Sayan Mukherjee was one of the most singular people I’ve ever met. I was a grad student at Duke when he joined the faculty in our program, and was immediately drawn to this brash, unapologetic, witty, and oh-so-human genius, invariably dressed in some mildly-to-not-that-mildly offensive t-shirt. While his talent and mental versatility was inarguable, what I’ll always remember most was who he was as a person, exemplified by his ability to connect on an interpersonal level with seemingly anyone, from the stodgiest professors to the greenest, most intimidated students. Soon after his arrival at Duke I started seeing him seemingly every time I went to basically any bar in Durham, and whenever that happened he would be sure to come and socialize – and by socialize, what I really mean is: he would come with a beer, and if it was in a bottle he would hold it in one hand with a prominently-displayed, enormous anarchy tattoo on his big forearm, and bite off the bottle cap, spit it out, and then loudly cackle about it. He was the absolute best of kind of role model: an academic with the easy intuition of his science that comes with the sharpest of minds, combined with a mannerism that makes you immediately want to be his friend and his student at the same time. He was a professor for a reason: he was a great mentor, taking students under his wing and willingly meeting off-hours with extreme patience and generosity of his own time. He was a skilled and effective teacher. He was prolific and widely-respected by the luminaries in his field. He was on my Masters’ and PhD committees, and his personal mentorship helped guide how I think about science today. Sayan was just the total package. After a lecture one day, I asked him if he wanted to join our adult co-ed kickball team with a bunch of other students, and he leapt at the chance. During that season, he and I recognized a loophole in the league rules, and I used it while pitching in the next game to strike out the other team time and again, figuring that Duke professor ejected from kickball game would be a student paper headline that wouldn’t do him any favors, while I was instead a lowly grad student (so, really, who cares). After I was, in fact, ejected, he raised his hand to volunteer to replace me – and then exploited the same loophole until he was ejected, too. He came over to me, cackling again, and high fived me in plain sight of the referee – and then bought the entire team several rounds after the game in celebration. The league had to change its rules before the next week. I’ll never forget that silly anecdote, and I’ll never forget Sayan. Rest in peace my friend, you are a legend and you will be forever missed. My heart is broken for your family. You are gone far, far too soon.