CSATech Consulting

Rich and I were working at Computer Sciences Corporation at the time, but we were in different divisions and did not know each other. Rich called me up on day and said he wanted to talk to me about a job. It was early 1988. I wanted out of the Pentagon, so I said, “sure, lets talk.” We arranged to meet. The interview went something like this:

Rich: I have a job that I think you could do.
Me: What is it?
Rich: I can’t tell you.
Me: Where is it?
Rich: I can’t tell you that either
—Pause—
Me: When do I start?
Rich: Monday.

Rich made a big impression on me that day. He was like that. I did not know it at the time, but the decision I made that day was - bar none - the best career decision I have ever made.

Rich solved problems by brutally applying logic. I on the other hand thought logic - while important - was no substitute for roll-up-your-sleeve ingenuity, common sense and - yes- wild ideas. I pushed him to look outside the rigid, structured and logical world that was embedded in his genius mind. He was systematic, I was innovative. We made a great team.

I knew Rich for twelve years. The first two years he mentored me. He did not have to do that, but he did. It was two of the most important years of my career. I would have done anything to please Rich. He deserved the very best work I could produce, and he got it.

I was walking through the halls when I saw Nancy. She said, “Did you hear that Rich passed away?” At first I thought she was joking. I remember thinking how cruel to joke about that. But, then I looked at her ashen face and watery eyes. I was shocked beyond words. I rushed back to my desk and called Melinda. She was crying. I knew it was true. I put down the phone, gathered my things, walked to my car and drove home. I was in a daze. I arrived home, walked upstairs, closed the door and cried for what seemed like forever. I cried for my friend and mentor like you would for a lost parent.

There are those that you think will live forever. Rich was one of those people. Rich was our leader, he was our friend. He was bigger than life and a true one of a kind original.

After all these years I still miss Rich. I miss carpooling with him. I miss brainstorming with him. I miss having lunch with him. I miss walking over to his desk and saying, “Hey Rich, you got a minute?”

Rich pass away ten years ago today.

Have you ever been introduced to someone you immediately liked? Someone whose presence, calming voice and demeanor put you at ease. Someone whom you knew was brilliant, but was gracious enough to make you feel important. That is how I felt when I first met Rich in 1988.  Rich grew up in rural southwest Virginia, a place very similar to where I grew up in rural middle Tennessee. Both our fathers died very young; his from diabetes and mine from heart disease. We immediately became friends.

Rich worked hard growing up, put himself through college and earned a masters degree in statistics from The Johns Hopkins University. If you were fortunate enough to know Rich, you knew how brilliant he was. When he said something, you listened. I was in dozens of meetings with him over the years and on many occasions he would absolutely stun me with his intellect. It was humbling.

Rich was fifteen years older than me and to say that he was a father figure would be an understatement. I would have done anything to please him. Occasionally when I did not please him, he would scold me about the virtues of being prepared, of being timely, and more importantly of being right. He expected perfection and I would have walk to the end of the Earth to provide it. He took me under his wing and mentored me for several years. His mentoring was the highlight of my career.

Rich was a man of uncompromising character and principle, of honesty and integrity, of loyalty and determination, of wit and wisdom, of pride and patriotism. He was a friend you always wanted and a mentor you waited your entire life to meet.

Rich passed away nine years ago today.