Mr. Floyd said hello to me every day. Each morning, he shuffled from the subway station to the law firm at which he practiced for four decades. I often encountered him at the corner of 18th & Cherry, and entered the building and rode the elevator with him.  He implored me to hurry ahead, not wanting me to be delayed by the effects of Parkinson's, the disease which eventually took his life. He asked about my parents, whom he knew from when his son and I were classmates at the Episcopal Academy, and always sent them his best. He would beam telling he about what his son Steve was doing in the Navy, and would share an anecdote about a grandchild. Inside, he greeted every secretary, paralegal, and junior lawyer, before spending lunch with the firm's leadership. A Jesuit-educated Catholic in the WASPY-est business in Philadelphia, he treated his clients and colleagues the same - as friends - and it showed. I also owe him my gratitude. I have no doubt that our chats convinced those with whom he lunched that this bowtied redhead was not just another ginger Papist, but rather an alumnus of the same private school as his own son. Fittingly, he embodied its motto: Esse Quam Videri - to be rather than to seem to be. I was proud to have known Mike Floyd and his family is in the thoughts and prayers of mine.