Thursday, January 27, 2022
Rick was a good guy, extraordinarily so. In 1981 and 1982, he and George Lipscomb and I were literally like brothers. Rick and I would sit outside on the steps of my Quail Street apartment, playing guitars and singing songs, not punk songs for the band we were in together, but slower songs, folk songs, country songs that we were pretty much making up on the spot. People on Quail would sometimes stop to listen and hang out for a while. I remember that Rick liked that a lot, when passers-by would stop to hang out and become friends. Quite nice, really. Rick's was a natural talent, he played so well and learned so easily. We were in and out of each other's lives in little more than a year, but so many memories of Rick still remain, all good ones. When a friend we worked with at OTB passed away with spinal meningitis, Rick made sure we brought his Thanksgiving turkey to his parents that year. That's the kind of guy Rick was. And if I made a list of the hundred funniest things I ever heard Rick say, it still wouldn't scratch the surface. Be seeing you, brother. Rest in peace.
