His fierce competitiveness, his contributions to the city, his appreciation of the arts, and, as a dad, his love of his daughters were all qualities that I respected and resonated with me.
The last time I saw Kobe was a couple years ago at John Williams night at the Hollywood Bowl. Williams had composed the score for an animated film called Dear Basketball, based on a poem Kobe had written. He introduced him and brought him onstage to narrate his film live. When Kobe walked out, the roar was deafening. His celebrity transcended the court. He belonged to that audience. He belonged to the city.
Pete Andress, an art director partner of mine I worked with used to say we hang by a thread. We never know when it's going to be closing time, as Kobe's family and the other families of passengers who were on that helicopter know all too well today.
I've been unable to stop myself from crying about it all afternoon, and it goes way beyond just the sadness of a public figure passing. It feels like more than that. It feels like family.
Kobe was ours. And now he belongs to the ages. Rest in peace.
