My introduction to Doug came in a 4th year philosophy class. The professor was reading out roll call. “Whitter, Doug”, and a guy replied “Yep.” “Ah,” the prof said, “Wittier than thou?” and the fellow shot back “Yeah, real new joke in my family.” I instantly thought this was a guy worth knowing. And he was. Doug and I shared a lot over the intervening two decades. We were roommates for a while, and I still remember the cries of “ZA!” from the living room, a word which meant a ridiculous amount of pizza would be ordered and consumed, along with what we referred as zepplins of Coca Cola. When I suggested at one point that perhaps the caffeine was keeping me up at night, his reply would be a very Doug-like “Ah, ya think?” And the laughs… Back in the days before voice mail and cell phones, we would cut together the most ridiculous greeting tapes for our answering machine, using sound bites from sources like Sam Kinnison, Aliens, Beetlejuice, and Star Trek. No one ever knew if they were actually leaving a message for Doug and I, and as soon as people got used to one, we’d change it to something crazier. He would listen to people’s bewildered messages, usually starting with a halting “Uh, I don’t know if I have the right number, but…” and he laugh his very distinctive laugh. Laughs are central to my memories of Doug. His wit was usually dry, often inappropriate, and almost always off-kilter, but he spoke my language, and it wasn’t that unusual for us to be rendered beet red, breathless, and incoherent after some twisted turn of phrase. Not just me, but my whole family and many of my friends have adopted numerous “Doug”isms, and they still make us laugh. Along with humour, I’ll remember our talks; we met in philosophy class, so it was natural that we’d discuss ideas a lot. Because Doug was a thinker, someone who considered things deeply. Highly intelligent, widely read, deeply spiritual and passionate about ideas with a very strong sense of personal ethics. There weren’t many topics where he hadn’t formed a distinct and well-thought-out opinion. But, as with every attempt to sum him up, that wasn’t all he was. He was one of the most generous people I knew. His time, his help, it was always there for the asking, without any hint of reluctance or indebtedness. He was always embarrassed when he got thanked, or praised, but he did a lot to deserve both. He gave freely of his time, and his empathy. Generous, compassionate, and fiercely loyal, Doug was the best kind of friend and his opinion was one that I valued highly. Whenever I listed my friends, Doug was always first. Because he was always the one I could count on the most. Although so many of his interests were analytical, philosophy, psychology, and computers, he also had an incredible artistic streak, and this I felt was the closest thing to his heart. He asked me advice about buying a camera years ago, as he had no real familiarity with serious photography, and I had been taking pictures for years, sometimes professionally. So it was with no small chagrin that, when he sent me some samples a couple of years later for feedback, I had to tell him that he had utterly passed me by, and from now on, I’d be looking to him for advice and tips. Drawing, photography, piano, singing…. Doug had a lot of interests that seemed at a casual glance not to fit him. But that was because he was a complicated, multifaceted person, with a tremendous amount of gifts to express. I think, for me, his magnum opus in this area is his harp guitar. Learning to play a harp guitar in and of itself is a massive accomplishment that few people on the planet can truly lay claim to. But Doug wasn’t content with that. He designed one, and he built it. By hand. Over the course of many months. Two necks on a harp guitar are fairly standard, but his had to have three. I remember getting CAD drawings of his design for my feedback, of him deciding which woods to use, how many necks and strings, and figuring out how to solve engineering issues presented by his design. The horror when, one night, a shelf collapsed and damaged the parts of the partially-assembled guitar. His determination to continue anyway and finish it. It is one of the most beautiful works of artistry and skill I’ve ever seen. Although no mere thing could encapsulate Doug, this guitar represents to me so much of what made him who he was. A work of art and craftsmanship, incredibly demanding of both his inspiration and his technical expertise, a work of his heart and his mind, a masterpiece of both analysis and creativity, whose ultimate goal was to transmit joy to others. Doug enriched all of us who were lucky enough to know him. A complex man, sure, but one of the most intelligent, multifaceted, talented, and giving people I’ve ever known. Parting is a loss, but no loss can be greater than the gift of his life. I will miss him deeply, but more importantly than that, I love him and am profoundly grateful to call him friend.