Frederick C. Rimmele III, M.D. '94 of Marblehead, Mass., was a passenger on United Airlines Flight 175. He was a professor of family medicine at Beverly and Hunt Hospitals in Danvers, Mass. He is survived by his wife, Kimberly Trudel; his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Frederick C. Rimmele Jr.; his sister, Karen M. Connors; and his grandmother, Mrs. Frank Kunzier.

Dr. Rimmele's wife, Kim Trudel, shared this look at her husband: Frederick C. Rimmele, III, 32, of Marblehead, Massachusetts, died September 11, 2001 on board United Airlines Flight 175 while en route to a medical conference in Monterey, California. Fred enriched the lives of all whom he met, and will be sorely missed by family, friends, and patients.

Fred was born and raised in Clifton, New Jersey and attended Montclair Kimberley Academy. Fred graduated Phi Beta Kappa from Amherst College in 1990, where he also rowed on the crew team and edited Sabrina, the campus humor magazine. He completed his doctoral studies at Duke University School of Medicine in 1994 and served his residency at the Maine-Dartmouth Family Practice Residency. He briefly entered private practice before joining the faculty of the Family Practice Residency based at Beverly and Hunt Hospitals. In 1997, Fred married Kimberly Trudel, an executive in the software industry.

Fred was an Eagle Scout, amateur naturalist, faithful church-going Episcopalian, a consummate Scrabble player, a dabbler in the stock market, a hopeless romantic, a homebrewer, and a loyal friend. His disposition was naturally curious and inventive. His playful personality intertwined seamlessly with his firm moral compass and his natural ability to lead.

Fred and Kim's four year marriage was a blessing and joy to them both, and to all who knew them. Though they hiked the Swiss Alps, toured the Irish countryside, birdwatched in the rainforests of Belize, and canoed the backwaters of Maine, what they loved most was to be with each other, walking hand in hand.

"Frederick," as he was called by his immediate family, had a special bond with his mother, also an avid birdwatcher. Visits to family in New Jersey always included time with his mother to travel the New Jersey shore in search of new birds for his 'life list.' His love of nature was rooted in his scouting experience, which he shared with his father. Fred and Kim shared many fun times with Fred's sister and brother-in-law, who also live in the Boston area.

Fred was a caring and respectful physician and teacher; a deeply spiritual person who translated his beliefs into action. Choosing academic family medicine reflected his beliefs and enabled him to share his passion for healing. His colleagues remember him as an excellent clinician who was impeccable in his pursuit of detail; a true caregiver whose commitment and irreverent sense of humor carried him and his colleagues through many hard times. His students remember him as "always being there for them." A perfectionist; he demanded excellence and at times seemingly superhuman performance ­ though never more than he was willing to do himself.

Fred was a compassionate and gentle person, with an adventurous spirit and generous heart. He always had a smile on his face and a kind word for everyone. The tragic circumstances of his death are a grim reminder that life can be terribly unjust and itsunfolding difficult to grasp. Fred's death will leave a great void in all the lives of those who knew and loved him. The love he shared freely will be cherished.

He is survived by his wife, Kimberly Trudel; his parents Mr. and Mrs. Frederick C. Rimmele, Jr.; his sister, Karen M. Connors; and his grandmother, Mrs. Frank Kunzier; and loving aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Fred's family wishes to thank the community for their support, their prayers, and sympathy and extends its sympathies to all who were involved in the tragedy on September 11.

Dr. Rimmele was part of a close-knit group of medical students who were together at Duke in the early 1990s. One of those friends, Kate Kevill, is a pediatrician in New York City:

His nickname was "Caveman"-which he reveled in. Like he was a primitive fellow, which in some ways he was. We'd laugh: "Fred happy." "Fred sad." He was also very sophisticated, but for his more primitive side, he got the nickname of "Caveman."

He made a gourmet stuffing, he'd do homebrew, he'd cook. He was so funny. He was one of the most genuine people I'd ever known. When he was happy, he was Very Happy Fred, just beaming. And when he was unhappy, he was Very Unhappy Fred, and he was one of the few people who wouldn't bother to hide it. How are you. oh, rotten. When he was unhappy, he seemed to take joy in finding ways to express this in a witty way. I credit him with coming up with the term "academic bulimia," which was his way of describing our first year of medical school.

Fred was an Amherst man, and I went to Williams. We became fast friends because of it. We were the only ones who cared about our own rivalry, but we also cared that we'd come from colleges that valued learning and using your mind.

The other ways he found for expressing his general distaste for medical school and the Triangle was writing in "The Septic Skeptic." It was a column in the school newspaper, Shifting Dullness. He was a contributor and co-editor with our friend Greg Lucas (M.D.'94). "The Septic Skeptic" was Fred's column. Greg actually took out an old "Septic Skeptic" and put it on a wreath that Kim had at a small prayer service the night before the memorial service. Hundreds of people came to the memorial service, but they had a smaller group at the church the evening before. We ate and drank and reminisced about Fred. It was actually in some ways a lot of fun-it felt like a party where we were awaiting the guest of honor. Kim had a wreath, and she asked people to bring something that reminded them of Fred in some way to put on it, and to say a few words as they did it. It was very, very beautiful. People put on various things; I think Moshe put on a fishing hook, Greg put on a column from "The Septic Skeptic." It was just very funny. I think Fred wrote that particular column after the Triangle had been selected one of the top places to live in the country, and Fred had a few things to say about that.

Despite the fact that he was a bit grumpy in med school, he was a very funny grumpy, and he was very kind. He just wanted to be done with the business of med school. At Duke, they did teach us very, very well. He did make some great friends, and we had some wonderful times. We had a tight group and we often ate together. Fred often cooked, or I'd call Fred. At the end of med school we lived in the same apartment complex, and he'd call me and say, "What's in the fridge?" Or I'd call him and say I had too much food in the fridge. He was very good for that.

The memorial service was beautiful. They had the most beautiful wedding I've ever been to, and the most fun wedding, and the most beautiful memorial service. It was good for me to go and spend time remembering Fred, and missing Fred, and being sad about Fred. I'm the only one living in Manhattan, and for me, it's just so much. And I'm a physician, and there have been public health issues, and my friends have all lost friends, and my brother lost a friend, and the city smelled, and the world was at war, my Muslim patients were getting yelled at in the street, there was just so much. It was nice to just go and concentrate on Fred. Even though it also made it more real, which wasn't so good.

We had a lot of people from med school that actually went to his memorial service. There were only about a hundred of us, and I think about twelve came. We were a tight class. I think everybody on the class must have heard from somebody in the class. We got an e-mail from a classmate in Australia, and she sent an e-mail saying how sad she was. We all realized that we should make a point of getting together more when we're alive, which I think is a point that was driven home for all of us. Look how happy we are.

Fred was actually somebody who was very good at keeping us connected. He said to me one night when he called that he was in the middle of his address book-which makes sense, "K" for "Kevill." I asked Kim later, did Fred really go through his address book? He did. He would just stay in contact, he was good for getting news.

Grumpy as he was in med school, he was happy as a clam in residency. He loved Maine, he loved being a doctor, and most importantly he fell in love with Kim. He was intolerably in love. The nickname his fellow residents gave him was Fred "I'm in loovvve" Rimmele. When they were courting, Fred was in Maine and Kim was in Boston. I'd say to him, Fred, doesn't your girlfriend have a name? Because I can't call her "my honey."

They married four years ago, in some small town in Maine, on a lake. And their wedding was designed to be like a weekend where they spent time with their friends and their guests. Unlike some weddings, where you go, you travel for a day, you see the bride for five minutes, Fred's wedding weekend, they just had fun activities in Maine. On the lake, the day before, dinner the night before that was like a clambake or something, then they had the ceremony and we all hung out for the rest of the day. We went swimming, we ordered pizza, and then they went on the honeymoon. It was a fun wedding to go to. And it also told you something about their priorities as a couple.

The only other thing I have to say about Fred is also about our friend Greg Lucas. Fred was due to be the best man at Greg's wedding. And Fred was so happy to be the best man. He'd never been a best man before, and our friend Greg is a wonderful guy. One of the last conversations I had with Fred was when he called to say he was going to be Greg's best man. He was so intent on doing it right, what he was going to say.

It was especially sad. The memorial service was September 24th, and Greg got married on September 29th. Though Greg, thankfully, looked very happy at his wedding. And Fred was remembered, really, every step of the way. Greg included him in a toast and a prayer at the rehearsal dinner, he had Marion and Steve (Mass, fellow medical school graduates from the class of 1994) and myself, those of us that knew Fred, light a candle with Greg at the altar to symbolize Fred's presence. The minister even worked Fred into the homily. The toast at the dinner was given by the bride's brother. The bride, by the way, was Duke Med '96. He also remembered Fred. So Fred was remembered in a very happy and festive way.

Another of Dr. Rimmele's best friends, Moshe Usaid M.D.'94, gave these remarks at the memorial service:

I met Fred early in medical school, and we interacted quite a bit on an academic level as we each developed our interests in Family Practice. We continued to talk about professional issues as we went on to develop our careers, but I don't think about medicine or professional aspirations when I think about Fred.

I think about fishing on the Eno River. A river which, as some of you know, doesn't seem capable of supporting fish of any size. In fact, if my success is any indication, there are no fish in it, but Fred always managed to pull a few out, although they always found their way back into the water.

I think about stopping by and checking on developments in Fred's aquarium. He was always particularly interested in discussing the behavior of his various newts and of his Plecostimous which, as all of you who knew Fred in those days are aware, is a sort of sucker fish.

I remember varied cooking extravaganzas, and Fred's introducing me to the possibility of raising fancy mushrooms in a log in your closet.

I remember Fred's various schemes to explore southeastern swamps, some of which he roped me into, some of which he didn't, but all of which benefited from his descriptions of them.

I remember Fred as a faithful running partner who always managed to get me out of the house and through a run. Somehow the fact that he complained bitterly about Durham weather didn't discourage me at all, as in the final analysis it didn't discourage him.

In fact, Fred complained about Duke, Durham, the Southeast, and the medical establishment quite a lot, but his criticism was always constructive, good humored, and delivered in such a way as to be well received. In fact, he raised his orneriness to high art as the curmudgeon-in-residence of our medical school paper.

Most importantly, I think about the fact that although we spent our time since medical school on opposite ends of the East Coast, Fred always remained close. He always kept me abreast of what was going on in his life, he not only impressed me with his own actions and observations but inspired me to be a better, more thoughtful, more constructive person myself. As he started to build a life with Kim he gave me, my wife and my kids the opportunity to be a part of his and Kim's lives as well. Whenever I and my crew made it up to the Northeast, Fred would do his best to make it to our neck of the woods.

Fred's strength as a friend was not unrelated to his interest in fish and food and cooking. He filled a room with his size and exuberance, but more importantly with his curiosity, compassion, and conviction that everything, big and little, counts and is interconnected. I don't think that Fred considered himself a wholist in the way that it is often described in medicine today, but in a deep, important sense, he really was one. He was a Renaissance man.

There's no way to put what happened twelve days ago in perspective. It's just too horrible. Nothing I can say or think makes it okay. But it is some small consolation to me to think that what is most important is what we do for the world while we are in it. It's obvious that Fred as a physician, as a teacher, as a friend, as a husband, did more than some of us do in long lives.

My life is better because of my time with Fred, and he will always be part of me. Through me, Fred influences my own family, my friends, and my patients. My family and I are particularly grateful that Fred bought Kim into our lives, and that is something that these terrible weeks does not change.

We all miss you, Fred.