I'm still processing the loss of Rick Brown. On some level it wasn't surprising, given the seriousness of the disease that ultimately claimed him, but that doesn't make it not shocking. He was a good friend, a fine storyteller and a thoroughly decent man who died much too young. He is and will continue to be missed.
Like a lot of people, I met Rick working at the OSU Library as a student assistant. My supervisor was the late Don McCoy, but I seemed inevitably to find Rick at some point in the day to talk about music, Cleveland sports, the Three Stooges, the meaning of life or whatever other topic was of interest. (Hey, if they wanted me to spend the whole shift shelving books, they would have paid me more than $4.65 an hour) Rick was funny, he was knowledgeable, and we became friends outside of the building before too long.
In some ways, I feel like I almost became better friends with Rick and Yvonne after I left OSU. As moved, first to northeast Ohio and then eventually to California, I still kept in touch with them, staying in their guest room when I came back to Columbus to visit, and seeing them when they came to Long Beach for my wedding.
We also kept a correspondence up through email. Rick was a naturally gifted author, and after I started doing an online zine somewhere in the early 2000s, I asked him if he would be interested in editing some of his insightful and funny stories into pieces I could put up on the site. He enthusiastically agreed, and I was happy to share his stories to a new audience. I'd like to think that my initial encouragement was one of the things that inspired the twenty year journey of Naked Sunfish.
I'm sorry Rick won't get to see the Cleveland Guardians debut their new colors, and I'm sorry that I won't get to see him again and talk about the Kinks or the latest innovation in losing by the Cleveland Browns. Not getting to see him one last time is another thing that COVID took from me, we were supposed to go to Ohio in the summer of 2020 and Yvonne and Rick had hoped to go to California. Rest in Peace, friend, you lived a good life and touched a lot of people.
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