Posted by Robert Gutjahr on January 3, 2015:

Mischievous, brilliant, and freely wielding a biting wit, Tim Sweeney was our very own leprechaun, whose infectious laughter and love of West Point are now a part of our Class' legacy. I think it's fair to say Tim Sweeney embraced West Point on his own terms, and often for his own amusement. He was fearless and an iconoclast, and was fond of finding humor in so many of the Academy's traditions and tribal rites of passage. And we loved him for it. He was the Corps Squad athlete who readily endured his licks in F1 with the rest of our plebe class; he was the friend and classmate who offered to tutor us on some of the most difficult classes; he was the section leader who always asked the tough questions and was not afraid to challenge a P; and he was the crazy Californian who showed up seemingly at every pep rally dressed as MacArthur. We never tied of it because we could never get enough of him. Now's he's gone, and we will miss him terribly. I was fortunate to be his roommate our Yearling year, and after enduring four months of his practical jokes; running out of intellectual wind in trying to keep up with his free flowing banter; and watching in amazement as he readily grasped the most difficult course curriculums nary cracking a book, our friendship was sealed for life. For me, he was the guy who took it upon himself to give me advice and counsel through all the forty years we knew each other on women, finances, politics, and raising a family. A natural athlete and a gifted, albeit undisciplined, scholar all of his short life, he was good at everything he tried and immensely knowledgeable about every topic that interested him. I tutored him in German at the Academy- it was the only class he struggled with-and I was not surprised at all when four years after graduation and a tour in Germany, he could speak it fluently. In many ways he never changed, but Tim was anything but dull. He was one of a kind. I daresay those who knew him well were always amused and entertained in every conversation we had with him, no matter how long it had been since the last time we had seen him. He was imminently likeable and unforgettable, but the true measure of a man is what he gives and leaves to others. Tim was all about that, and I always felt fortunate that he gave so much to me and my family. Here are just a few of them: He gave the Army a great 15 years. The Field Artillery was the perfect branch for him, and when the Army offered early outs after Desert Storm, Tim took it to make a new life for himself and his family. He never forgot where he came from, and gave generously to the AOG. He was a great coach and father figure over the years to so many kids who played soccer in Northern Virginia and Texas. He had tremendous patience and an intuitive understanding of children and young adults, and easily earned their trust . He taught his kids the fundamentals of soccer and good sportsmanship, while at the same time teaching their parents a thing or two about civility and human kindness. He made me a car guy. Many of us eagerly anticipated our Firstie year when we'd burn the car loan and get the first thing smoking off the show room floor. And like many of us, I wanted a Corvette. It was Tim who dissuaded me from that notion and indirectly changed the course of my own life. An avid automotive enthusiast and reader of car magazines, he convinced me to buy a Porsche instead of a Corvette, and the rest, as they say, is history. We both owned Porsches during our careers, and after Tim sold his, he teased me for years about my love of Porsches- something he would never admit he started. His black Mitsubishi Eclipse became his cause celebre, and even though he knew better, he would constantly tell me why this car was head and shoulders above the latest Porsche I owned, at a fraction of the price. He told me as he lay dying that he was making a bucket list, and at the top of that list was driving my 1973 911S. Sadly, he never got the chance. He owned and operated the best Formula 1 fantasy pool in the country, and in some ways this was his neatest gift of all. Some guys play fantasy baseball or football. Auto racing enthusiasts- real auto racing enthusiasts- follow Formula 1. And so each year a small group of Tim's friends who enjoyed Formula 1 racing would make our picks based in part on an odd assortment of questions Tim would concoct as discriminators. Tim would update this pool after every race- his spreadsheets and charts documented the course of the season and invariably would demonstrate his mastery of this form of racing. We played this fantasy game for almost ten years, and Tim always won. It drove me crazy. Like a brother, he would give you the shirt off his back. When I returned from tours in OEF and OIF and didn't have a car to drive my family around, Tim handed me the keys to beloved Eclipse, no questions asked. He gave me reunions. He loved West Point and the Class of 1978. For more than thirty years he hounded me to come to reunions and enjoy the special camaraderie of our class. I didn't believe a thing he told me, because there were times you just had to filter his constant yammering. But I finally went to my first reunion (and his last) in 2013, and once again, he was absolutely right. He treated my kids as his own, and gave them stories and laughter about the two of us and West Point that will last them their lifetime. His Christmas gift each year to those lucky enough to receive it was a masterful letter highlighting the year's political, social, and sporting events, not to mention free flowing commentary on his own family. Nothing- absolutely nothing- was left untouched in those amazingly funny, disarmingly acerbic letters over the years. Part social commentary, part political commentary, and part homespun philosophy, they reflected a keen mind and a razor sharp wit. There's no question he could have been a commentator or a columnist had he not been so politically incorrect and spoken the ugly truth about so many trends, issues and events in the world. He took great pleasure in writing those letters, and all who received them reveled in his humor. Tim and I stayed close until the end, right up through that last Christmas card letter, when his battle with leukemia took him from all of us. Like he did throughout his life , he maintained his courage and his sense of humor, and for me that was his final gift. He never wavered, he never felt sorry for himself, and he kept his family going through all of it. All of us should take pride in the way he lived his life, and all of us should take pride in calling him our classmate. I have absolutely no doubt his spirit will live on with us for all the reunions and for all of our years afterwards in The Long Gray Line.

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