Max was a great guy. When I was an undergraduate working at the Institute for Geophysics and Planetary Physics at UCLA, he was a grad student finishing his Ph.D. in space plasma physics. He was always willing to help this shy insecure undergrad with any difficulties. Always cheerful. Always loud and boistrous. His cubicle in the lab was adjacent to my workspace, and he was always so kind and friendly. Incredibly smart and talented, too. Upon completion of his PhD, he went on to Los Alamos, where he was a member of the Ulysses spacecraft mission team - studying the Sun.

I also remember that he came back from his afternoon workouts smelling of baby powder. Not exactly the scent you usually associate with a big guy coming back from the gym. I always found it endearing. He was an adorable, big, gruff, wonderful guy.

Although on the list of victims, he is referred to as "Carl Hammond", he went by his middle name, Max. Which is why I did not realize he had died in the WTC attacks until informed last night. He was in the second airplane that crashed into the WTC towers. How many times have I watched him die? How many times have you?