In Yiddish, there’s a word—mensch—that perfectly describes someone like JK. It doesn’t just mean a good person; it means someone whose presence makes the world better. A mensch treats others with respect, helps without expecting anything in return and lives with honesty, kindness and integrity. Every culture honors such a person—someone guided by compassion, humility, and a sense of duty toward others. JK embodied that ideal completely.
Over the years, I saw those qualities in everything he did. He led with both vision and heart. For JK, success was never about titles or achievements, but about how many people he lifted along the way. He had a rare ability to make everyone—no matter their background or role—feel valued and seen.
One memory captures his spirit perfectly. When my son was about ten years old, excited that I had joined AAHOA, he drew a picture of a hotel he wanted to build. It had everything—a pool, palm trees, and all the details only a child’s imagination could dream up. When I told JK about it, he immediately invited my son to his office to present his “development project.”
So, there we were, my son and I, in JK’s boardroom, as my son proudly shared his colorful hotel plans. JK listened intently, asked thoughtful questions and treated that crayon drawing as though it were a real set of blueprints. Nearly thirty years later, my son still remembers that day.
That was JK—encouraging, generous, and deeply genuine. Many others have stories like this—moments shaped by his warmth, humility and quiet mentorship.
Though we will all miss him deeply, especially his family, we can honor his memory by living with the same decency, generosity, and integrity he showed every day. In doing so, his spirit remains with us, reminding us of what it truly means to be a mensch.
With heartfelt gratitude for his friendship and leadership.
Fred Schwartz
