September 29, 1971 – January 14, 2022
My friend passed away suddenly and un-expectantly last week.
Melger was one of my favorite people. He was a gifted CAD designer, always ready and eager to help anyone out, and could be counted on to work an issue to its absolute resolution: whether it was a work challenge or how to fit 2 full-sized bikes into the trunk of a compact car. His euphemisms, one-liners, and nicknames were LEDENDARY. There are people that we worked with 10 years ago that I don’t remember what their actual name was, but I 100% remember the name that Eric gave them! He was super quick witted and was a master at verbal judo – one of my favorite examples:
He was fairly tall and I am not. He was having a bout of lower back pain and was grousing about being “old” and not being able to touch his toes anymore. We are only 2 years apart in age and I bent in half and put my palms on the floor and said with a certain amount of smugness “it is not the age…” Without skipping a heartbeat Eric quipped, “You started out a LOT closer to the floor than me.” There were 6 or 7 people just standing there watching him just slay me… I am smiling ear to ear as I remember that deep burn.
He had this saying when something was going really wrong or when we were about to have to do a crap-ton of extra work: “Whelp time to do some deep knee bends in the ol’ cucumber patch boys.” I can still hear him – saying this with his Wisconsin mid-west clip in my head
Among so many other things, Eric and I shared a love of bikes, sushi, classic architecture, notebooks, paper, pencils, and pens. He gave me a blue lead mechanical pencil that I use weekly and his love of a #2HB Ticonderoga is widely known – he passed them out at work like he was a flower girl at a wedding. I had not converted him to fountain pens, but I think he at least had a nodding respect for them.
Solid does not even start to describe Eric. If he told you he would be somewhere or do something, you could take that to the bank. Anyone that knew Eric is full of tales of times he went out of his way to help. I worked with him at Carlisle and at Blue Origin, where our desks were joined for a time. I will forever miss him leaning up over his monitor to give me a ration of grief, ask me about a part specification, or draw my attention to a matter of idiocy happening in our vicinity.
His taste in beer was awful, but a lukewarm Pabst on a hot day enjoyed while chunking 1 of his 17 specialized golf discs was absolute heaven for him. His epicurean delight and skill more than made up for his poor decisions on the quality fermented beverages. Eric almost glowed when talking about Yakatori street food, French baguettes, stinky cheese, BBQing, and out of the way, unknown mom & pop fantastic eateries. A Monday morning routine was his full account of dinners that he had made for and with his wife Tracy that past weekend and the cocktails that he thought worked the best with the different meals. There was a certain sense in those discussions that Eric expressed love through food and by preparing deliciousness to share with his wife.
The last time we spoke was just after Christmas. We had a text exchange about family and holidays and then he launched into diatribe about how I was more of a hipster than he would ever be. Classic Eric. Said with a wry smile, full of equal doses of affection and sarcasm.
I will miss Eric very much and I will think of him every time I open my Japanese pencil bag, wear a mechanic’s shirt, see a frisbee, go to a specific Sushi place in West Seattle, or whenever I hear someone crack a great on-liner.
Rest easy my friend.