This is horrible. In trying to figure out why it hit me so hard, aside from the usual factors like his youth (he was 33) and our shared profession, I keep returning to a general affinity of attitude. Hastings seemed to think that everyone in a position of authority is full of shit until proven otherwise, and I think that's a thoroughly healthy perspective.
Other than that, there's not much else to say than this, from my dad:
That was years ago now, but I can still oppress myself with the thought. Our brightest stars will fall. Their endings will be undeserved, unexpected, catastrophic. There will be neither repentance nor justice; only the arbitrary and inevitable. That shining promise may wink out in a one car roll-over or be driven like a piton into the cold white granite cleavage of Mother Mountain, at any moment and without reason. You may hopefully discern some evolving purpose through the sorrow; detect some overarching plan at work that will ultimately give meaning to the tragic. I’ve got my own certainties in that regard. There ain’t no stinking plan. What might be “fair” is a concept the world won’t even touch the brakes for.Here's to you, sir. Farewell, and Godspeed.