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<p><em>Mark Alan “Ivy” Iverson </em>came to us on August 27, 1963, born as life’s ambassador to fun, optimism, and warm friendship. In his last days, Ivy offered a retrospective in an expansive Courage Never Quits Podcast interview. The YouTube video is the ultimate Ivy: interminable wit, deadpan sense of humor, and generous free spirit.</p>
<p>His younger sister, Kirsten, describes Ivy as her childhood protector and playmate, “He was my wise, kind, and fun best friend.”</p>
<p>Ivy described himself as a Green Bay Packer “Cheesehead.” At Merrimac High School, he excelled in football, basketball, and track. Kirsten remembers him using bushes and small trees as practice hurdles.</p>
<p>Asked what attracted him to West Point, he deadpanned, “The tuition.” Without ever having visited, he arrived on July 1, 1982 with a smirk, long hair, and a shirt that said, “Feet don’t fail me now.”</p>
<p>Ivy landed in Company E-1 as a plebe. Companymates Andrew Lombardo and Bob Pitulej remember the permanent smirk. Upperclass cadets yelled, “Smirk off, Iverson,” even when they couldn’t see his face. To avoid marching, he joined the corps squad Volleyball Team and played all four years. It became a passion; he continued to play and coach well into his forties.</p>
<p>Yearling year, he joined G-3 “Gophers” like Joel Sclachtenhaufen, Dean Rogers, and Bill “Weas” Pursel. Joel remembers, “Ivy was fun and positive...mischievous in all ways possible...Ivy wasn’t one to follow the rules.” Ivy said, “Our group was all about enjoying the experience and not getting caught...we never forced anyone to join us in the steam tunnels or dive off the swimming platform.”</p>
<p>Remembering Ivy’s infectious enthusiasm, Dean says, “When he was around, the daily troubles of surviving West Point seemed less burdensome.” As the better runner, Ivy helped Dean train for the Marine Corps Marathon. Firstie year, Ivy and Dean joined the Rabble Rousers, as the “bottom of the pyramid,” so they could go to the away football games. Their Rocket calls and spirit missions were classic.</p>
<p>While others gravitated to muscle cars, Ivy invested in a first-generation Chrysler minivan, decked out with a bed in the back. For $30, classmates received the key and guaranteed silence regarding rental period events. Ivy thanked Tom Echols as his “marketer of experiences.”</p>
<p>At graduation, Ivy branched Aviation. He pursued the branch after Northern Warfare Training, when he saw the pilots enjoying hot chocolate while he was freezing in the rear. Later, he learned from Vietnam veterans how to push the limits of his Huey over Pikes Peak near Fort Carson, CO. He enjoyed educating brash Air Force Academy cadets, using his 100-percent effective “puke maneuver” then yelling, “Is that fast enough for you?”</p>
<p>As the Army drew down, Ivy joined “Fort Pfizer” as a representative serving Colorado Springs and Pueblo. He naturally excelled at developing relationships with doctors. He declined a posting in New York City as a vice president, choosing to serve locally as district manager. Employee Tim Harnois remembers, “Ivy was an outstanding manager, a stickler on detail and efficiency, but very laidback.” Others called him the best boss they ever had.</p>
<p>During this time, Ivy had two children, Chris and Lauren. He bought land, then designed and contracted a beautiful home on a hillside.</p>
<p>Ivy later transitioned to Kender Morgan Company, efficiently marketing the infrastructure of the oil and gas industry. He married his loving wife, Monique, a decades-long friend, and he loved her children, Falon and Desiré, as his own. When informed of their engagement, Desiré cried in joy; she lovingly called Ivy her “Faja.” Ivy was devastated when the family lost Desiré just a few years later.</p>
<p>Ivy retired to enjoy cycling, swimming, skiing, and golfing. He’d have continued to play volleyball, too; but, as Ivy put it, his knees left him for another man.</p>
<p>Monique described Ivy as a happy, loving, and generous man, an independent thinker, a smart investor, and always active—“a man who wakes with shoes already on.” His inquisitive listening skills, sharp memory, and wit contributed to his gift of storytelling. </p>
<p>At the end of 2023, Ivy was diagnosed with a brain tumor, then suffered a stroke on New Year’s Day. After surgery and months of rehab, he finally went home in August, helped in part by class fundraising. Days later, he got news that the disease had progressed. </p>
<p>Ivy accepted his fate with courage and faith. When Monique asked, “Are you afraid?” he pointed up and said: “I know where I’m going. I will be able to fly.” On a bed in the center of his beautiful home, Ivy took to enjoying a “hospice diet” of bourbon cokes, brownies, and cigarettes.</p>
<p>I personally learned of Ivy’s illness on a mid-September Saturday. I called him that Sunday, then filled my car Monday to drive across the country to see him. I stayed a week, visiting him and Monique daily. His persistent smile, warmth, and optimism inspired me as we shared stories of West Point, our families, and civilian life. We recalled travelling to Hawaii during the two-week gap between Cadet Troop Leader Training and Northern Warfare Training. He remained a masterful storyteller, even as his faculties suffered. </p>
<p>In October 2024, Ivy passed away in the home he loved, with Monique and her family with him. Monique later hosted a “Celebration of Life,” where classmates, family, co-workers, and friends toasted his successful, yet humble life.</p>
<p>Fly high, Ivy.</p>
<p><em>— John Harnois ’86</em></p>
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