If memory serves, Rick moved to Plano just before ninth grade. He lived a few houses down the street from Charles Manry. Between two-a-day football practices, I would often ride on the back of Charles' motorcycle to his house, where we would sit in the air conditioning as we prepared for the next workout. Seeing a new kid out in his front yard raking leaves, it seemed appropriate to welcome him to the neighborhood with the "I'm number one" hand signal that we all recognize. What I never expected, but still recall to this day, was the anger on Rick's face as he chased Charles and I down the street with his rake, all the while screaming encouragment for us to perform any number of perverted acts. He chased us so far we had to circle another block and enter Charles' house through the back door, so as to avoid being accosted by a rake wielding madman. Needless to say, I never felt the need to give Rick that particular hand signal again.
Over time, Rick and I became fast friends. I talked to him regularly over the years, and we got together when I was in Dallas, or when his travels took him to the Houston area. As you might imagine Rick was the consummate salesman, as evidenced by his status with his employer: When a salesman in another market area would find it impossible to get an audience with a particular vendor, Rick would be sent in to show them how it was done. Although he seemed to particularly enjoy this aspect of his job, and never failed to sell the reluctant vendor a few hundred expensive, diamond tipped saws, he realized how important it was to engage, and not emarrass, the local salesman in the process, and never allowed himself any glory beyond simply being a team player.
Even in his final, painful days, Rick remained true to his spirit. Though his nurses advised he would not be able to communicate and he would be asleep for a few more hours, when I walked into his room, he somehow managed to smile and ask how I was doing.
Rick is sorely missed, but my memories of him shine brightly.
Rockie Gaddie
Rest Easy...
Stephen E George
If memory serves, Rick moved to Plano just before ninth grade. He lived a few houses down the street from Charles Manry. Between two-a-day football practices, I would often ride on the back of Charles' motorcycle to his house, where we would sit in the air conditioning as we prepared for the next workout. Seeing a new kid out in his front yard raking leaves, it seemed appropriate to welcome him to the neighborhood with the "I'm number one" hand signal that we all recognize. What I never expected, but still recall to this day, was the anger on Rick's face as he chased Charles and I down the street with his rake, all the while screaming encouragment for us to perform any number of perverted acts. He chased us so far we had to circle another block and enter Charles' house through the back door, so as to avoid being accosted by a rake wielding madman. Needless to say, I never felt the need to give Rick that particular hand signal again.
Over time, Rick and I became fast friends. I talked to him regularly over the years, and we got together when I was in Dallas, or when his travels took him to the Houston area. As you might imagine Rick was the consummate salesman, as evidenced by his status with his employer: When a salesman in another market area would find it impossible to get an audience with a particular vendor, Rick would be sent in to show them how it was done. Although he seemed to particularly enjoy this aspect of his job, and never failed to sell the reluctant vendor a few hundred expensive, diamond tipped saws, he realized how important it was to engage, and not emarrass, the local salesman in the process, and never allowed himself any glory beyond simply being a team player.
Even in his final, painful days, Rick remained true to his spirit. Though his nurses advised he would not be able to communicate and he would be asleep for a few more hours, when I walked into his room, he somehow managed to smile and ask how I was doing.
Rick is sorely missed, but my memories of him shine brightly.