Karl would not have wanted us to write this; he considered obituaries to be hokey and full of fluff. He met his untimely death at the height of an extremely successful rock-n-roll career. (Well, that's not true, but he always insisted it was the ideal way to go, so we'll let him have it.)

A 1975 graduate of the Merchant Marine Academy and perhaps one of the greatest to ever stand at the helm, he worked a multitude of nautical jobs on a variety of vessels over the years from sightseeing cruises to tugboats, earning the moniker "Captain Karl" along the way. A freshwater captain through and through, he mastered the waters of the Milwaukee Harbor, traveled the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers, voyaged the coasts of several Great Lakes, and held nostalgic affinity for the Sacramento Delta.

Even as a self-declared recluse, he enjoyed a dive bar, good company, and telling wildly true stories sure to make anyone laugh. He worried about the well-being of others more than his own and could always be depended on in a pinch. In a good mood, you may have found him breaking out in a song by The Doors. In a bad mood, you may not have found him at all.

He may be reluctant to have you learn he is a proud father, survived by his two daughters, whom he often referred to as his favorite people. Other survivors include his four younger brothers, who would be wise to remember he's still eldest, his dear mother Dee Dee, several other family members whom he pretended to forget the names of on a regular basis but knew all along, and a host of associates, acquaintances, connections, crewmates, and friends who have grown fond of him (despite his efforts to the contrary). He is preceded in death by his father, Beyers, his nephew, Mario, and his daughters' mother, Jeanne.

He doesn't care about - and is slightly resentful of - your condolences, but we invite you to share in his memory anyway by putting on The House of the Rising Sun and raising your next glass in tribute to Captain Karl and the time he gave to us all.