He was not thrilled, to put it mildly, when I showed up unannounced on his ship. My first impression was that he was a loose cannon. Before long, I realized that he was the only cannon, and that his high energy and creative intelligence were the best weapons a company could possess. The start-up schooner didn’t make it out of the harbor, and Rod ended up at Tri-Mer Corporation. John Pardell, owner and entrepreneur, enthusiastically supported Rod in building a full-regalia man-of-war battleship. Faith, money, time. Lots of sea battles, wins and losses. Over time the tide turned, becoming more wins than losses. Short, long years passed. With success, alliances formed. Rod and I hung together. Eventually, the pirates got us. I swam away to parts unknown. Rod made it to shore and started building a new ship, Precision Partners, an industrial development group with his capable and resilient wife, Cindy, and a new crew. Shortly after came an opportunity to form Ceramic Filter Alliance with distributorship to the Western World.

From the beginning, Rod was the product champion. He led a small team of skilled people in developing industrial-scale pieces of equipment that utilized new technology. He was born for this role. Rod was alpha, in good health, with an aquifer of raw energy. He had a quick intelligence and the right education, in physics and chemistry. He thought of himself as a chemist. He was happy climbing around job sites, swinging from smokestacks, and getting his hands dirty. He knew and loved tools and equipment. Process control devices fascinated him. He was equally at home in a testing lab, a sanctuary he adored, expertly using and troubleshooting the scientific equipment. Encompassing all, something mysterious and unlearnable, was his amazing ability to create solutions, design equipment, and fix problems. An irrepressible, innate creative force overflowed into everything he did, from presentation slides to floating filter arrays. Personality-wise, he was charismatic, a charmer, really, and thought the best of people. He truly appreciated and admired his fellow workers. Yet (a colossal “yet”) he was absolutely relentless. He would not be defeated. With his tenacious warriors: Jody Farley, Bret Ruess, Scott Birchmeier, Deirdre Labert, Ted Hornus, and others. As the tasks multiplied, day after day, fab shops and job sites, often night and day, were spent making things work, solving unforeseeable problems, and figuring out the hidden quirks of complex mechanical systems, making them robust and reliable. This level of raging dedication, commitment, and natural talent cannot be taught, cannot be hired, cannot be counterfeited. Rod was the leader. Others were important, even crucial. Rod was the central fusion reactor.

It wasn’t just the equipment side. Rod looked forward to sales calls. We gave hundreds of presentations. He was articulate and persuasive, equally scientist and salesman. He drove everyone crazy, me included, with his brinksmanship “just-in-time” preparation. Midnight was a reasonable time to start. Laptop out, he was always busy on flights (only first class), riding in cars (only big ones), and in the hotel rooms (only nice ones), doing calculations, customizing slides, and producing technical material for workflow. In meetings, he was wise, letting me direct the flow of things while he, the Pinball Wizard, responded to customer questions and exuberantly crushed the softball lobs that I tossed his way. He could directly envision solutions and rapidly give concrete backup numbers with a few strokes of his ever-present laptop. Focused, relevant, and impressive. We enjoyed the structured improvisation. We called it “freestyle,” which he later named his boat. We flew and drove everywhere, a lot of getting to know each other. He had a favorite story of mine: after two weeks of travel together, a former boss said to me, “Kevin, you are an expert in everything I don’t give a shit about.” In all this whirlwind of demand, Rod was the gregarious center of action. Of course, there were trade shows, conference papers, professional societies, and the like. He reveled in these. Cindy was often with him. Rod lived life at a higher intensity.

What came of it? After three years of monumental effort, the Cloud Chamber Scrubber didn’t survive. Regulations were relaxed, alternatives were less expensive, and the thing was a beast out of season. After searching for alternatives, catalytic ceramic filters were seized upon. The white-hot effort was redoubled. The glass industry turned out to be the first showcase. Years of work came to fruition. Rod and his team brought about a new multi-pollutant control technology that gradually spread across the US, Europe, and Asia. Customers and competitors took notice. It is a sterling achievement in applied science and technology commercialization. Worldwide, ceramic filter systems would not have flourished without Rod Gravley. The myriad early problems would have remained unsolved, the fate of most new innovations. The supreme importance, the paramount impact, has been in human health and well-being. Known health hazards of fine particulate have increased exponentially over the last two decades: respiratory, cardiovascular, immunological, neurological, cognitive. Cancer, a dozen horrible diseases, death. Add to that the effects of SOx and NOx. Though impossible to precisely quantify, catalytic ceramic filter systems now supplied by a variety of companies have saved hundreds of lives, prevented untold thousands of hospital days, averted countless sick days, and helped provide a better environment for millions of people. This is what came of it. Rod was the rocket fuel, the fire in the belly, the creative dynamo. No fear of obstacles or hard work. Rod had the force of will to make it happen.