Dear Star, I just learned of Phil's passing and was shocked and saddened because I hadn't heard that he had been ill. I was a trainee from 1986-1990 and have great memories and appreciation for all of the guidance and wisdom that Phil imparted on me and all of the residents and students that he worked with. He was kind and approachable but set a high bar when it came to our knowledge of skin disease and how to care for our patients. I regret that so much time has passed since I last saw Phil but he leaves a legacy of many excellent dermatologists who will be ever grateful to him.

I will always remember Dr. Fleckman having those Pepperidge Farm cookies! It really made everything better after having a stressful day. Thank you Dr Fleckman for always putting a smile on my face everyday that we worked together! I will never forget you!

I remember Fleckman saying to me once, "What in the world do you have on your eyelids? Is that glitter eyeshadow at a Derm event?!?" When I think of him, I can't help but smile. I think of him, and I think skin and nails, bow ties, and laughter. Always thanking us admin for our work, and always willing to help us to get whatever we needed done, done. I will remember him as the epitome of elegance and class. Very much missed indeed.

Phil was one of my first bosses at UW Dermatology when I came to Seattle in 2005. He taught me elegant, classic, tissue culture techniques, like primary keratinocyte culture. He had a great, relaxed, positive nature in the lab and I never wanted to disappoint him. Phil continued his enthusiastic support as I joined other labs in Dermatology, taking on more responsibilities. I appreciated that over the years, he would always check in with me at Derm events. He seldom talked about himself, but loved talking about his daughters and asked about my family. He will be missed. I send my warmest condolences to his family.

At my sister Morgen’s wedding in 2009, our dear family friend JR cornered me at the reception and said, “Mahri, get to know your father. He's the most understated person I know.” JR's comment struck me, because while I loved my dad, I didn't really know him, or so I thought at the time. I spent the next 11 years or so trying to “get to know” my dad, meaning that I grilled him with intense questions about life, forced him sit down while I tape-recorded him, and made other awkward attempts to dig deep (poor guy). He always went along with my attempts—he was gentle and kind, after all, and he loved me dearly—but we never really got anywhere, as you can imagine. Then, COVID hit, and with it my dad's illness got worse. I was lucky during that time: I was on sabbatical during that first lockdown year in 2020, and I was able to spend a full two weeks in the middle of the pandemic (after two weeks isolating at our cabin) at my dad's bedside, playing cards, chatting, working quietly alongside him. Sometime during that visit and in the months after, I began to realize that I would never truly know my dad, and this was a wonderful thing. To not know someone is to sense their mystery. My dad was an understated, humble person. He did not make himself the center of attention. He was a listener, always present. He said what needed to be said in the moment. Plus, I already knew him. I just needed to reorient my perspective from being his child to being his adult daughter. After that 2020 visit, my dad and I settled into a regular rhythm of brief phone conversations, email exchanges, Sunday evening Zoom dates, and card games when I came to visit. In our conversations, he questioned and counseled me—unobtrusively—on the academic life. Our exchanges were brief, simple, meaningful. He always signed off on texts and emails as “ld” (love, dad). The past few years have been beautiful and painful as I have watched my dad suffer and witnessed his immense stoicism, his grace and resolve, and his desire to continue to pour himself into his work, his colleagues, his patients. It was difficult to keep his illness quiet, especially for my mom, but it’s what he wanted, and we respected his wishes until the end, when it became too much to bear. It’s impossible to express how much I loved my dad, how much I have learned from him, and how heartbreaking his death has been. He was one of the best human beings I have known. It is also a relief that his suffering is over. I want you to know that we (his family) are so grateful for all of you—his colleagues and friends—because you are the ones who perhaps knew him best, or at least knew him in his other element, in the thing he loved most outside of his family. Thank you all for your comments and for your love. It is deeply meaningful to read them and to get to know him through you.

Heartbroken to hear the news about Phil. He was such a great mentor blessing so many with his vast knowledge and experience. Wishing comfort and support for Star and family and friends.

I am so sad to learn that Phil has passed away. "Uncle Phil" as my sister and I called him, was a big part of our life growing up--I will forever cherish the memories of thanksgiving at Star & Phils; watching princess bride with mahri and morgan, and the way Uncle Phil always maintained a little bit of his Texas drawl :) He was the only person that called me "Rach" and he will be greatly missed though never forgotten by my family and the entire community. <3

Dear Star and family: Mark and I are deeply saddened by this unexpected and tragic loss. The times we spent visiting with you two every year at an annual holiday party will forever define our experience of Christmas. I hope the reading below might lift you up. If it is possible to join the celebration of life, we will look forward to seeing you there. Meanwhile, know that we are with you in your loss. With love, Ann Lokey and Mark Clausen

“Death is Nothing at All”
By Henry Scott Holland in May 1910 for a sermon at Saint Paul’s following the death of King Edward VII
"Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!“

Remembering all the great ski trips and hiking. What a wonderful, warm, calm, caring, brilliant man - he is already deeply missed.

I will always think of Phil as a true gentleman. He warmly welcomed me to UW Dermatology and FIRST, both of which he served with incredible dedication and passion. I will miss his wisdom, kindness and voice of reason. He was a role model for leading a wonderful, fulfilling life and he will be fondly remembered by all who had the joy of knowing him.