In the City of Big Shoulders, Chicago, Illinois, where the wind tells tales of fortitude and resilience, on the twenty-ninth day of September in the year of our Lord, 1966, a son was born unto Judith Leahy, christened William Edward Cover, but known to all as Moose. In the same city, where he first drew breath, Moose hath shed his mortal coil on the twentieth day of June, 2023, succumbing to the natural rhythm of life.As the sun sets and the moon takes her throne, let us not mourn his passing, but celebrate the life of this remarkable man, who was as unique and magnificent as the city he called home. His mother, Judith Wojnarowicz, his son, William Cover, his brother, Jerry Leahy, and his aunt, Donna Jura, do remember him with love and fondness, as do we all.Moose was a man of great humor, his laughter infectious, his wit sharper than a serpent's tooth. His love was as boundless as the ocean, his heart as open as a summer's day. He was a man of many interests, a lover of life's simple pleasures. His was a spirit that danced in the rain and reveled in the sunshine, an interesting soul that found joy in the roar of the Chicago Bears and the clink of cocktail glasses with good friends.In the game of life, Moose played with gusto, cheered on by his beloved Chicago Bears. He was a man who understood the beauty of camaraderie, the joy of shared laughter, and the comfort of a well-mixed cocktail. His was a life lived with passion, a life that invited others to join in the dance, to share in the laughter, to partake in the joy.In the words of the Bard, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." Moose played many parts in his time, but he played them all with gusto, with love, and with a sense of humor that was uniquely his own. He was a son, a brother, a father, and a friend, but above all, he was Moose, a man who lived his life with a joy and passion that was contagious.As the curtain falls on his time upon this stage, we remember Moose not with tears, but with laughter. We remember his love, his humor, and his zest for life. He hath left us with memories that are as precious as the finest gold, memories that will keep him alive in our hearts forever. Farewell, Moose, thou art a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. Thou hast borne us on thy back a thousand times, and now, how abhorred in our imagination it is to bid thee adieu. Yet, thou art at peace. The rest is silence.