
I never took his picture, but this internet photo reminds me of Richard and his house-truck. The man in the photo looks a bit like a playful, less bearded version of the Richard I remember.


After a chilly night in the tent, we headed to the Black River, which was probably more entertaining than a beach anyway. On that warm October day, the water had attracted lots of tourists wanting to play in the maze of boulders and waterfalls and swirling pools. We took a few turns tumbling down slick rock slides and stumbling back up to torture ourselves again.

Occasionally we sat up and amused ourselves with some people watching. The distant children looked like elves and fairies as they hopped effortlessly from rock to rock...a sharp contrast to the noisy beer drinkers who fumbled clumsily with their 6-packs and cassette players. We 3 quietly teased about how someday we needed to get us some of them "Handsome Ozark Mountain Men "
There was one person we observed who didn't fit in, though. He had a long untended beard and white gauzy pants rolled up to the knee. He sat alone on a nearby rock for much of the afternoon. We didn't know if he was meditating, writing poetry or planning the next bank robbery.

Richard seemed a bit eccentric to us, but there was nothing awkward as we sat chatting. He seemed like an amused older brother, as we shared funny stories and brainstormed ideas for silly Halloween costumes. He took us to the parking lot to see his "home" which was an old bread truck, covered in faded red paint. There were curtains in a window and even a little porch attached to the back. He gave us a loaf of bread before we said good-bye, reminding us he was fasting. We thanked him and told him to call if he ever made it to St. Louis. "If you're not fasting, we'll cook you up a big healthy meal!" We assured him.


The extra guests broke the ice with new energy and jokes and stories...for a while. Then, Richard pulled out his guitar.

In 1976 it wasn't unusual to have a guitar come out at a gathering. Singing could be a cure for a dull party. But Richard's guitar playing added a whole new tension to our group. He squeezed his eyes shut while his hands almost spastically plucked at the strings. The melody he sang seemed to clash with the notes of the guitar.

Thank you, Richard
I was relieved when your red house on wheels pulled away from my curb. Your sadness scared me and I suddenly began to worry about what could happen when you invite an unhappy stranger into your home. So thanks for NOT being all those things that we read about in newspapers. Thank you for not overstaying your welcome or doing worse. But mostly thanks for sharing a little bit of your sadness. At 19, I was concerned with little more than my college world. It was good for me to stop and really think about the life of another.
I hope you're still alive somewhere. I like to picture you sharing your life with another person, maybe in a real house. But those are my wishes. Mostly I just hope you found happiness.