Eric Howard Ganz was born in Brooklyn on Nov. 28, 1958 to fellow native New Yorkers Ruth and Walter Ganz.

He was raised in Long Island’s Merrick — which gave him the occasional nickname, “Eric from Merrick” — with his younger sister, Gerri.

A born communicator and storyteller, who could charm any room he walked into — should he want to — Eric studied communications at Boston University, graduating in 1980. He subsequently spent time living with family in Los Angeles, where he’d rub shoulders with the stars, standing in line behind Ron Howard, and playing basketball with two of the Jackson Five (Randy and Tito).

He had a goal, for a time, of being a sportscaster, and though such an opportunity came his way, he ultimately had a lifelong love affair with sales — whether it was Evelyn Wood, USANA vitamins and Melaleuca skincare, candles, or a new type of greeting card service.

In 1983, at Gerri’s urging, a woman named Bonnie Goldman wrote to Eric, expressing interest. Soon enough, they were together. The two got engaged in 1984 and married the following year in Bonnie’s native Florida, though they were already living in North Jersey, where they eventually welcomed a beloved golden retriever (and their honorary first-born), Alex.

In 1993, Eric and Bonnie — a copywriter-turned-one woman executive recruitment firm, and future J.D. — welcomed daughter Jami. The couple divorced in 2012.

An only child, Jami inherited Eric’s trivia prowess (which he got from his parents before him) and his unadulterated interest in film, TV, and classic rock, a bonding point for them both — culminating in a Paul Simon concert, bets about who said which noun in a Seinfeld episode, or lengthy transcontinental calls debating the filmography of Robert De Niro.

Jami followed in both parents’ communication-savvy footsteps as an entertainment journalist, writing for Entertainment Weekly and, later, the New York Daily News.

In truth, Eric belonged on Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune, given how intrinsically he knew and memorized trivia of all sorts — with a special dedication to and affinity for pop culture and sports, as well as the intricacies of L.L. Bean catalogs (despite having little interest in the outdoors).

A dedicated San Francisco Giants and New York Knicks fan, Eric was of the belief that the glory days of movies, rock, Motown, the NBA, and MLB ended in 1979. Still, Eric never failed to drum along to a Keith Moon solo or recount a play-by-play of his Knicks’ best games, and would have taken great pleasure in their clinching the 2026 championship, their first in 53 long years.

Eric’s favorite baseball player of all time, Willie Mays, died in June 2024, just weeks before Eric himself did on July 8, a factoid he would have found intriguing, were he here.

Those who knew Eric knew that he was a complicated man, but when he laughed, there was nothing quite like it — because it felt hard-won.

He said “modicum,” “minutiae,” and “preamble,” more than anyone you may have met. He loved Bob Dylan and Chuck Berry, and though he’d never gotten drunk or smoked anything, he adored bands who did — The Who and The Beatles. He stressed easily, but took comfort in Bob Ross and loved animated sidekicks like Buzz Lightyear and Donkey — he’d rewind a given Shrek scene no less than 10 times, laughing harder each time he paused the expression on the digitally rendered ogre.

He hated tattoos and tried bribing Jami, at age 10, not to ruin her “perfect ears” with a piercing. (Nor did he react particularly well to her getting a handful of tiny tattoos in her late 20s.)

He was compulsively forthcoming, even when you asked him not to be, and a neat freak. He loved sugary cereals and never discriminated with his candy, particularly when it came from Jami’s Halloween haul or a colleague’s bowl of chocolates for others to take. He was a creature of habit. He was proud to eat the way he did and still fit into his Levi’s from high school. He loved the number 5, and those jeans (of which he had north of four dozen pair, “like Heinz 57”) because of their five pockets and something about their buttons. His limited patience was boundless in the face of a dog or cat, particularly a golden retriever.

He was a loyal friend who never held a grudge. Even if he disagreed, he was always open to hearing another person’s side of a given situation.

He is endlessly missed, his absence and mortality as baffling today as ever.

Eric is survived by his daughter Jami, ex-wife Bonnie, sister Gerri, and myriad friends — none of whom can yet believe that he’s really gone. Per his resting place, “To Infinity and Beyond”.