Dean Kropp

Dean Kropp

My father is my hero. Dean Hobart Kropp was born on March 3rd, 1946, in St. Louis, Missouri. He grew up in University City, with his father, Gene Kropp, his mother, Amy Chase Kropp, and his older sister, Nancy Kropp Grote. From an early age, he professed a love of learning, and received top marks in school.

Later, my father went on to receive a bachelor's degree in engineering and both a master's and a doctoral degree in industrial engineering from Stanford University. As an undergraduate at Stanford, he was inducted into the Phi Beta Kappa honor society. Also, he won the F. E. Terman Engineering award. At the age of 23, Dean was accepted into the US Navy Officers Candidate School, in Newport, Rhode Island. He was an engineer and an engineering manager in the US Atomic Energy Commission's Division of Naval Reactors. He even served on the staff of Admiral H. G. Rickover in Washington, D.C. After his time in the Navy, my father returned to finish his doctorate at Stanford. Later, he went on to teach at the Tuck School of Business at Dartmouth University in Hanover, New Hampshire, and at the Kellogg Graduate School of Management at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois.

In 1986, he began teaching at the John M. Olin School of Business at Washington University. He quickly asserted himself as one of the best teachers on campus, and grew to be a favorite among his students. In fact, he won the coveted "Teacher of the Year" award 15 times! He continued to teach there for the rest of his life. Along the way, he married Christy Kropp, and they had a son, Hobart Kropp. They later divorced, and he married Kristine Kropp. Together they had me and my sister, Chandler Kropp. We were one big happy family.

Dean Kropp

In March of 2000, my father began to feel sick. He went to the doctors, had some tests done, and came back home. On April 11th, 2000, he was called back to the doctors, and received the worst news possible. My father was diagnosed with cancer, leukemia, to be exact. Treatment started soon after. The next few years were a blur of hospital visits and chemotherapy, of blood transfusions and weird cravings, and one very scary night of a transplant. That was the only night I had ever considered, up to the point, that this disease could actually kill my dad. He improved after his bone marrow transplant in September of 2002, but things started to go down hill in March of 2003. My father began to have trouble breathing and was placed on a respirator. He died on April 11th, 2003, EXACTLY three years to the day of his diagnosis. My father was 57.

My father is my hero because he stayed brave in the face of death. He knew his odds of survival were slim, but he still put on a brave face, to reassure the rest of the world that he was coping. My dad taught me how to put others before myself, and to never give up hope. He was always a couple of months away from a cure, and even when that didn't work out, he didn't let it affect his hopes. He just kept on pushing. Even today, more then 5 years after his death, I feel his presence with me. My father is my guiding angel, and my hero.