A friend’s Reflection on the Passing of a good friend, Ed Botwinick—-
January 24, 2025
I could always joke with Ed Botwinick, and I’ll miss that more than anything. There was something about his laughter, that deep, genuine belly laugh, that made even the simplest stories feel special. In July, I said to Ed, “Stay alive, Ed, until Linda and I come to Charlottesville to party with you and Vicki.” And we did—three days of stories, laughter, and remembering our past together. We spent hours reflecting on shared adventures and the first time we met nearly fifty years ago. It felt like no time had passed, even though so much had.
One of the things I loved most was hearing Ed talk about Columbia—about Columbia Football, about the friends we made back in the day. Our conversations were full of those old names and faces, the ones we’ll always carry with us. We reminisced about those we’ve lost over the years, all good friends with deep bonds that formed when we were teens and young adults. The kind of friendships that stick with you, even as life carries you in different directions.
I didn’t see Ed often, but when I did, it was like picking up right where we left off, as if no time had passed. It was the same with Vicki. Vicki came into Ed’s life about four decades ago, and in doing so, made him a better man—and more fun to be around. Vicki was always marching to the beat of her own drum, but she was the perfect match for Ed. She cared for him with so much humor, energy, and grace. Both of them had stories that could rival the best stand-up comedians.
Our last time together was one for the books—a night that was better than anything you’d find at a comedy club. I will miss you, Ed. You were one of a kind. Your laughter, your stories, and your friendship will stay with me always.
A friend’s Reflection on the Passing of a good friend, Ed Botwinick—-
January 24, 2025
I could always joke with Ed Botwinick, and I’ll miss that more than anything. There was something about his laughter, that deep, genuine belly laugh, that made even the simplest stories feel special. In July, I said to Ed, “Stay alive, Ed, until Linda and I come to Charlottesville to party with you and Vicki.” And we did—three days of stories, laughter, and remembering our past together. We spent hours reflecting on shared adventures and the first time we met nearly fifty years ago. It felt like no time had passed, even though so much had.
One of the things I loved most was hearing Ed talk about Columbia—about Columbia Football, about the friends we made back in the day. Our conversations were full of those old names and faces, the ones we’ll always carry with us. We reminisced about those we’ve lost over the years, all good friends with deep bonds that formed when we were teens and young adults. The kind of friendships that stick with you, even as life carries you in different directions.
I didn’t see Ed often, but when I did, it was like picking up right where we left off, as if no time had passed. It was the same with Vicki. Vicki came into Ed’s life about four decades ago, and in doing so, made him a better man—and more fun to be around. Vicki was always marching to the beat of her own drum, but she was the perfect match for Ed. She cared for him with so much humor, energy, and grace. Both of them had stories that could rival the best stand-up comedians.
Our last time together was one for the books—a night that was better than anything you’d find at a comedy club. I will miss you, Ed. You were one of a kind. Your laughter, your stories, and your friendship will stay with me always.
Love,
Neill—and Linda too