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Richie @ RISD (and shortly thereafter)

(from Carol Pentleton)

 

Many of us at RISD who were not architecture majors knew Richie (yeah, it was "Richie" back then - go figure) as "Hola Hola" at the beginning of freshman year because of the T-shirt he wore constantly. I met him sophomore year through friends in the architecture department - especially the ones who played chess! And senior year he moved into Methylhaus on the East Side of Providence, part of a shifting living group of artists, designers, architects, and programmers. (His brother stayed with us for a few months, too, while looking at schools)

 

Richie was probably the busiest person I've ever known. He always had some sort of project going: a cookie-baking business freshman year, a calligraphy business, bands, dances, making kim-chee, photography, learning yet another musical instrument, giving banjo lessons, buying and selling antiques. There were endless games of chess, especially Scrabble - always played on the floor. He taught me how to drive a manual transmission car, and I actually made it all the way down Blackstone Boulevard and back without ruining Nellie's transmission. (Richie was very proud of that car: there was one very late night run on the newly opened route 295 where he pushed it well over 100mph, asking us; "What do you hear? All you hear is a little wind noise!") He persuaded me to invest in one of his projects: a broken down player piano that we each put $50 into. So I had the use of that neat piano for two years while he not only restored it and got it to run old Scott Joplin rolls, but taught himself to play. I think we eventually doubled our money, and that probably seemed like a lot more back in the day.

 

Perhaps 99% of what I know about Hawaii is from Richie's stories: overripe fruit tossed at King Kamehameha Highway signs, sliding down hills on ti leaves, matched Hawaiian luggage, and the generous Japanese grocer who always sent him back to the mainland with boxes of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts. He spoke of Hawaii with great fondness, but seemed like a real Yankee, too.

 

And there was always that wonderful, easy, booming laugh!

 

 

The Made Skirt

(by Jill Morse Menezes)

1982-83?  It was spring.  I had taken a week off work to drive my first solo road trip and had decided to visit cousin Rich in Wardsboro.  I motored down from the north, having swung through northern NY state and the Adirondack Mountains.  The little brook was running and sparkling; Rich's abode was spartan but delightful with the ever-present woodstove that would prove so fateful.  When he ran out to greet me it was obvious he was thrilled to have his own little spot in the world, and I got a quick tour.  We went for a ride to his rented architecture office and stopped on the way at a small convenience store.  "You have to try this ice cream - it's made Right Here in Vermont!  and he handed me a pint of Ben & Jerry's.  It was my First Pint.  I wasn't used to eating that much all at once but he insisted, "You have to eat the Whole Thing it's the only way to eat it!"  Grin, laugh.  It was good.  Later, Rich fixed up his sleeping spot for me and he slept on the floor.  I've never forgotten that he used T-shirts as pillowcases.  A men's size M is a perfect fit - it just makes 'ears' on your pillow from the sleeves.  It was orange, and it had a pocket. 

Next morning, we woke and made plans for the day.  Rich invited me to a Contra dance he had planned to attend that evening.  Sounded like fun, square dancing but different, older, more English.  Great!  Sure!  Did I have a skirt?  Um, no, I didn't bring one.  (sigh, concern) You have to have a skirt.  All the women wear skirts - It has to be big, swirly....  well, there's the sewing machine over there, this trunk has some fabric.  Pick out something you like and you can make one while I'm working today.  Uh, OK!  And so I did.  I don't remember what else the trunk contained but the biggest piece of yardage I found was a white tablecloth-like thing that could be pieced into gathered tiers to make it fuller.  He didn't have a zipper so I had to safety-pin the waistband together and cinch it with a belt that luckily I had with me.  Before we left for the dance Rich wanted to take my picture.  I asked him if I could I hold something so I wasn't just standing there with my hands hanging down at my sides...  "Here, hold the cat!" he said.  So I did.

 

This story was brought to Rich's memorial service

(by Oren Rosenthal)

I've been thinking a lot about Rich since I heard of his sudden passing.  Though I hadn't seen much of Rich for quite a while, the feelings I felt when I heard he had died revealed to myself how much he had meant to me.

Rich was a friend at a different time in my life, during my early years with Newtowne morris.  We rode up to morris events together, and chatted about all kinds of things, shared life stories, hung out some.

Whatever Rich did, he did enthusiastically, and he loved to talk about projects he was doing or had done or was about to do.  And the thing was, he did them, including this crazy idea of opening an accordion store.  He seemed to take it for granted that he could do what he envisioned, and that optimism and faith were rewarded.

Rich loved having people share his enthusiasms.  He turned me on to the Squeeze-In, first, and when I told him how great it was he said, "If you liked this, you've got to go to Ashokan.  This is just a small edition of Ashokan."  I went, and he was right, of course.  The point is not that he was right, though, but that he loved to have others experience the same pleasures he did.

At heart, I think Rich was a generous, warm spirit.  I will miss him more than I can say. 

 

Rich the Architect

(by Andy Grogan)

I drafted for Rich for 2.5 years when I was just starting out in architecture.  Thanks again for Geordie for giving me the opportunity to speak at the memorial about Rich the Architect.  As I spent so much time preparing what I would say about Rich’s architecture,  I realized later that I left out one very important thing: Rich was also my friend, and I will miss him greatly.  Below is the text from the memorial.

Thinking of Rich, I’m reminded of Goethe’s famous quote that architecture is frozen music.  In many ways, his approach to architecture was similar to how he approached the concertinas. From my perspective in Rich’s architecture office, I never saw a difference between how he approached his architecture and how he approached his music. During the time I spent working with Rich, I think I probably heard as much about concertina construction as I did about building construction.

These two ideas—music and architecture—seemed to talk to each other. He was constantly designing.  He was constantly working out ideas.  And the results of were always beautiful, whether it was a new house or a brand new instrument. 

It’s funny but appropriate: in order to explain how I think about Rich’s architecture, I find myself having to talk about the concertinas:

Clearly, the instruments are beautiful.  I can remember overhearing hours of conversations between Rich and the laser cutter discussing how to get the scroll-work cut exactly the way Rich wanted it

But, Rich also put so much work into figuring out all the things you don’t see—from how the bellows would operate to how the reeds vibrate to the ergonomics of the buttons and fingering.  All of that work was hidden away beneath the beautiful box you saw. 

But once you played one, it would immediately become clear how much careful thought went into their design.  His buildings seemed to work the same way: they were always beautiful, but you had to “play” them—you had to live in them, work in them, build them, or, in my case, be witness to their design in order for their beauty to be fully revealed.  

Rich is the only architect I know of that received a standing ovation from a framing crew.  If you’ve ever spent time on a jobsite, you know how significant that is.

I say this with pun fully intended: there is an incredible “richness” to his architecture.  It isn’t immediately apparent, but I always felt that the strength of what Rich did was how it quietly revealed its complexity.  Rich’s depth of thought and understanding shows itself over time, as people “play” his architecture.  And in so many ways, that is what all architects strive for.

In the time I spent working with Rich, I could never keep up with him: he always had things figured out before me, and while I was busy trying to catch up, he’d already worked out a problem I hadn’t even yet discovered.

Too often at these moments, we find ourselves wishing we’d not taken things for granted or assumed their permanence.  I can honestly say that I understood what Rich gave me while it was being given: almost every week since I last worked in Rich’s office, I’ve asked myself: “How would Rich approach this?  What would Rich do?”  Occasionally, I find myself saying, “Man, Rich would have never done it this way!” 

He provided me with a way to look at my work, at my life, and at the world.  He set a standard that I can spend the rest of my life trying to achieve. 

For that I am thankful.

 

Remembering Rich, the Hayden player

(by Ric Frambach)

I clearly remember the day I met Rich.  The factory had just moved to Sunderland and it was time for what I believe was the first Northeast Concertina Workshop.  Participants had been invited to tour the factory the Friday evening before and since I had flown in from Des Moines, IA and had a rental car,  I thought it would be interesting.  Outside of one short business trip to Boston, I'd never been to New England.  Having decided to learn to play a concertina months before, I thought a Hayden would be best suited for me, so I purchased one from the Button Box.  Well, the first five people who showed up for the tour were all Hayden players. (We must be a needy clan.)  This statistical oddity was noted by Rich who assured me it was very likely there had never been six Hayden players (counting himself) in the same room ever in the history of mankind.  I didn't know who he was, his involvment with the work that was being done there, or his many other contributions, but I was grateful that he took the time to put me at ease and not let me feel like a midwestern interloper.  

 

My wife and I have been to subsequent Northeast Squeeze-Ins and loved every minute.  From the first moment I heard Rich had a Hayden concertina in development, I told him I wanted one.  Everytime I saw him, I questioned him (I hope good-naturedly) about when I could buy a Morse Hayden.  At first he'd tell me it was awhile off, then he began to sound more hopeful.  When my eagerness got the better of me, I would press him, and he would explain in great detail the technical hurdle they were facing at the moment.  Eventually, I realized that he wanted this even more than I  did and that to rush or push him wasn't helping him or me at all.  He wasn't going to put out a crappy concertina, period. 

 

I can't pretend to really know Rich or to say I was a good friend, but he is indelibly imprinted on my mind as a genuine, sincere human who was always kind to me.  I can still see him swinging around the dance floor in pure delight.  The world is a better place because of Rich.   

 

A Few Brief Tales

(by Bill Schultz)

I remember when Rich was moving towards getting a computer, and I had suggested that he speak with Charles, a friend of mine who among numerous other ventures ran a computer store. Charles in some ways shared a few of Rich's characteristics, including an incredible ability to understand and observe the details of any topic under consideration- Charles had an engineering background, which naturally led him to running a wood frame business, hydroelectric dam, hockey stick factory, insulation business, and to develop an oil absorption material to facilitate oil recovery from water and land. Charles could outtalk me on any subject. But he couldn't outtalk Rich. When they were done speaking , Charles told me with a big laugh " I felt that all of my knowledge had been drained from my mind, he asked about every detail of every aspect of the inside and the outside of every piece and every part- I was completely exhausted, I had to go lie down....And he didn't even buy anything!" When Rich researched, he researched. Rich's description of their talk: "He was helpful".

 

In the very late 80's and 1990's I used to travel down from Northern New Hampshire to go to the Northfield/Greenfield dances, and often Rich would let me crash at his Wardsboro house at night. Usually at some point we would just run into each other in the dance line, all of a sudden, with Rich doing his patented wiggle and shake, and he'd say Staying? I'd shout sure, and that was all the notice I had to give. I loved staying over as much as the dances, because that meant learing a new tune with him, seeing what other squeezebox repair or Jamaica land project, or architecture task he had at hand. Once we spent part of the weekend digging out the pipe that formed part of his malfunctioning septic line, that I recall seemd to go uphill out the back of his house rather steeply. I got a world of credit with Rich doing that with him, much more than I deserved, but even with that we had a blast laughing and moaning all the way up the hill to find the problem.

 

The Button Box

(by Doug Creighton)

 

Rich started repairing accordions and concertinas as a hobby around 1980. Within a few years The Button Box was born. The business grew and moved to a commercial space in Amherst in 1990. In 2004, Rich bought his own building here in Sunderland, where we now have 7 employees. Although he had a successful career as an architect, the Button Box was a very important part of his life and work. From the earliest days of the business, Rich dreamed of making concertinas. With the help of his good friend, and fellow concertina enthusiast, Dana Johnson, the dream became reality in 1999 with the introduction of our own line of concertinas under the “R. Morse & Co.” label. A few years ago, Rich made the decision to stop taking architecture commissions and devote his time to concertina design and manufacture.

 

Rich was a creature of habit who, when he chose to, could embrace new things with excitement. He always considered the options and did what made the most sense for him. When I started working at The Button Box in Amherst, before the days of computerized accounting and customer records, Rich showed me his Rolodex of customers – filed by first name. The Bobs, the Roberts, the Elizabeths, the Lizes. He confessed that he didn't remember most people's last name, and this just made the most sense. Back then, Rich was using an on-paper accounting system that his accountant back in Vermont had set up for him. After a few years, the accountant insisted that we move to a computerized version. We bought the computer, set it up, and I struggled along. Rich was intimidated by the technology at first. He told me several times, “I don't even know how to turn one on!” Before long though, Rich's curiosity got the better of him and he bought his own computer. Within days his understanding of computing had exceeded mine and I was coming to him with questions. Just as an aside, in those early days, you could tell when Rich had been using your computer. You'd find the screen resolution, brightness, contrast and power settings all changed.

 

Rich had a way of being energetic and enthusiastic, while still being laid back and low key. Our annual Northeast Squeeze-In weekend in September was an high point in his year. He gave the event his own personal stamp: good food, friendly atmosphere, lots of music and a contra dance on Saturday night. No paid performers, no paid instructors, everyone sharing and participating at their own level. Rich didn't take the limelight or any privilege of rank– he got someone else to make announcements and he slept in the back of his car. I think if he had his way it would have lasted for a week.

 

Rich had the same low-key approach to money. He once told me that his philosophy was, “If you've got money, great! If you don't... bummer. Gotta get some money.”

 

Rich was exacting and meticulous, but never overbearing. To say he had a eye for detail would be a gross understatement. I remember when Rich stopped by the store a number of years ago and I was busy laying out a keyboard diagram using an old, metal drafting square. From several feet away, Rich pointed out that the square I was using wasn't “square”. Years later, when we received a shipment of laser-cut fretwork for our concertinas, Rich took a look at one of the parts and was concerned that the holes cut by the laser weren't straight, but slightly tapered. Sure enough, the company that had done the work explained that they had focused the laser on the top surface of the wood and that the back side would be about .002” larger in diameter. I learned never to question Rich's judgment in all matters of mechanical accuracy.

 

Rich was the most optimistic person I have ever met. It could be a little scary sometimes. I suppose if he hadn't been so optimistic, he never would have started an accordion and concertina repair business in Wardsboro, VT, so I'm glad for that.

 

I'd like to close by saying that it has been a great honour and pleasure to work for Rich over the past 18 years. He gave me the opportunity to work at my dream job, and made it possible for that to continue into the future.

 

Rich and Clothes (or Not)

Judy Erickson

 

I remember Rich as a person who had a novel attitude toward clothes and privacy.  Remember the old cabin in Wardsboro that burned down?  The one with the toilet in the corner and not even a curtain?  Challenging.  Rich loved to sit naked in the meadow in the sun,  or skinny dip at the drop of a hat.  It's not that he did so with bravado, he just didn't seem to think it was all that important whether people were wearing clothes or not.  I learned a lot from Rich about important privacy and unimportant privacy.  He was a very special person.  I miss him.

 

R I C H  1976-1981

(by Luisa Granitto)

 

I didn't think I'd add anything, still feeling numb and incredulous at the loss of this person who was so special to me, but reading Alice's entry above is prompting me... (I remember that story about the bats!!! His telling it really captured something of his droll humor and impish nature). As Alice recalled, Rich and I met at Fox Hollow Folk Festival in 1976 (not '75). We were working at the same booth (Pickin’& Singin’Gatherin’? some folk organization which could provide us with free festival tickets) in the crafts area; he was living in Providence at the time, and I had finished my 1^st year at SUNYAlbany. In high school my circle of friends had been crazy about  traditional music and dance, I’d just been to Pinewoods for its early music week, and was totally bitten by the folk music bug. And I’d never met anyone like Rich Morse.

 

We were a couple for the next 5 years.  Living apart for most of our first year and both us being calligraphers, we'd send each other letters filled with songs and tunes, beautifully addressed in our favorite lettering styles using Luma inks (Rich's favorites were always earthy colors: Ming red, amber, olivey greens...). Rich was a wizard at calligraphic embellishments and ornamentation.  Since Rich's family was in Hawaii, we spent a lot of time with mine: my mother loved Rich, appreciating his guileless, eager nature; my father and brothers liking his quirkiness, his originality (who else used the expression “gee whiz”?). I was in awe of Rich's skill as an architect, and his sense of design in general. (Who remembers that Rich was chosen for a prestigious summer internship in architecture at the Pentagon while at RISD? He had to buy a new wardrobe for it - imagine!). Rich drew me into his world: stories about his barefoot boyhood in unspoiled corners of Hawaii, his boarding high school MidPac in Honolulu (better than its rival Punaho), his creative, entrepreneurial parents and fun-loving siblings; his Mazda Nell with her superior engine (go Nell!…named during a drive across the country the year he bought her in California).

 

In 1977 we spent 3 months in Hawaii so I could meet his family - what a novel summer that was. Rich worked for his Dad at Holo Holo Campers designing camper-bodies, I waitressed – Joann and Gordon’s hospitality to Richie and his fiancé knew no bounds. We enjoyed the family camaraderie in Volcano (Jody & Kii were there; Timmy on the mainland at the time), explored the mind-blowing natural diversity of the Big Island in our free time, and had opportunities to island-hop. Rich missed old-timey and Irish music. We then traveled in Europe for 4 months on a budget of about $1/day (!), visiting friends of mine (which was sometimes hard because Rich couldn’t abide cigarette smoke, and most young Germans smoked back then), hitch-hiking, camping. Rich was more interested in details like wrought iron key holes, door latches, and old shop signs than he was in going to museums (sad for me as an art history major). Rich had his fiddle, I had my ebony flute and whistle, and we were always looking for folk music. Strong memories are of being cold and wet in the Scottish Highlands in November, and being taken in by a reclusive musician living in a shepherd's hut in the middle of nowhere; hearing High Level Ranters play in Newcastle; going to a dance at the Cecil Sharp House. It was all an adventure.

 

The New Year 1978 found us using my parents’ house near Kingston, NY as a base while Rich began his job search: he needed to work with an architecture firm for 2 years before he could take the bar exam to get his license. He was hoping for a job in a rural area like downeast Maine or northern Vermont; he had dreams of having a farm and being as self-sufficient as possible (I was hoping for Boston). His hand-lettered resume caught the eye of a couple of old-world type architects in Cambridge (Witold and Jacek von Henneberg), his interview went well, and he was hired. It was all another adventure: navigating the Boston area, looking for an apartment at the tail-end of the blizzard of ’78; exploring the music and dance scene; getting to know the interesting and entertaining Von Henneberg brothers who took us under their wing. How much they liked Rich was seen in the incredibly generous Christmas boneses they gave him! We attended Irish music sessions led by Seamus Connolly, meeting among others Ruth Rappaport and Vince O’Donnell. We went to English dances and ushered at Revels.

 

Rich loved creating a cozy home - we bought old furniture, prints, and books, and our apartments in Somerville and then Newton often smelled of homemade bread and oil paints (I’d gone back to school). We were very good at squirreling away our money, and in 1980 we began to look for a house to buy, which would be ¾ Rich’s and ¼ mine. What a deal we found! In Cambridge, near the Watertown line, a 2-family for $60,000! It didn’t matter that a tragedy had occurred there 3 years before; afterall, the bloody murders had occurred in the upstairs apartment, and that was the one we planned to rent out since it was a lot bigger and would fetch a higher rent. (Yes, we did joke about it a lot, finding black humor in many of the sordid details about the family who had owned the house, and what had transpired…). I’d finished college and joined Ha’Penny – and when did Rich begin playing music for Muddy River? ’80 or ’81?  (We also had gotten 2 very cute kittens, Igor and Rufus, one of whom looked uncannily like Ginny Briggs).

In 1981 Rich and I began to drift apart (the fault of the Morris and contra scenes? Those corrupting influences! Many of you remember those times well…). Rich was talking about moving to Vermont; I liked Cambridge, and had a job I loved. Very sad, but so it goes. Luckily we remained friends. Actually, a few months after we’d separated, I’d gone over to Rich’s to consult with him about a calligraphy job I had. His place was full of music that night – he was playing with a group of people that included Debby Knight, Micky Zickefoose & David Dorsky, Ed Payne, Duncan & Alison, and this crazy contradancing sea kayaker named Wendell Smith (he and Rich also connected over games of Go).

 

….  My ramblings were much longer than I’d anticipated, to be skimmed through or passed over entirely.  I loved reading Alice and Cynthia’s reminiscences about Rich – I was with you in my mind. I would have liked to be able to write of one single event which would describe Rich as you did, but I somehow couldn’t – it’s as though I have a mindblock against reliving details from those years. Bittersweet. But I truly enjoy reading other people’s stories!

Rich, I’ll love you always.

 

Rich's Talent 

(by Joann M. Morse)

Where did Rich get his incredible ability to do so much in so many fields to such perfection? Let's look at his lineage.... who came before and had a talent that was passed on....

Starting with Ethel Lorraine Ames of Fall River, Mass. She was a minister's daughter in a family of 3 girls and one boy. In early childhood the parents discovered that Billy (her nickname) had an unusual talent for music. She could hear a song and go to the church organ and replay it verbatim. This was without any formal training in either music or how to play the organ. The parents decided to foster this fabulous gift by keeping her God-given hands devoted to her talent. No dishwashing, laundry, cleaning, no play outside, dirt, snowballs........ but lesson after lesson, and practice.

As a teen, Billy met this handsome fellow named G. Richard Morse. Her family didn't like this boy from "the other side of the tracks" and forbade her to see him. Hah ! In those days, a family had to have money (or be a preacher) to go to the "better" schools, and Dick's family did not qualify. As time would tell, it was a shame, because Dick had an innate knowledge of medicine and would have made a fantastic doctor. In his later years his caring for the animals in an army research lab proved this.

Things took a new turn when Billy's family were negotiating an audition for Billy at Carnegie Hall. (Yes, she was that good) Well, that did it ! Billy and Dick eloped and ran to New Jersey and got married. Her family was aghast and immediately shipped her off alone to start the Girl Scout movement in Hawaii. Dick wasn't dumb. He was working as a G-man in the days when they were busting stills and running down the bad guys. He immediately put in a transfer to Hawaii and followed Billy within a year. Billy left her music for love. They soon produced Gordon Richard Morse, Jr.

Gordon graduated from Mid-Pacific High and went on to St. Olaf College where he got his B.A. degree . He got the newspaper bug and decided to continue on at Boston University School of Jounalism where he got his M.A. Of course he also had met this girl who was working as an advertising artist for the Christian Science Monitor and had the same name as his - Morse-

So now to the family of this girl. Arthur Lewis Morse was a mechanical engineer and a navy pilot in the first military squadron in W W I. He also had a fabulous singing voice... what you call a basso profundo. He should have gone on the stage or concert halls. But this was the depression, and he had 2 little kids to feed. So he put his engineering skills to work for his father's carriage company as they altered the making of carriages into making truck bodies. That company was sold when he retired ,but it still exists in Sterling MA as a manufacturer of truck lifts. (www.morsemfg.com )

That didn't stop the voice. To make ends meet he sold his voice. Marriages, funerals, reunions, parties. Records of some of these events can still be found, as he was a regular at Tremont Temple in Boston and Riverside Church in New York.

One important item needs to be mentioned. Medical history now has a name for the talents of both Billy and Arthur. They have hyperthesia, or "perfect pitch". Hyperthesia (not the medical name) is the opposite of anesthesia. It is all 5 senses heightened. When they heard a boom box or singer off-key, it sounds like a fingernail scratching on a blackboard. But it is good news for a piano tuner!

Billy and Arthur had it in their generation.

Joann (Mom) has it in her generation.

Rich has it in his generation

And David Teehee (Kii's son) has it in the present generation.

 

Rich Morse: the beginning

(by Alice Feiring)

 Hard to remember the exact year but I met Rich, I believe the second time I was at the Fox Hollow Folk Festival in ...1975? Well, Luisa would know because that's when they first met as well. At the time Rich was in Provicence at RISD and became my friend Lynn's banjo teacher. Now, who remember Rich played banjo? I can barely remember it myself but at the time he was (as Cynthia so vividly and accurately put it) wriggling and giggling to old-timey.

 

I moved up to Boston in 1977 and shortly thereafter Rich moved up as well. Hanging out at their apartment was a comfort. It seemed like I was always over there for some reason or another. He started to come contra dancing and it took him quite a while to stop skipping. I started to dance Morris. Rich picked up melodeon (for the life of me, I can't remember why) and desperate for musicians we cornered him for Muddy River Morris.  In those early days, might have been pre-Muddy, I remember some gathering at my house, it's going to sound rather silly, but Rich was imitating the bats in the caves of Hawaii with the sound of his jeans. One of those moments, that got us to laugh tears. Even at that moment I realized the bat wings would be a long term memory. A stupid moment. But a moment where the world was perfect.

 

Rich was an original. Probably this was helped by a TV free upbringing where he didn't have the TV cultural metaphors to clog up the works up and was left to invent, which was his basic nature anyway. 

 

Who else would have absolutely no sentimentality about buying a long abandoned house in Watertown that had seen a family massacre? I helped sort through the boxes still in the house, some indeed with blood on them still, funny, why were they there. I had nightmares that night. Rich was giggling.

 

Rich Morse, Traveling

(by Cynthia Whear)

 I can't pull up how I met Rich. But we took many, many road trips together to various morris events, both for Muddy River and for workshops I taught. (He said, any teaching/coaching gig you get, I'll come play for you. And he did.)As we all know, long road trips can make or break friendships...you learn so much about each other you either never, ever want to be in the same car together or become fast friends. It was the later for us. We talked the whole time, played all kinds of road trip games, stopped (of course!) for all yard sales (still have some items from a few of those) and snacked on doritos and green grapes which Rich always brought. I still take this combo on road trips b/c...as Rich always said, the grapes quench your thirst but you don't have to make a pee stop.( And its the perfect balance of sweet, wet, crunchy and salty, with mimimal mess & fuss.)

 

I learned all about growing up in Hawaii, working for McDonald's and doing calligraphy to put himself through  RISD, why a mazda (which he was driving) was the best car ever, how it took 3 passes of the sander to get the bloodstains out of the floor of his house., how he planned to be a millionaire by age 30....  that was just the beginning. RIch seemed to know just about everything, and what he didn't, he'd figure out. We'd compete with each other about who had the most obscure knowledge about certain things...I seldom one. I loved how he'd kind of wriggle & giggle at the same time when he got excited about something.Which was often.

 

Returning to Boston from Philadelphia trip, he spend the trip calling out "push..push,, now pull"...yes I started learning melodian the whole way back.Who else but Rich would put up with that!  By the end I had 1 tune ("why didn't you pick an easier one'" was his only criticism) (it was Queen's Delight tune).

 

My first melodian  was the first one Rich ever had. He sold it to me at cost ($15!) complete with screwdriver  attached inside to deal with its frequent breakdowns & the advice that duck tape works best for all holes in the bellows..(I eventually sold it "at cost" to Gregory Menoher, who still had it in 2003). He customized an antique Hohner for me--long before the button box days --& saved it for me until I could pay for it.

 

Rich's Easy Genius

(by Jill Morse Menezes)

Some years ago I had the good fortune to stumble upon a real estate opportunity, and took possession of a badly neglected but well-situated property in our neighborhood.  The house was small, and the previous owner had a terrible misfortune that caused him to leave in a hurry.  I knew it would take some doing to make it suitable for our family, but I didn't know where to begin.   It was a two-bedroom ranch with a dark-panelled galley kitchen, and all I knew is that I REALLY wanted a new kitchen, and together with my home office we needed at least 4 bedrooms.  During his yearly Christmas visit, I invited Rich to come see the house.  We drove there, walked through it for about 15 minutes, and then returned and pulled up chairs around our dining room table.  As a number of us chatted and debated various schemes, Rich quietly pulled out a napkin and started sketching.  Mind you, I had already spent a month racking my brain trying to envision a way to accomodate all of our needs and desires, but kept coming up blank.  I was worried I'd made a bad mistake.  So, I turned to Rich and asked to see what he was doing.  Looking at the napkin, I saw that in a few strokes he had captured the proportions of the layout perfectly.  "This is what you need to do," he said matter-of-factly, "Move the staircase to the basement over HERE, where the bedrooms are.  It will open up the kitchen to a nicely sized rectangle, and if you'd like you can go UP, putting a 2nd floor pop-up for two more bedrooms upstairs."  I was doubtful, and asked him, "Is there enough room for a stairwell on that end?"  "Oh yes," he said.  Incredulously I asked, "How do you know?"  "I measured!" he said, splaying his arms out from left to right and giving me that 'isn't it obvious?' look on his face.  In a moment, I saw how he used the known proportions of his own body to take in the measure of a space and devise a solution - so easily it seemed to take about as much effort as breathing.  It was a brilliant solution, and we enjoyed collaborating on the rest of the details. It is by far the most beautiful home I have ever lived in, and I have Rich to thank for it.

 

FIRST MEETING

(by Bill Schultz)

Ok, I can't seem to unclick the bold. Rich deserves a bold statement so I proceed. Please understand I am not shouting. I first met Rich when I moved to Boston in 1980/1. I saw a gathering of Morris Dancers at Faneuil Hall Marketplace. I was just a year into learning to play concertina, and Rich was musician for Muddy River Morris, as well, I think, as a member of Newtowne Morris. Rich was moving to VT so Muddy River was trying to plan for a new musician. Somehow I got involved and for the next morris season I spent Muddy River practices standing next to Rich learning the tunes, learning the dances, trying to make a concertina sound as much like a melodeon as possible. Rich's famous eye for detail encompassed his entire life- understanding the tempos, the motions, the steps, the costumes, (both kit and party) line formations and patterns, he could see it all. I was very fortunate as a morris musician, and later dancer, to have this start with Rich.

I remember one time we were talking casually about something, and in the middle he made a remark indicating he had noted some detail which for some reason I did not think he could have noted. I expressed surprise, and he just smiled and said "I don't miss much." Not boastful, just a natural truth. And he didn't.

 

How I met Rich

(by Meg Ryan)

All of sudden last week, I remembered meeting Rich!  You know how when you have known someone for a very long time, it just seems as if you have always known them?  I first met Rich on  a morris tour (where else?) in the very early 1980s - probably around 1982.  It was in Sunderland at the store south of the center of town on Route 47, just a couple doors north of the house he and Judy lived in a few years later.  I have a very vivid memory of Rich in a Newtown kit, being very enthusiastic about button accordians.  It was likely some Columbus Day weekend tour that the Newts had come out for.  (I don't suppose anyone remembers this particular event and can enlighten me with more history?)  One of the things I loved the most about Rich was that unbridled enthusiasm!  

   

Designing spaces for people

(by Rick Mohr)

Rich was enthusiastic about designing houses and space that really worked for people. One time he talked about how tricky it could be to talk with people and figure out what would work for them. He described the following conversation with a woman he was designing a house for. "She said 'I want a REALLY BIG bedroom!'" "OK, sure. How come?" "Well, I like to do a lot of things in the bedroom." "OK, like what?" "Oh all kinds of things." "For instance?" "Well, I really like to do sewing projects in the bedroom." "OK, but why not have a nice sewing room?" "No, no! The sewing room is really dark and cold. The bedroom is much nicer!" So that house got a great sewing room with excellent light and heat.

 

Another woman wanted a really nice kitchen because she spent so much time hanging out there. After the house was designed and built Rich asked her how she liked it. "Oh, we love it!" "How about the kitchen?" "Oh that's great! I hang out there all the time." "Did you notice that the counters are slightly lower than normal?" "No, are they?" During several meetings in the old kitchen Rich had noticed that she always stood leaning against the counter, but it was a couple inches too high to hit her rear end just right. So he lowered the counters in the new kitchen!