Big Rick passed into eternity on July 4, 2011. Although he wasn't famous, infamous, or even well-known, he was very special to me and played a major role in creating the guy who is sitting here typing this.
You see, Big Rick was my step-father for nearly half a century. I haven't lived under his roof since the late-70s when I joined the Air Force, and the miles between us as my wife and I have moved around the world have made our visits with him less frequent than I would have liked, but I still miss his presence more now than ever. Somehow, things just seem different knowing he is no longer there, at home and with my mother.
Big Rick was actually named Audie Riggs at his birth, and for the life of me, I cannot remember why or when he actually became Big Rick. Maybe it's the blanket of sadness blocking my memory. Whatever the reason, Audie became Big Rick to our family and most of our friends very early in my life. That's who he was to me, and that's the guy with whom I spent innumerable hours and from whom I learned many valuable lessons.
Big Rick taught me to fish. Sometimes we would simply relax quietly while fishing, but usually we would argue in a playful way that would shock you if you didn't know us. Even when I was young, he almost always had me drive the boat. I can hear his gruff, mafia-boss voice now -- "You're too close to the shore!" "You're too far from the shore!" "You're going too fast!" "You're going too slow!" It seems that I was always too something. Sometimes I would just step away from the helm and tell him, "It's all yours!" It was always a battle of wills...and it was always fun.
Big Rick taught me what it's like to weather a dangerous storm on the open ocean. In a small boat. With a broken steering mechanism that only allowed us to turn to the right, which forced us to face the howling wind and towering, white capped waves head on. Without Coast Guard approved life vests, or 2-way radio, or flares, or any other way to call for help. With severely limited visibility and only a compass to guide us to the harbor we couldn't see through the pounding rain. With a calm demeanor more suitable for a warm summer evening on the front porch than on the deck of a boat that was being torn apart by a storm.
We faced other storms too. On the boat. In tents. In a pickup truck and camper as we blew a tire and rolled over and over and over (at least three times, according to witnesses) on a busy California freeway. During a major earthquake. Although Big Rick could get pretty agitated at times, he somehow remained calm during these crises.
He wasn't always calm, however. For example, he got pretty upset when my brother and I finally convinced him that it was impossible to get hurt while water skiing. He tried it once. Got up on two skis his very first time. He even managed to ski for a few yards on one ski after his other was ripped off by a wake. Then he fell, tumbled beneath the surface, came up for air, and turned toward where he fallen -- just in time for one of his wayward skis to crash into his nose. To say Big Rick was upset would be an understatement. He started yelling and waving his arms, just as my brother and I began doubling over with laughter at what we had just seen. My brother had me pull in the rope while we circled Big Rick until he had calmed down enough to get back into the boat.
Big Rick taught me that you can get hurt water skiing, after all.
Big Rick taught me that you can live in the same house for more than a decade and still not know which switch turns on the garbage disposal and which one turns on the kitchen light. I can't tell you how many times his visits to the kitchen were punctuated by the whir of the dry garbage disposal and his grumbling. In a related lesson, he taught me that a grown man can be thrown across the kitchen by a short in a garbage disposal switch. As a side-note, I also learned how to laugh when a grown man is thrown across the kitchen by a short in a garbage disposal switch.
Big Rick taught me that guys laugh at that kind of stuff. Maybe that's why my brother and I loved The Three Stooges so much. When any of us boys would get hurt goofing off, the others would all laugh and tease the victim until the pain went away. Even years later, the laughter and teasing would reignite whenever somebody happened to remember one of these painful events.
Big Rick taught me to love Louis Prima and Keely Smith, and how to make great belly flops and cannon balls. He taught me how to hand-roll cigarettes for him and even paid me a penny or so for each one, and then he taught me how to laugh at practical jokes when I'd booby trap his cigarettes with tiny explosive sticks. A great eater, he taught me how to grill the best steaks, which we encased in freshly cracked pepper corns, and how to love the hottest peppers, the best submarine sandwiches (from Capri Deli in Covina, California), and the freshest seafood. He taught me to share bites and give "taste tests" on toothpicks when I cook. He taught me to relax when I drove really big vehicles, and not to sweat the small stuff when I creased the side of one of them. He taught me how to shoot bottle rockets, climb onto the roof to dump buckets of water on those below, and make a peanut look like a big firecracker by adding a fuze and a little red tape.
Frankly, now that I think back, Big Rick taught me a lot of things. I could share many more, but not today. I just can't today.
The important thing is that Big Rick -- Audie Riggs -- was here. Born in a tiny Arkansas mining town called Lead Hill (current population 313), he spread his wings, left his mark on the world, and lived the dash, August 13, 1926 -- July 4, 2011.
84 years, 10 months, 22 days.
During the dash, those 31,007 days, Big Rick served in the Pacific Theater during World War II on the USS Vincennes and survived, among other incidents, the kamikaze attack shown below.
After the war, he supported his family in a variety of ways, from driving a taxi, to running a couple of his own businesses, to selling cars and finally recreational vehicles; he was a master salesman.
He got into a few fistfights, a couple of which I witnessed -- once as he stepped in to stop a man from hitting his own wife and another time as he decked a guy for calling one of his best friends a "lying Polack." That second fight was a two hit fight, as Big Rick hit the offensive guy and the offensive guy hit the ground.
As "Rick Red," he enjoyed betting mostly on football games, but would sometimes lay a wager on other sporting events.
He told hilarious jokes and stories and made a lot of people laugh.
He must have completed a million crossword puzzles and drowned a billion worms.
Even as he fought cancer, he chopped wood, maintained the property around the mountain home he loved and shared with my mother, fished, and helped his friends.
Big Rick lived while he was alive, right up till the end.
Most importantly, Big Rick was my mother's husband and father to my brother and me for nearly 50 years.
I wish I could tell him thanks today.
I am proud to be part of Big Rick's legacy.
Photo courtesy of U.S. Navy - Naval History & Heritage Command
