Reflections shared by Glen's longtime friend and classmate, Bob Cunha:

I met Glen 37 years ago, only a few hundred yards from here – at the Ponkapoag School just up the road. I was the new kid in third grade. Glen had already pretty firmly established himself as the alpha dog of the class. At recess we played soccer with one of those big red playground balls, and this blond-headed kid scores about 8 goals in a row. I thought to myself the only thing a rational person should be thinking at that moment: “Bob, you need to figure out how to be friends with that kid.”

Now, in third grade we were both goody-goody, teacher’s pet, suck-up kind of kids. But by fourth grade that had all changed. We sat in the last row of Mrs. Connolly’s classroom, cracked jokes, chucked paper footballs at Vicky Miles’ head (she had remained a goody-goody, so we figured she was fair game), and generally tried to disrupt the class. Mrs. Connolly got the final word by giving us each a C+ in Conduct, which did not prevent us from being admitted to the college of our choice, but there were, shall we say, consequences at home.

We remained close friends throughout grade school and middle school, and wound up at rival high schools – Glen at Thayer Academy, me at Milton. In some ways we were never closer than those years – calling each other to talk about new experiences and friends, telling each other about the girls we’d met, seeing movies on the weekend, playing against each other in sports.

Perhaps my most memorable moment on the football field – and there weren’t many, believe me – was during my senior year when Thayer played Milton. Now, Thayer had simply demolished Milton the previous 3 years and Glen, of course, was the star of the team. He lined up deep to receive the opening kick off. I was on the kickoff team. The ball came to Glen and I sprinted like an arrow toward number 21. He ran directly toward me – and I tackled him with as hard and pure a hit as my deeply unmuscular 160-pound frame could pull off. We both hit the ground. He jumped right up, started to jog back to the huddle, then look over his shoulder straight into my eyes and with just the hint of a smiled said, “Nice hit, number 18.”

That was Glen; that was an image I’ll always remember. A class act. Tough, confident, but mainly he was the guy who made you feel 10 feet tall. He always knew just how to carry himself. He always knew how to make you feel special.

I knew all along that this was someone to emulate. Whenever faced with a new or confusing situation, I’ve always looked to see how Glen acted. Is it cool to try out for the fifth grade play? How do you talk to a girl or ask her to dance? How hard can you really push yourself on this 5-mile run? Which college should you go to? Should we study for this test, or head out for a couple of drinks at the Filly? Or both? Am I marrying the right woman? You could never go wrong following his example. I didn’t always follow his example, of course, but it was there for me. He was the North Star.

This kid was obviously raised right. I always suspected that my own parents were just a little bit envious of Herb and Sandra for raising such an extraordinary kid. Well, actually I didn’t suspect it – they told me. Often. And Glen was always proud of his family, forever talking about his parents and Herb and Holly, even at an age when most kids were embarrassed by the mere existence of their family.

We roomed together in college, where he found joy – he manufactured joy – in many things but especially his friends and football. Among his many friends, Glen was the guy who always tried to make everything special. Instead of showing up for an exam in sweats and a T-shirt, like the rest of us, he always dressed in a jacket and bow tie. Instead of grabbing a quick snack, he organized an impromptu ice cream event. Instead of talking about himself, he asked about you.

He played football for four years and to tell you the truth he could have quit, or just gone through the motions, because he knew that his chances of being a college football star were pretty slim, basically because he was pretty slim. But he busted his butt for four years because he’d made a commitment to his team and his teammates and to himself And all that work paid off, when his moment came – a lot of you probably don’t know this, but Glen Philpott briefly led the nation in interceptions, and was on pace to set the NCAA record, after the opening game of 1986. He had two late interceptions against Columbia, and nobody else in the nation got 3 that day. Glen never got another interception or another chance. We teased him about his brief moment of glory but secretly I think he was proud of those two interceptions -- and I know we were always proud of him.

Glen and I traveled together overseas after college, and flipping through a photo album this weekend I came across a photo that at first I didn’t recognize – several ruddy-faced strangers toasting Glen. And then it all came together. It was 1988 and we’d found ourselves on an Aeroflot plane that was stranded on a runway in Moscow, and it appeared we weren’t going anywhere for several hours. So Glen got up, walked to the back of the plane, and when he returned he was holding a bottle of cheap Russian vodka in each hand and a stack of paper cups balanced in the crook of his elbow. I don’t know what he bartered for those bottles of vodka but I didn’t really care. Glen organized an impromptu party, and he became a bit of a folk hero on the plane that day. Nobody spoke English, but I learned it doesn’t really matter what language you’re speaking when you’re drinking cheap Russian vodka from a paper cup. Because pretty soon we couldn’t speak English, either.

Another lesson I learned, or re-learned, that day was that Glen could manufacture joy out of nothing. And not just joy for himself, but for others. He didn’t get two paper cups, he got a stack.

And the final lesson I learned that day was that Glen was apparently so skilled in the international liquor trade that he needed to move to France to pursue it full time. Which he proceeded to do.

I visited Glen in France several times. One year he took me out for the most amazing and memorable 6-hour-long dinner of my life, also the only 6-hour dinner of my life, eating foie gras and sweetbreads and cassoulet and drinking old port at a restaurant called Chez Julien. Another time, I visited Paris when my parents were having problems, and he listened patiently and pretended not to notice when I sat on his sofa and cried. Years later, when my parents were back together, they visited Glen in Paris and he hosted a wonderful dinner for them at Chez Julien. It meant so much to my mom that she actually stole a coffee cup from the restaurant that she still keeps in her china cabinet.

And of course, he found himself a French wife. From the very first time I saw Glen with Pauline, he was beaming – proud, animated, just plain happy. He told me many times that Pauline – and later Valentine and Emma – were the best things that ever happened to him, were the joys of his life. The last time he told me that was quite recently when I met him in New York. We had each had 3 Imperia martinis so I can pretty much guarantee he was telling the truth.

One more story. In college, Glen decided one day that he wanted to learn to play the guitar. So he bought himself a guitar and a book of James Taylor songs, and he willed himself to learn the guitar by playing the same songs over and over again. Now, I love James Taylor as much as the next guy, and probably many of you do, too. But you get an entirely different appreciation of JT’s songs when you listen to your roommate butcher “Fire and Rain” 300 times in a row.

Until he got it right.

Years later, when Kathy and I were planning our wedding, we asked Glen to sing. James Taylor’s “You’ve Got a Friend” seemed appropriate. First of all, I damn well knew he could play the song. Second, it expressed what Kathy and I wanted – not only to be husband and wife, but also friends.

While Glen stood on the altar and sang, of course, another meaning became clear – “You’ve Got a Friend” he sang to us – he would always be my friend and Kathy’s. And he was.

And then unexpectedly he changed the last line of the song. From “You’ve got a friend” to “We’re all your friends.”

I did not know – and I would give anything for it not to be so – that 16 years later I’d be in the church where Glen and Pauline were married, saying exactly the same thing: “We’re all your friends.”

Poem by Joyce Grenfell, read by Glen's father, Herb Philpott:

If I should go before the rest of you,
Break not a flower or inscribe a stone.
Nor when I'm gone speak in a Sunday voice,
But be the usual selves that I have known.
Weep if you must, parting is hell,
But life goes on so sing as well.

Poem written by Glen's niece, Kayla Costa

Life's not fair in any way
To suddenly decide to take you away.
None of us got to say goodbye
And here we sit and wonder why.
Why did you have to, have to go?
It's something we will never know.
I think back to that summer night,
At the Cape House, stars shining bright.
We sat on the porch, listening to you strum,
A smile on your face, your voice a hum.
I never imagined that that would be
The last time you would play for me
Because that song "The Horse With No Name"
Without your voice just isn't the same.
Or the time with Glissade the sailboat, you took us out
And I picture you saying "ready about".
And we'd cry back to you "hard-allee",
Smiles across our faces, happy as can be.
And we'd sail across ol' Jenkins Pond,
Sometimes to the middle, sometimes beyond.
And we'd ride on the edge with the wind in our hair,
Laughing and screaming, not one worry, one care.
So many memories of us all,
Laughing, singing, having a ball.
From the sailing, the games and the stories too,
It will never be the same without you.
It's still hard to accept that you're really gone,
Like you'll waltz through the door singing a song.
Dad, brother, uncle, husband, son and friend,
You were loved by everyone, and that love will never end.
You left the world young, and we'll never know why,
But we are gathered here today to say we love you, and goodbye. ♥

A Toast Shared with the Family by Glen's Colleague, Michael Stoner:

A Toast to Glen - “One of the Good Ones”

My name is Michael Stoner and I’ve been lucky enough to have worked very closely with Glen at Russian Standard, and before then at Diageo where he was one of my best clients and before that at Schieffelin & Somerset, where we were colleagues. Between the three respective roles where Glen and I worked together, we’ve known each other about 14 years.

Glen was a good colleague, and in fact, I tried to recruit him to US Concepts, or what is now known as MKTG, about four years ago. As fate would have it, Glen successfully recruited me a few years later to Russian Standard. More than good colleagues, Glen and I became good friends.

We’ve heard a lot about Glen’s many talents and extraordinary qualities as a person – he was smart, funny, decent. And while everything you’ve heard is true (and then some), one of the most amazing aspects of Glen’s character was his humility. While his resume and academic accomplishments were beyond impressive, you never heard Glen brag that he was a Harvard guy, or that he went on to get his MBA at Insead, or picked up and lived in France without knowing the language – as he put it – all that well.

Another great quality of Glen’s character was that for all is smarts (and anyone who knew him or worked with him will agree with that statement) and his natural ability to teach (his de-facto title of the Professor was term of endearment and accuracy, not ridicule I might add) he loved to learn from those around him.

When you got to spend concentrated business time with Glen, he was gracious, insightful and analytical. He took great pleasure in helping other colleagues think through problems and sharpen their point-of-view (with an eye to the data mind you). He always helped to shape my thinking and it always emerged more rigorous, clearer and more thorough.

When you’d teach him something he didn’t know, he was quick to point it out. I thought Glen was a skilled marketer, though he always saw himself as a commercial guy with a knack for analytics. But whenever I said something that helped him to see a problem or consumer situation differently, he always said so. In fact, he delighted in the “aha” moment when he grasped what he was learning.

It comes as no surprise to have read so many people comment on his memorial site about his outstanding qualities: his gentlemanly manner, his quiet confidence, his passion and devotion for his family, and his competitiveness. It is from the last theme that I’d like to share a couple of brief stories and what are for me very fond memories.

A few short months ago, a group of us were at WSWA, the Wine & Spirits Wholesalers Assoc.’s annual meeting. It’s a great opportunity for companies to get an audience with their most important customers each year. It’s an important meeting and a lot of preparation and thinking needs to go into it. Because a good outcome from the meeting can and often does have a very big effect on performance, the responsibility for pulling together our presentation fell to Glen.

As Dana Chandler, Glen’s close partner in sales, said the other day “nowhere in business was Glen happier than at WSWA making his presentation and going toe-to-toe with the distributors.” That’s true, certainly as far as I could see.

Now keep in mind that at the meeting we were presenting to the most powerful customers in the business and to several whose reputations are legendary. After walking the principals through the many accomplishments of the brand – a lot of which were the result of Glen’s talent and hard work – we came to a standstill with the biggest distributor owner in the country.

At that point, Glen faced-off (a bit like in Miracle when young Mark Johnson of the US Olympic team faces off against the much bigger, much more mature Boris Makarlov for the Russians, then the best team in hockey) making his arguments on our behalf and politely listening to the other team’s position and responding appropriately.

Truth be told, it was a tense moment and one in which Glen could have turned to any one of us in the room for help to change the subject. But not surprisingly, he preferred to stand up for his position because, as usual, Glen had done his homework. He was confident that his arguments were grounded and fair. In addition to clarity of thinking and love of the numbers/data, preparation was a hallmark trait of Glen’s.

So how did the stand-off end, you may want to know? Well, no one really “wins” or “loses” in those situations right then and there – but what happened a week after the meeting was our partner conceded to Glen’s position. That resulted in the same distributor putting an extra point of margin behind the brand as opposed to into his own pocket. Its what we like to call a “big win” in the business and it doesn’t happen often.

Winning, by the way is not the point of the story – the point is that in spite of going “toe to toe” with the wealthiest and most powerful in the business and ultimately winning, at the end of the conversation Glen had earned all of our customers’ respect. It showed from them all as they made the way out the door and sealed the meeting with Glen’s patented firm handshake and friendly but serious the look in the eye.

Glen reminded us all the time why we always respected him, but that moment was special.

One more quick story – a bit more personal than professional, but still along the lines of the competitive theme and nature that Glen possessed. This time we’re not talking about football, but baseball – which was not what I’d observe as a serious passion of Glen’s (like his love of his family, or playing guitar, or the wine & spirits business).

Now, we all know that Glen grew up in Boston … and as a result we all know what that means. Glen was a Red Sox fan – and though he wasn’t a particularly rabid Sox fan, he was aligned with RedSox Nation’s universal contempt for the Yankees.

I, on the other hand, am from Philadelphia but have lived in and around New York for so long that that I caught the Yankee fever some 15 years ago and have been a Yankee fan ever since. At this stage I would ask Kevin Compagnga, if he is in the audience to please refrain from interruption. Incidentally, my lack of loyalty to the Phillies and love of the Yankees came as a mystery to Glen – who was used to long suffering with his team … until a few short years ago. But that is another story.

So, back to this story … last fall we all know that things were looking a bit better for the Pinstripes than the Red Sox and Glen was one of two or three Sox fans in the office (Kellyann and Melissa were the others that I know of). Which must have made it a lonely place to be for him and any other Red Sox fan -- working among the exuberant Yankee fans after their famous #27 title.

Anyhow, Glen and I had lunch together a couple of time a month and one day when it was getting cold, as Glen was waiting for me in my office, while I put on my coat and then my favorite, signature Yankees hat – the same one I wore this morning on the way to the airport and am wearing now as I edit this story.

When I put the hat on, Glen said “Uggh, not that hat. I can’t be seen in public with you wearing that.” Which I completely ignored.

But know that when Glen would say things like that, he did it with the twinkle in his eye and that sly smile on his face that made it clear, he was only joking. More than that, it was his way to show how much he loved the back and forth that friendly, honest competition brought to life. As usual, he was gracious about it.

So much so that after we finished getting a sandwich at one of Glen’s favorite deli’s on 5th Ave, and I announced that I was going to peel off to get a replacement 2009 World Series Series hat for my youngest daughter, he came with me into the Yankee store. True story Kevin Compangnga, sorry to say. While Glen was probably squirming on the inside, he never showed it on the outside.

As I think about Glen and reflect on what made him so special to so many people who knew him was that rare gift -- he was competitive and a gentleman at the same time. He earned the respect of his opponents and was gracious to the core. He loved that his friend could be for the other team and that in the rivalry was humor and fun, which is why as a Red Sox fan he’d join me, a Yankee fan, into the Yankees Store.

I once told Glen about my personal connection to an amazing athlete of the past named Hobey Baker, who in his day was the equivalent of Wayne Grezky and Walter Peyton at the same time. Way back when, Hobey was literally the best hockey and football player of his time – and he was famous. There were no NY Giants or Philadelphia Eagles or New England Patriots back then. There were the Princeton Tigers, the Crimson of Harvard, the Yale Bulldogs, the Quakers of University of Pennsylvania and Big Green from Dartmouth. In 1914, everyone knew then who Hobey Baker was.

Today, not many people know of Hobey Baker, but because Glen was a Crimson man and former youth hockey player himself, he did know of Hobey. It is worth noting that the Hobey Baker Award is the collegiate hockey award for excellence, or same as the Heisman Trophy to its sport. The connection that I have to Hobey is that my grand father Wendel Kuhn played for eight years on Hobey’s line at St. Paul’s School and then again at Princeton and about five years ago I became really interested in his story.

As mentioned, Baker was the ultimate athlete. Enormously gifted athletically, funny and smart; he was also handsome and gracious. Many people believe that Hobey was John Knowles inspiration for Phinneaus in A Separate Peace.

Anyhow, as the best Hobey would routinely be attacked in every game by his opponent’s intent on stopping him; Hobey was the definition of a gentleman. A guy who never got a penalty in all his years playing at the highest level in the Ivy League.

He was a guy who after a game where he’d been hacked, slashed, tripped and generally beaten up in a futile attempt to slow him down, would walk to the other team’s locker room, shake his opponents hands and thank them for a game well-played. I once asked my uncle if this part of Hobey wasn’t too good to be true, and was he really for real? The consistent answer was, “You bet he was.”

Glen Philpott was a lot like Hobey Baker, especially in business. Gifted, smart, prepared, analytical, humorous, confident and humble. Glen was the guy who after going toe-to-toe with the richest, the most famous and most powerful in the business – and taking them on face-to-face – would shake their hands and thank them for a great meeting. He competed against them, but he earned their respect. He earned everyone’s respect.

It is interesting to me that the Hobey Baker award in collegiate ice hockey is not just for talent, but for sportsmanship as well. I think that the wines & spirits industry should create an equivalent award for those who play our game in the business with the kind of integrity and sportsmanship that Glen did. It should be called the Glen Philpott Award.

I will miss my friend Glen and I count my life as much better for having known him.

Reflection shared by Glen's brother-in-law, Jim Costa:

The dictionary defines a legacy as “something handed down by an ancestor or a predecessor”. If it’s true that one’s legacy can be measured by one’s impact, then the legacy Glen Philpott leaves us all with is immeasurable.

Over the past few days I have been reading the over 100 condolence messages on the website and was truly moved by how many lives Glen has touched and the positive impact he had on so many people. Inspirational, admiration, gentleman, considerate, endearing, generous, mentor are just some of the words used over and over to describe this special man. Not just by family and close friends, but by former and present colleagues, high school classmates, college football teammates and childhood friends. The one word I use to describe him…”classy”.

Today, I want to honor him by reflecting on some fond memories I have of this great guy I have come to know over the past 20 years.

Glen was the complete package. He was handsome, smart and successful. A thoughtful, sincere, caring man, who had a real joy for life. The fact he was my brother by marriage was irrelevant. He treated me as if I had always been a part of his family. A firm handshake followed by a hug was our standard greeting. Although he was just a few years older than me, he was someone I truly admired and looked up to greatly. There were so many qualities that made him a special person, qualities that I admired about him and always will.
I admired his wit and intelligence. Glen was probably the smartest person I knew. Actually, it was probably a three way tie between him, my brother-in-law Herb and my father-in-law Herb. Let’s just say that when the discussions on hot button topics got going between those three, I knew to just sit back, nod and agree with all of them. He was passionate about his opinions and beliefs but never demeaning if you didn’t agree with him. He usually kept our conversations light and amusing but was quick to offer advice when needed. He was never too proud to ask for help when he didn’t know how to do something. He wasn’t exactly a handy man around the house. But he could take the worst of jokes and tell them with such animation and preciseness that you couldn’t help but laugh, sometimes with him, sometimes at him. I’m sure many of you have heard his famous “it’s a knick knack, Patty Black, give the frog a loan” joke.

I admired Glen’s competiveness. He was confident but not cocky. From his days of playing football to his days in the classroom, to his successful career, to even our friendly games of ping pong, he had a drive to succeed, something we had in common. Although he may have lost that speed or muscle definition he had in his younger years, he more than made up for it with his intellect. Over the last few years, we found some time to play golf together. Although I could drive the ball 50 yards past him, strength wasn’t his game. I called him Mr. Steady. He would continuously hit the ball right down the middle, not too far but always in the fairway. The last time we played at Falmouth Country Club, I think I lost about 8 golf balls. He actually finished with the same one he started with. I never did beat him in a round, which was fine by me. It wasn’t about winning or losing, it was about the quality time spent together.

I admired Glen’s class and his sense of style. Although a lot of what he wore would not have looked good on me, the man knew how to dress and look good. Whether attending a causal lunch or a day at the ballpark, he always dressed classy. I never saw a scuff in any of his shoes, a wrinkle in any of his shirts or a tie without the perfect knot. He used to tell us that he wore a shirt and tie on airplanes because it made him look more professional and he got better service. I’m not sure if that’s true, but he believed it.

I admired his upbeat spirit and his joy for life. It was very rare to not see him humming, singing or strumming on his guitar. He was getting really good on that guitar. He had mastered “A Horse with No Name” and Valentine tells me he was learning to play “Hey there Delilah". It was that same upbeat spirit that actually inspired me to make my Philpott karaoke debut last summer at the Cape House. For those who don’t know, Glen comes from a family of performers. They can all sing and sing well. The karaoke machine was a staple at the Philpott Family Cape House gathering over the last few summers. As the only two non-singers in the family, Pauline and I were used to just listening, smiling and clapping for hours, as these would-be American Idols took their turn on center stage. But on this night, Glen was having too much fun hogging the microphone and I decided it was my time. I tried my best to get Pauline to perform a duet with me but she wasn’t having any part of that. So I went on solo. I think I sang a Billy Joel song. I was terrible but Glen gave me a pat on the back and said “nice job, brother.”

The quality I admired most about Glen was his commitment and dedication to his family. To his wife and daughters, to his Mom and Dad, and to his sister and brother and their families. Family always came first. His love and devotion to his wife Pauline was undeniable and contagious. I think I gave Holly extra hugs when we were around them, just so I could keep up with him. I learned a lot watching him and his relationship with his two daughters. He had tremendous pride when he spoke of them and their accomplishments. They loved and adored him as he did them. My kids were crazy about him too. A visit from Tonton Glen was a treat and it was always sad when it was time to leave. I only wish we found more time to spend with him and his family. The relationship he shared with his brother and sister was simply special. “Sir”, as Holly appropriately referred to him, was always there, to lend an ear for advice or to provide a shoulder to cry on. He was strong yet gentle and always knew the right thing say.

It’s easy to see why my family has cherished our relationship with Glen over the years and I consider it a true honor to have known him. His wisdom and guidance, his kindness and love and his overall joy for life is something that I will never forget. He has set the bar high. I can only hope that when my time comes to leave this world, I leave behind a legacy that is half as great as the one Glen Philpott has left for all of us.