were floored and when Andy got back in later we grilled him on how much force was required to break an oar. Andy being Andy, he smiled and shrugged it off, slightly embarrassed about breaking the equipment. We had been hoping for a big story of huge muscle power and drama - vicarious bragging is almost as good as the real thing – but Andy was too modest for that.
I also remember Mark Holton, a suite-mate, asking Andy which he would choose, being the best rower in the world or being the best programmer in the world. At the time Andy was ranked in the group of top rowers and his career had barely started – it didn’t take too much of a stretch to imagine being the actual best. Well Andy paused for a bit and, as you’ve probably guessed, answered that he’d choose being the best programmer. I thought that was pretty cool, that somebody with that kind of ability wouldn’t just ride along and take the easy road and instead would apply himself, intensely I might add, to the interest he cared about more.
Anyway, there are other stories but those are the two that sprang to mind when I heard the news.
- John Partridge
To my lasting regret, I never had a chance to meet Andy, but he touched my life on more than one occasion. The '88 Olympics were the first held after I had begun to identify myself to others as "a rower". His race, which I somehow saw, is my first memory of seeing elite level rowing. When I was an undergrad at Harvard, not only was his smiling face always looking down at me from the photo of the transcendent '85 eight, but his 8 of the 10 top times in the triathlon were always good for a sobering wake-up call or inspiration, depending on my mood. No wonder he was known as "The Lung". How the hell did he go so damn fast?
Later, when I made my own way onto National Teams, and was looking around Boston for a single to use, Andy was kind enough to allow me to take out his. Its specially reinforced gunwales were a testament to his abilities. I wish I'd had the opportunity to row with him. My thoughts and best wishes go out to everyone who loved him. He left quite a wake as he moved through life, leaving even those of us caught on the fringes changed for the better.
- Adam Holland