I am Walter Carter, the husband of John's middle daughter, Bonnie.

Not long after Bonnie and I started dating, back when we were in college, she invited me to visit her home. She wanted to introduce me to her family and to skiing, two topics that had considerable overlap.

As my own father had died when I was very young, I grew up being particularly curious about and attentive to the paternal member of families that I visited. I was always looking and listening to see what this large male would do or say. I remember well my first impressions of John, when I was about 20 years old.

To start with, John Holden's presence commanded attention. It was not just his physical appearance, impressive as that was, but the intangible qualities he conveyed: courtesy, kindness, generosity, authority.

In his home, he was the central figure, which says a lot in a household of strong characters. But he was not a self-centered figure, and his central position did not hinder the individual development of his wife and children. Indeed it seemed to me that he nourished and supported their growth. He sat authoritatively at the head of the dinner table, but conversed easily with his family and guests. He was interested in what others did and what they had to say. He welcomed me and made me feel at ease. I could see that he loved his family, and that his family both looked up to him and loved him. I saw nothing in him that dissuaded me from my primary objective of courting his daughter.

As time went by and I made more visits, I was also struck by his presence in the community, which, I could see, affectionately admired and respected him for who he was and what he did. And much of what he did was on behalf of a better world.

So, over the years, John was one from whom I learned some important things about what it means to be a man. First, he disciplined himself to high standards to do what he thought he ought to do, for others as well as for himself. Second, he did so in a gentlemanly way with good humor and much wit. Third, other people were generally happier for what he did.

I am proud to be John's son-in-law, happy to be the husband of his daughter, and grateful that he is a grandfather of our children. His love for us, for his family and friends, and for the good earth itself, has made us all better off. Love has left behind more than death has taken away.

These are the thoughts that I find when I dig down deep. But there are other thoughts that I carry around the near the surface and are easier to share in conversation. One of my favorite anecdotes comes from a fairly recent time. A little over a year ago, about a month or two past his 100th birthday, John was dozing in his chair at Wake Robin. His wife, Polly, had just been given a doll by the staff there. I don't know what the occasion was. Polly carried the doll into John's room, with I don't know what mischief in mind, and stood before him with this doll in her arms. He awoke from his nap, looked at his wife holding this infant-like figure, and said: "Polly, is there something you've forgotten to tell me?"