Timothy Joseph Large

His body took its last breath February 21, 2024, but the Tim we all knew left on the Alzheimer’s bus years ago. Given that the eccentric guy had already been taken away by the disease, his eight siblings and countless friends hope he died imagining he was surfing, or dancing to live music, or just hanging out with friends late into the night, often sleeping on the floor to save the world from his driving. He always marched to a different drummer—with a smile on his face, which made it more like dancing. He was not a good marcher, but a hell of a dancer. So smooth, like he didn’t have a bone in his body. No doubt a good indication of his internal vibe that made him who he was, one of those people whose antics often earned a roll of the eyes or slight shake of the head.

Inspired by his legendary passion for music—especially reggae—Tim squeezed a lot into his life. He was an altar boy, an engineer, a landlord and homeowner in the Heights, a bartender, a teacher, a miser, a philanthropist, a hoarder, a surfer, a tennis player, a guitar learner, a rodeo cowboy, a handyman, a world traveler, a lover not a fighter, a master of the workaround…even if it was illegal, a motorcycle enthusiast, a nature lover, a mentor and role model to his younger siblings, a serial participant at the New Orleans Jazz Festival with his posse, and a frequent camper on the west coast beaches of Mexico, where he found his happy place and became Timoteo, Senor Cuba Libre, alias Papa Smurf. Salud, Timoteo. Your legacy of living life to its fullest lives on in every spirit you touched.