Ben Steven Phillips

There are some people you meet in life who are easy to describe. Amos was not one of those people.

He was full of it. He was loyal, sometimes probably to a fault. He loved hard, showed up when it mattered, and was always, always down for a good time. He had a way of making you laugh, even when you probably shouldn’t have been laughing. And if Amos loved you, you knew it.

Family meant something to him. And not just the people who shared his blood. Amos had a way of collecting people and deciding, sometimes without any formal announcement, that you were his. And once you were family, that was it. You were stuck with him.

He would do anything for the people he considered family. Anything.

 Amos was who he was, He wasn’t just someone who said he’d be there, He showed up.

Amos wasn’t politically correct. Not even a little bit. He didn’t filter himself for comfort, and he sure as heck didn’t live his life worrying about whether he offended the right people. He said what he meant, meant what he said, and if you didn’t like it… well, that was usually your problem, not his.

And honestly, that was part of him too. You always knew where you stood with Amos. There was no guessing, no pretending, no polished version of anything. Just him, loud, real, and unapologetically himself.

And if there was a Harley involved, you could pretty much guarantee Amos was interested. He could ride them, fix them, talk about them, and he probably tell you exactly what was wrong with yours before you even finished explaining the problem. He loved a good ride, a good time, and any excuse to combine the two.

Dogs were his spirit animal.

Honestly, some dogs got a level of kindness and patience from Amos that some humans never managed to earn. And if a dog liked you, Amos probably trusted you a little more. If the dog didn’t like you, well… Amos may have had some questions about your character.

That’s the thing about Amos. Underneath all the bullshit, the jokes, the stories, the laughter, and whatever questionable scheme was happening at the time, there was a man who cared deeply.

He cared about people. He cared about his family. He cared about his friends. He cared about the people who needed someone to show up.

And he showed up.

There are people we meet who become part of our lives for a little while, and then there are people who somehow become part of our story. If Amos was part of your story, my how lucky you are.

He will be missed by so many people. There will be stories told about him, probably some that should absolutely never be repeated, and a lot of laughter mixed in with the tears. And I think he’d probably prefer it that way.

Amos wasn’t meant to be remembered quietly.

He was meant to be remembered laughing, telling a story, riding a Harley, helping somebody who needed him, loving a dog, giving somebody hell, or doing something that made everyone else shake their heads and say, “Yep. That’s Amos.”

Being loved by someone like Amos was a hell of a gift.

So goodbye, Rat.

Ride on, brother.

And if there’s a Harley up there, I’m pretty sure you’ve already found it.