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Gregg Reidy Date of Birth: October 12, 1975 Position: Equities Trader It has been nearly 5 months now since we lost our son, brother and uncle Gregg (Greggy to some and just “G” to others). Life will never be the same. The void that Gregg”s absence has put on us is unbearable and constant. Gregg was 25 years old and just starting out in life. After graduating in 1998 from Manhattanville College, Gregg spent a few years on the NYSE floor before his move to Cantor early in 2001. Gregg kept everyone young – his wit and personality could light up a room like magic and people always wanted to be around him. We honor his memory daily with stories and memories of the jokes he would tell or of what his opinion would be of something we are doing – we laugh and we cry. We just long for the ”old days” when everyday trials and petty nonsense seemed so important. We wish he could walk into Mom”s kitchen lifting someone and spinning them till they were dizzy or tickling someone unmercifully. Gregg was always full of energy and enthusiasm no matter what he was doing. Gregg”s existence on this earth has left an impact on so many. We are still receiving calls from people who loved him that we didn”t even know about. We know that having Gregg as a part of our family was a gift from God given to us 25 years ago and losing him hurts so much because of the love and closeness we all shared within our family. It is that same bond that will hopefully see us through until we meet again. Gregg, we all miss you so much and pray for your peace and happiness. If you are a friend, co-worker or just an acquaintance and have any stories or comments to share about Gregg, please sign on as we would enjoy hearing any stories of how Gregg touched the lives of others.
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William “Will” R. Raub Date of Birth: January 9, 1963 Department: Institutional Trading Position: Partner, Senior Vice President of Institutional Equity Sales Will and I met on a blind date that was set up by a Cantor friend in 1987, and we were married in 1991. At our rehearsal dinner, no truer words were ever spoken when Will raised his glass, made a toast to me and said: “Tomorrow I marry my best friend.” Will was my best friend and partner, the father of our precious children, and we miss him terribly. He will always be remembered as a special person with an expansive heart and high sense of morality. We’ll miss his big smile so bright, his laughter and crafty wit, his inexhaustible generosity and his selfless caring for those around him. His dedication to his work and his dreams now inspires us and challenges all of us to be the best that we can be. Someone once wrote: “That person is a success who has lived well, laughed often and loved much; who has gained the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; who has earned the appreciation of honest critics; who appreciates beauty and finds the best in others; who leaves the world a bit better, whether by children, a garden patch in the back yard or a charitable gift to help others; who knows that even one life has breathed easier because he has lived. This is to have succeeded in life.” Will truly succeeded in his life. Will’s gifts and living example will always be here to guide us and encourage us. We are forever thankful for his love and caring, and we feel lucky and honored to have had the time with him that we did. His legacy of love will live on in our hearts forever.
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Harry Raines Date of Birth: September 15, 1963 Department: Global Networks Position: Assistant Vice President My honey, my baby. My one and only love. I miss you terribly. I can still feel your hand in mine on our nighttime walks and the stiff feel of your suit jacket as you embraced me during those long, slow dances. Being held in your arms was the most wonderful place to be. I miss your warming up my side of the bed so I wouldn’t be chilled, and the look in your eyes as I’d catch you staring at me. “What?” I’d ask. “I’m just adoring you,” you would reply. “Well knock it off,” I’d snap. I miss our long talks when I would unload everything and you always patiently listened, no matter how late, no matter how tired. You were my best friend. The kids knew they had the best dad. Every night, no matter what your work-day brought, you wanted to spend time with us. I would bring your dinner outside so you could eat and watch the kids play. Then it would be a bike ride to the park, ice cream, swimming or all three. Stories and tuck-ins would follow and then you would collapse onto the sofa, rest your hand on my leg, and ask about my day. So selfless. I can still hear the kids running to the door each night screaming “Daddy’s home!” and jumping into your arms. And I will always laugh remembering my trip to Virginia. How many times did I call to check on the kids! And then at the airport, there were the three kids, wrapped in gauze and bandages, streaked with fake blood, writhing on the floor in pain. I’m sure we provided a few laughs to our fellow travelers as well. Jillian will always treasure the trips she took to the office, chair races down the hall and candy from the guys. How you loved to show her off. She will always remember you tucking her in each night saying “I love you more than any Daddy loves their daughter.” Kyle will hold tight to his memories of you waking him early on Saturday mornings for a bike ride and workout at the park, you saying “Hey buddy, how about me and you and a game of football?” and scary movies only you watched in the basement because the girls were too scared. Kimberly, who has a smile that lights up a room as you did, still breaks into fits of giggles when we pretend to throw the grapes from the Barney book into each others faces. That was your game. It’s Kimberly who reminds me of our last year together. “Memba Mommy, memba me and Daddy at beach? Memba train at Disney? Whoo, whoo.” Yes Kimberly, I’ll always remember. She talks of her angel Daddy and calls “I love you Daddy. I miss you Daddy.” and blows kisses to heaven because she knows kisses are being sent her way as well. Just this past summer, during a rare, quiet moment, I told you that it would be difficult for me to find a woman who was loved more or treated better. I can still see your shy, blushing smile. “I’m glad you told me that,” you said. I’m glad I did too.
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