Some considered it an inspired choice, others simply surprising, when Bill Moggridge was appointed director of the Smithsonian Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum in 2010. The 115-year-old New York institution is a treasure house of decorative objects, from panoramic wallpapers to dessert forks. Mr. Moggridge, who died Saturday at the age of 69, was an industrial designer who invented the first laptop computer, the Grid Compass, in 1980, and was a founder, in 1991, of the global industrial design company IDEO. A British-born resident of Silicon Valley, with the intellectual curiosity of Nikola Tesla and the affability of Father Christmas, he had investigated the modes through which people manipulate machines, and used this research to pioneer a field known as interaction design.

It's hard to imagine such a person taking up professional occupancy of a neo-Georgian mansion on the Upper East Side and presiding over a collection that was originally assembled by a trio of Victorian sisters. But by all accounts, it worked. Though his tenure was brief, Mr. Moggridge metaphorically threw open the Cooper-Hewitt's windows and let in a bracing gust of modernity, his colleagues said. Having been hired amid an ambitious renovation program, he pushed to ensure that the museum, when it reopened, would be welcoming, informative, accessible, playful and even visionary. Judging from the tributes of friends and associates, he was building a brick-and-mortar (and technologically state-of-the-art) version of himself.

Beth Comstock, senior vice president and chief marketing officer, GE, and president of the Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum board of trustees When the Smithsonian named Bill to lead the museum, that one simple act spoke volumes about their commitment to design. Bill was like a light for moths. The fact that he said, ''I'm here, and we're going to make design a national mandate'' attracted all kinds of people to follow suit. This voice of credibility, this love of design: I can't tell how much it's meant to the Cooper-Hewitt to have someone like him in charge of the mission.

Caroline Baumann, acting director, Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum Whether he was addressing a small staff meeting or the entire Cooper-Hewitt staff or board members or designers, he always had this wonderful way of getting everybody to work together, think together and come to exciting solutions together. His style really struck me and will stay with me forever. It was all about the human element and the fact that everybody adds value.

Robert Brunner, founder, Ammunition Design Group I remember when Bill's company ID Two, which later became IDEO, was moving from Palo Alto to San Francisco in the 1980s. My company at the time, Lunar Design, took over his space. I went up and talked to him in his conference room. He made this comment I thought was funny at the time: ''I'm kind of over little red triangles. I'm on to something else.'' It meant something more than stylistic; he wanted to work beyond the surface level of design. He said, ''I'm going to leave that behind and figure out something deeper.'' And he did.

Ralph Caplan, design writer Cofounding IDEO was in itself a major contribution. The firm has grown to exemplify the breadth that design has always aspired to and only recently begun to attain. I was suspicious of people who called themselves interaction designers until Bill's book on the subject explained what it really meant to be one.

Tim Brown, C.E.O. and president, IDEO Bill put collaboration at the heart of design, realizing that the all-powerful individual designer was an outdated idea. He brought other professionals such as psychologists, ethnographers and computer scientists into his practice because he realized that such a multidisciplinary approach was the only way to tackle the complex technology-based design challenges generated by Silicon Valley.

More than anything, Bill brought humanity to design. He was curious and playful, inquisitive about people and always ready to break out into a funny song to ensure no one took themselves too seriously. He was obsessive about storytelling and fell in love with video as way to explain how design worked, or did not work, for people. He loved acting out the stories of design and took every opportunity to get in front of a camera. He thought nothing of starting a video diary by filming himself half naked in bed or in the bathroom before heading out on some adventure.

John Maeda, president, Rhode Island School of Design Most people who are fans of Bill's book on interaction design would be surprised to learn that all the videos for it were shot by Bill himself. When he interviewed me for the book, I asked him where his video crew was. He said: ''It's me. And I'm also the audio person and the makeup person. So can you please lean forward so I can work on the shine on your forehead with my makeup kit?'' I never expected such an entourageless luminary. Bill's unexpected humility and curiosity have stuck with me ever since. Around five years ago, I invited him to give a talk at the M.I.T. Media Lab. In his patented knightly accented English, he asked for an extra audio feed. How did he use it? To power his own D.J.-ing of background music for the various parts of his lecture. It was elegant and awesome. I'd never seen anything like it before. And I am sad that I won't see it again.