Andrew Dean Cecchi
Andrew Dean Cecchi — Dino to everyone whose life he touched died on Saturday, June 6, 2026, at the age of 74. Born April 5, 1952, in Richmond, Virginia, he lived by a simple truth: the only things worth collecting are people, and the only lasting wealth is the belonging you give them. He was a graduate of Hermitage High School, class of 1970.
He didn’t need to be the center of attention in any room, yet somehow he always became it, not by demanding it, but by the way he cared so deeply, listened so fully, and made every person feel truly seen. He was kind without effort, selfless without calculation, the sort of honest man who celebrated your successes as if they were his own and found joy in the simplest things. An ordinary birthday card or a simple drawing from a grandchild on scrap paper could bring tears to his eyes because his heart was that open, that tender. Quick with a joke that ranged from the silliest riddles to sharp, witty one-liners that left everyone laughing, Dino was a natural comedian whose humor lit up every gathering. No matter what you said, he would instantly respond with a fitting lyric from a well-known song, sung back with perfect timing, a habit everyone who knew him cherished and expected. He was a happy human, a kind soul who loved without complication and understood what truly mattered in this life.
That truth lived first in the kitchen of his childhood home, where his father taught him trumpet at age seven and where he and his siblings turned ordinary spoons into percussion, tapping out rhythms on hands, knees, and tabletops while filling the house with laughter and song. The music never left him. It carried him onto stages up and down the East Coast when he became the lead vocalist of Richmond’s King Edward and the BDs Band in 1985. An 11-piece horn band with roots in John Marshall High School and a sound steeped in NC Beach music, oldies, soul, rock ‘n’ roll, Motown, and classic Top 40, Dino’s voice helped turn crowded rooms into dance floors and strangers into a single, swaying family. He sang not for applause, but to shrink the distance between people, to make every listener feel seen and a little less alone. His musical legacy lives in the countless nights the band kept Richmond moving, in the memories shared by generations who danced to their music, and in the way a familiar horn line or harmony can still summon the warmth of those gatherings.
His path first crossed his wife Karen in the Richmond Majorette Drum & Bugle Corps. Years passed before life brought them together again, and when it did, they fell in love and built a life. For thirty-six years, thirty-three of them married he loved her with a devotion that was as steady as breath. He sang to her from across the room when the house was quiet. He caught her hand after dinner and danced her slowly between the table and the sink. He looked at her with the same eyes that had first won her heart, as if she were the only melody he would ever need. That love was not loud. It was daily. It was certain. It was home.
He brought that same open heart to twenty-five years at Wurth Wood Group, where coworkers and customers became people he genuinely cherished. Those relationships stayed with him always, he spoke of them often, with fondness and gratitude, because they meant so very much to him. And on Sundays, the living room became his stadium for the Washington Redskins, a loyalty that held through every win, every loss, every season. He also held a true appreciation for a good bourbon on the rocks, savored in quiet moments.
Dean is survived by his beloved wife, Karen Elizabeth Andrews Cecchi; his only daughter, Ashley Cecchi Burnett (Jon); and the children he loved and claimed as his own: Kim Barksdale (Mike), Dale Murphy Jr. (Julie), and Kelly Krolikowski. He was the proud grandfather of eight grandchildren who filled his world with light, each one loved so completely that his face would light up the moment they entered the room. He is also survived by his siblings Angela Cecchi (Jr.), Mario Cecchi (Lauren), and Paul Cecchi (Sarah), along with two nephews and one niece and by his dear friend Betsy Martin, who is family in every way that mattered. He was preceded in death by his parents, Andrew Joseph Cecchi and Charlotte Bowden Cecchi.
The family offers its deepest gratitude to Julie Murphy, Virginia Cardiovascular Specialists, and the doctors, nurses, and staff at Henrico Doctors’ Hospital Forest for the care they gave him in his final days.
Though the stage now stands quiet and his familiar voice no longer rises above the music, Dean’s song is not gone, it has simply changed form. It lives on in the hearts of those who loved him: in every song that suddenly feels different, in stories told on the porch, and in every burst of laughter that turns to tears because he should still be here. The kitchen carries a quiet ache where his deep love of food once filled the space, the smell of a good meal on the table, his quick “Are you gonna eat that?” when seconds were offered, and the pure joy with which he savored every bite. His favorite chair sits empty, songs on the radio catch in the throat, and laughter, though it still comes, thins where it once filled the room. The spaces he warmed feel larger and emptier, every familiar song now heavy with what is gone.
Dean left no monument of stone. He left something far greater: a living legacy written into the hearts he made fuller, the lives he made brighter, and every person he welcomed, loved, encouraged, or lifted. That love did not end on June 6. It remains and will be carried forward in the stories we tell, the songs we turn up, and the quiet moments when we feel him singing along. His voice may be quiet now, but his laughter and his love are not. They live on in us, every day, for the rest of our lives.
A Celebration of Life will be announced in the coming days. In the spirit of how Dean lived, it will be filled with stories, laughter, and music, because that is how he gathered people, and that is how those who loved him will carry him forward.
Rest easy, Dino. You were loved with a depth that does not fade. You were one of a kind. The music of your life still plays, even when it hurts to hear it.
“Don’t remember me with silence. Find a song that moves you, turn it up, and know that I’m singing along with you.”
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A beautiful tribute. My condolences to all of his family.
To Dino’s family- his obituary words could not be more true. My husband Mike brought Dino into the BDs band . Mike died last March2925 and Dino was a fine friend who remembered Mike (and me) and sent many appreciated messages of encouragement. He was a beautiful soul and we were proud to have known him. There must be a formative band in heaven now.
Deepest sympathy, his musical will live alone and everyone’s hearts
I’m so sorry for your loss. His whole family is in my thoughts!
Greatly missed!
Hey buddy I met you we met in the RMDBC corps in the 70s years later saw you again
in Ashland at on of the Saturday night festivals you and Karen met my wife and after all the years seemed like we just talked the day before that’s the kind of friendship means alot and we had a reunion at my barn you came to my 70th birthday party and a few gatherings at different places the corps will meet for more of these and when we do i know you will de with us love you and miss you