A dedication to my dear friend, Rick Lewis, 1944-1999

Some people's lives are touched by wonderful individuals that so inspire them that they feel they owe them an debt of gratitude that no words can fully justify.  Rick was such a person in my life.

I met Rick years ago through a lady co-worker who had since moved on to another job and was working with him at the real-estate firm of Gibson Bowles.  She gave me a call one day and asked (knowing that I was moonlighting as a computer consultant) to come see her new co-worker who was in need of help with his new computer.  Needing the cash, I agreed to come meet him at his work where he characteristically, closely guarded his most prized possession.

I have to say, I was a little jealous of his blazing 386/40 computer.  It was the coolest thing I had yet to see.  After all, I was used to fighting my own co-workers for time on our 8086 dinosaur and this machine was something I just didn't dare to dream of ever owning.  But what struck me the most about our first visit wasn't this dream machine that I would otherwise obsess about, but it was meeting this man with such a charismatic aura that I immediately found a deep connection that's hard to really describe.  It was an unlikely friendship, divided by a generation that would normally leave most parings unsought, yet we managed to find a whole world of connections that bonded us in a friendship that I would forever hold closely.

Under the pretense of his work machine, I quickly saw the real reason for his passion for computers, video games!  Don't get me wrong, he was serious about his work and more committed than I could ever be, but he knew how to enjoy himself, too.  I found myself getting drawn into this aspect of  "nerddome" very quickly and found myself staying later and later every time I would come to "fix" his computer.  From the start I felt guilty about ever taking any money from him because I simply enjoyed his company and could never seem to stay on task, anyways!

Rick always seemed extremely impressed with my computer skills and quickly gained a trust in me that I felt I could never be worthy of, but certainly enjoyed.  I remember spending hours on the phone with him discussing life, politics and, of course, computers. I had a take on everything, it seemed, and he was always there to listen.  In retrospect, I don't know how anyone could have listened to the endless drabble that I spewed, but he always listened and even seemed to enjoy it.

Rick after a hard day of him and I skipping
Visual Basic class to go fine-dine at 7-11.

He lived in a retired Grey Hound bus, parked out on his mother's driveway.  It was important to him to take care of his mother as they had recently lost his father and was determined to make sure she never felt alone.  His deep connection with his family was always apparent even when he was faced with challenges that he was unable to overcome.  When his mother became ill, he without any regard for his financial being, regressed from his active practice as a commercial realtor to take care of her.  There was never an ounce of regret on his part, he simply did what he knew he had to do.  He remained in private practice, working out of his bus, putting together a few deals here and there and managed to make ends meet, never waiving from his commitment to be a worthy son to his mother.

Most people would find this living arrangement strange, but it was definitely Rick.  He loved his independence, making his humble abode on wheels, his castle.  With a quirky, sometimes paranoid demeanor, he would protect his family at all costs.

One night, Rick invited me over to his bus to check out this new game he downloaded, called Wolfenstein 3D.  We were both in awe of what we saw.  Never before had we seen anything like it and were instantly hooked.  I still didn't have my own computer at this point, but I gladly made the trek out to his place for a chance to play.  He, of course, sat patiently by while I played this new treasure into the wee hours of the morning (or close to it), never growing tired of watching me get hacked to pieces by the dogs from hell.  He had a jovial sense of humor about the whole thing.  He was always deeply religious but saw that such games were to be taken in context.  After all, as he well knew, we were fighting evil, not joining it.  

As you all probably know, Wolfenstein's predecessor was Doom and as he and I would find out, this would quickly become our game.  When he finally upgraded his computer he gave me enough parts to finally build my own computer and set the stage for what would turn out to be, night after night after night of endless deathmatches over the modem.  I would come home from work, scarf down dinner as fast as I could, kiss my wife hello and goodbye and retire into the computer room for an all out frag-a-thon for hours on end.  I knew he had work to do most of the time, but I couldn't help at least begging a little.  He would sometimes pretend to put up a fight about deathmatching that night, but I would quickly resort to groveling and we would be up and going before I could say, "Okay, I'll have my computer call your computer.... see you in Doomland!"

I have to honestly say that I have never been able to recapture that feeling at any point in my life.  It may sound pathetic, but it really was the time of my life.  And, to some degree, I think he would agree.  I've never really been able to pinpoint the reason for this... maybe it was the newness of it, maybe it was the un-relentless challenge, maybe it was because... it was with Rick.

I don't know when it was exactly when he told me the bad news about his diagnosis of liver cancer, but I do remember the feeling of the world crashing down.  It was just not something that I had ever expected to hear.  Rick was in his 50's but I could never see that.  He was my age, as far as I was concerned.  He was every bit as immortal as I ignorantly felt and it didn't seem possible that he could be facing a terminal disease. I remember assuring him that his reluctant decision to opt for a life-saving operation would prove to be successful and that he would be able to get past this so that we could get on with making a million bucks on our fledgling co-authored Internet classifieds service, Port-Link and continue to battle evil in our virtual playground.  

As things rarely do, they didn't go according to plan and Rick would spend several months in hospital recovery, battling one complication after another.  Still, he beat the odds, never listening to his doctors' pessimistic dribble and fought tooth and nail, determined to make a full recovery.  He made it home, to his quaint cottage on wheels and in the company of his beloved family.  Rick continued to battle with setback after setback, never waiving from his determination, never willing to simply go away.   Port-Link Classifieds, despite our best effort, never made it far off the ground.. it just kind of hovered there like a fattened-for-the-kill Thanksgiving turkey until we put it out of it's misery in 1998.  I felt miserable for this failure because I felt ultimately responsible for its demise.  I wanted more than anything to make him rich and happy.  I didn't really care about making it big or making the real bucks for myself, but I felt somehow obliged to give something back to the man who had been there for me, time after time.

I felt Rick pull away from our daily conversing   At the time I felt that he just simply needed to concentrate on getting better and to spend more time with his family.  In retrospect, however, I now realize that he was, in his own way, trying to spare me the emotional turmoil of watching him die.  One of my two regrets with Rick was in not seeing through this and being there for him in his time of need.  Maybe I didn't have what it took to make the business work and maybe we would never get to relive those days of Doom, but there was so much more that we could offer each other.  My other regret was in not coming to visit him in the hospital.  I talked with him on the phone on a few occasions, but I was always too chicken to face this with him.  I was not worthy of the friendship that I had been blessed with and it's a burden I will carry with me all my life.

After not hearing from Rick for a few weeks I got a message from him to give him a call.  I knew in my heart it wasn't good news, but I mustered the strength to call him back anyways.  My worst fears were confirmed.  He was going to die.  He commended so much bravery for facing his death with dignity and explained to me that it was, "okay" and that he "....knew where he was going", assured that his faith in God would prevail.

I went and saw him a couple days later and, although, initially taken back by his withering physical appearance, I quickly saw the Rick that I had always known and loved.  I was deeply sympathetic for his obvious pain, and felt helpless to ease any of it.  For the first time since he knew me, I was speechless.  Me, the guy that spent countless hours dribbling on about this and that.  I couldn't say a thing.  I could barely manage small talk.  I, being a typical guy, couldn't discuss anything of any real substance, I couldn't tell him how I felt about him.  I somehow hoped that he would "sense" my feelings and that words would be unnecessary.  I think I was kidding myself. 

He died on a Sunday evening in the company of his loved ones... the way he always wanted to go.  No hospitals, no doctors, just him, his bus, his computer and his loving family.  His faith and undying devotion to God offered him the comfort that he needed to go willingly and without an ounce of regret for the loss of his life.  

Rick never married or had children of his own.  A decision he confessed to me, regretting.  He felt he wouldn't have made a very good husband.  I think that's one time he was wrong.  He is survived by his mother, brother, sister, nephews and nieces... all the family he so cherished.  He once told me that family was what life was really all about.  It was a value he held dear to his heart and gave him the motivation to keep fighting and never give up.  It is a value that he has helped to instill in me.  He has shown me so many things in life and proved to me that how we live our lives is far more important than how long we live.

He may be gone, but never forgotten.  He will continue to be a big part of my life as the lessens he has taught me will forever be forged into the person I'm to become.  

I feel that dedicating this website is at least, something that I can do to help his name live on in... at least in cyberspace.  His love for the Internet was unmatched in anyone I ever met.  As cutting edge as I always tried to be, he actually introduced me to the net and gave me my early start.  It seems only fitting that his name should be cast in virtual stone in the forum he loved so much.

Thank you Rick, for being a part of my life, for you may never know how dear I hold the memories we share, but they are truly some of my most prized possessions.  I love you big guy!

-M