My IT Angel has Ascended

Brian Frias was one of the finest people I’ve ever known. He worked tirelessly to keep Realskiers.com afloat and I am forever in his debt. I hope he’s somewhere now where he can indulge his passion for fly fishing, at which he excelled.

A chasm has opened inside me, of the sort that can never be re-filled.  Brian Frias passed away last Friday, February 20, doing what he loved, skiing with the daughter he cherished.  He was taken before any of us had the chance to say goodbye.

My oft-repeated sobriquet for Brian was “My IT Angel,” for it was his facility at building and maintaining the nuts-and-bolts of the website that enabled Realskiers.com to survive. (Without him, we’re now one cyber assault from extinction). But Brian was so much more than a brilliant troubleshooter; he was a collaborator and hands-on spirit guide to the mysteries of how web software works. He is utterly irreplaceable.

I first met Brian when I was working for Head and he was a rep for Jeff Brumbach’s well-respected operation. At the time, part of my job was to rep the brand in my local territory, but it was clear I needed to move in-house at Head Wintersports’ new HQ in Byfield, MA. I tapped Brian to replace me because he knew the territory well and because I knew he was a quality person, someone who could be counted on to do the right thing no matter the circumstances.

But it was Brian’s unflagging efforts to bring Realskiers’ content to life that demonstrated just how far he would go to help a friend who desperately needed his expertise, patience and above all, kindness. He was always there to help me put out fires large and small. Again, irreplaceable.

While Brian could read code as easily as an English professor reads Hemingway, it’s not his backroom navigating skills I’ll miss the most, but his good-natured, low-maintenance friendship, grounded in an old-fashioned sense of honor and mutual respect.

Somewhere I hope Brian is able to ski powder every day, but we’re more likely to find after-life Brian casting a line into pristine waters populated with notoriously elusive prey.

Cast on, my brother, cast on.  I’ll see you on the other shore.

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