About The Other FCAS
For the TL;DR, please see our FAQ. For the long answer, which includes an anecdote about a horrifying industrial accident and some minor ribbing of the CAS, continue reading!
My father, an aerospace engineer, had a coworker who died. The coworker had been testing a part in an experimental vacuum chamber when a viewing port developed a hairline crack, imploded, and the coworker was killed. No lie.
“Damn,” I remember thinking, even as a child, “You don’t expect an engineer to just die in the middle of a workday. A test pilot? A hostage negotiator? Yeah, they may not make it home for Taco Tuesday. But a guy with his own slide rule? That seems... wrong.”
You also don’t expect an actuary to just die. They’re nice, brainy folks who spend a lot of time with spreadsheets. Like, are they gonna do an XLOOKUP so fast that they have an aneurysm?
However, in December 2024, my own, much-beloved actuary husband DID, in fact, just die. One morning, I went to wake him up to go do math, and he, well... didn't.
It was the worst thing I've experienced in my entire life. I mean, there wasn't a faulty vacuum chamber and subsequent OSHA inspection (and $640 fine) involved, but I really, really loved that dork. I always will.
At the time of his death, he’d just started studying to retake his final actuarial exam - CAS Exam 9. He’d never required more than three attempts to pass an exam. This was his third attempt. We were tentatively confident that, when scores were released that summer, we’d be popping some prosecco, and he’d have his FCAS. The FCAS (Fellow of the Casualty Actuarial Society) is the highest credential in the field, and an achievement he’d spent close to a decade working toward.
Dying in his sleep really put the kibosh on that.
My late husband was a relentlessly social man, respected and admired by a wide network of friends, colleagues, and professional associates. Some of these people were kind enough to petition the Casualty Actuarial Society to grant him an honorary, posthumous FCAS. Here's how that process went (exaggerated, like most things I do, for comedic effect):
My Late Husband’s Professional Associates: “Please give this poor dead guy an honorary FCAS. He was so close.”
The CAS: “Nah.”
My Late Husband’s Professional Associates: “He volunteered with the CAS a lot! He even went to local colleges to try to convince students to study actuarial science instead of, like, vaping and playing beer pong!”
The CAS: “It’s against our bylaws.”
My Late Husband’s Professional Associates: “... it doesn’t say anything about honorary titles in your bylaws.”
The CAS: “Uh, sorry, we’re going through a tunnel and you’re breaking up…”
My Late Husband’s Professional Associates: “THIS IS AN E-MAIL EXCHANGE.”
The CAS, motivated either by shame or the goodness of their little 501(c)(6)-corporation heart, offered to honor my late husband with an award for volunteer work. This gesture was certainly appreciated. Know what this gesture was not, though?
An honorary posthumous FCAS.
And so, motivated by love for my spouse, the mind-melting insanity of grief, and the fact that, while actuaries are nice, I myself am a cantankerous little goblin - I invented The Other FCAS.