Michel called less than 48 hours later and said, "David passed 15 minutes ago." Whew. I let Harbs, who was in his office, know right away. I was told Ozzie Newsome, who was headed to see David that afternoon, was on a treadmill in the weight room. As I approached Oz, one of David's closest friends, he knew. He stopped the treadmill. "It's over?" Yes, Ozzie, David just died. Once I saw this strong man begin to well up and cry, I turned and walked away.

The funeral mass on Tuesday at the Baltimore Basilica, presented by Archbishop William E. Lori, was fitting and respectful. The touching salutes by John, Michel and oldest son Arthur were spectacular, bringing all to a combination of smiles and tears. How strong this trio was as they shared memories of David Modell.

In the pews sat players like Ray Lewis, who cried as he left the church, Tony Siragusa, Rob Burnett, Michael McCrary and Matt Stover. They all said the same thing: "David made us feel like family." New York Giants Owner John Mara, a longtime friend of David's, was there, as was Ernie Accorsi, the former Colts and Browns GM who helped mentor David through the years. Oz and Harbs sat together, seated right behind Steve and Reneé Bisciotti. Colts' Hall of Famer Lenny Moore was there. "David always made me feel welcomed at the Ravens," he said walking out of the church.

During the mass, my thoughts wandered to the early days of the Ravens, back in the first months of 1996. We didn't have a name, team colors – didn't even have an updated diagram of Memorial Stadium. We didn't have very many staff yet, and David hired key executives like Roy Sommerhof and Baker Koppelman, still with us today. The days were long; the details were many. The offices at 200 St. Paul St. became like homes for us. We literally put the business of the franchise together in weeks.

It was chaotic, but fun. David directed that way. He made sure that everything we did kept the fans as a priority, and he wanted their input. He said the fans would pick the team name, and you did. He said we would create a college-like atmosphere at our home games, and we still have that. So much more. His fingerprints are all over "Silver Betty." They are also all over this great franchise. He is an integral part of the foundation of the Baltimore Ravens.

Thank you, David.

We miss you,

Kevin

P.S. David would be pissed if I didn't end this epistle with a laugh. David became the first director of marketing in the history of the NFL. He had terrific ideas for engaging fans, especially on gamedays, and in training camp. In 1986, we worked at the Cleveland Browns, who were just becoming known as the "Dogs." Cleveland Stadium was being called the "Dawg Pound" by local media and the likes of Chris Berman. David had this idea. He went to a local kennel and had recordings made of barking dogs. He wanted to play this every time our defense took the field. The finished product was impressive. It was loud, sounded vicious, and he promised: "Can't you see our players and the fans barking? It will be intimidating, and the fans will love it." I asked the right question. "What does Art think of it?" "He'll love it," David predicted.

Art did not. First time our defense took the field for our next game, the cacophony of barking blared over the loud speakers. My seat in the press box had a "hotline" directly to Art Modell. We weren't five seconds into the barking when the phone lit up. "Yes Art?" "What the hell is going on? What's with the barking? Get that off!" Art demanded. I got on a headset, which was connected to David, who, by the way, was standing in a booth just a few feet from the senior Modell. "Art said to 'kill' the barking dogs." David replied: "I'll handle it." Next time the defense went out, the barking returned, the phone line lit up, and not only did Art tell me to "get those #$%* dogs out of the stadium," he wanted to know whose idea it was. Back to the headset, "Thought you were going to handle this with Art?" David laughed, "I will, but I like that he's calling you."