Monday, April 27, 2020
I became friends with Rick, when he and my dad,Tom Morse, taught together at Lynnfield High School. The two of them shared a love of “high jinx,” much to the consternation of the rest of us! Many meals of French Onion Soup was enjoyed,, especially with Rick’s addition of cheap white wine (2 gluts...hmmm...3). When dad and mom,Barbara, went on a retirement trip to England, Rick was in charge of me, being in charge of me, being in charge of the homestead. A fierce thunderstorm was headed directly toward Wakefield, and as I was deathly afraid of lightning, I called on Rick and my best friend Sue C to save me. Lot of good that did! Although he tried his best to assuage my fear, and he didn’t believe me when peaking out through my fingers, I saw that the house has been struck, and, “Rick...Rick...RICK! The stove is on fire! He unplugged the stove, put out the fire, and ordered Chinese food, which we all pooled our money to buy...but then there was the divvying up of the change. Somehow there was an extra 50 cents, which went back and forth all night, and for many years to follow. The standing joke was, “where’s my 50 cents?” To which the response was, “eat sh_t.” Despite what it seems, this was truly a phrase of endearment, Rick being ever the joker. Rick was a true friend to many, but especially to us. I am glad to have seen him this past Autumn, and had been planning another visit this Spring, I know we will meet again, because the matter of the 50 cents is still not settled. Until then, if you run into my dad, stay out of trouble, and Rick...eat shit.
