Few deaths touch me deeply, and I am often surprised by those that do. Those that penetrate through my thick skull, that is. And I was quite surprised by my reaction when I read that Bill Dickson had died. He was the Senior Vice President at MIT when I joined the faculty there in 1983. Responsible for the entire physical plant of the Institute, he had all its buildings and infrastructure at his fingertips. And he was happy to share his knowledge, as well as his considerable power. At the time, I was teaching building economics at the Architecture Department, but my students also came from Civil Engineering and Planning Departments. After a brief introduction soon upon my return to the Institute, Bill made the MIT books open to my students. This he did without any fuss. Our collaboration only strengthened over the years. We could get all the building contracts we wished. We could get all the construction cost and price data, which was quite a feat. And we could get all the building performance data, as well. He made sure everyone working for him would be available to us, as well. Many a masters’ thesis would have been impossible without his continual assistance. But my own academic development was also strongly influenced by our relationship. Under his guidance, I moved beyond the economics of individual building projects and into the management of the entire portfolio of facilities available to an organization. Back in the 1980s, MIT had at least a hundred, if I remember correctly. Between 1983 and 1990, I pushed the new science of building portfolio management, later renamed corporate real estate management, to the fore. My main book in the field, published in 1989, owes much to Bill. But learning about his death touched something else in me. It was his humanity and decency that came through as soon as I saw his picture in the Institute’s alumni news, which I receive regularly. He, too, was an MIT alumnus, as were quite a few among the Institute’s administrators at the time. In fact, it was his eyes that did the trick. We connected through the tiny picture. As sometimes happens when someone like Bill dies, I feel that I have been remiss in not telling him all this while he was still among us. Alas! Now I have my work cut out for me: I must make sure that the few people as humane and decent as Bill are remembered while they can still enjoy my effusive accolades.