GERALD “JERRY” VINCENT RICHARDS

A MEMOIR

4/20/2020.

On that bright April day, we lost you. I can’t think of anyone whom I have ever met who fought harder to live life to the fullest. When you were welcomed into the Karol-Chik household in the early 1980’s you were nothing but scraps and rags. I leaned on my parents, whom soon welcomed you in as the third son, to give you a chance. They did so and our lives entwined and the stories, my God the stories began.

We had met in our sophomore year in high school, you were pals with George Terry. I thought George was kind of an enigma, but man I was wrong once I got to know you. You were always in a white t shirt, tattered Levi’s, that old blue nylon police jacket and Chuck Taylor’s.

You had that grin, that laugh and confidence beyond all of our reach.

Is it so strange to think about when a high school actually had a smoker’s area? Or that high school actually had a program to help (?) students who were on the “outside” and needed extra help to assist them in passing or getting a GED. There was such a program back in the ‘80’s in the Jeffco school system called work experience. Jerry called it Waste Experience, who knew.

I didn’t.

I would visit with him in that space. Mind you, I was/am a band geek and felt so out of place. And there he would be cutting it up with friends and anytime I would show up he would be so glad to see me. These were the kids considered the bad apples, the ne’er do wells- Besides what was known as the artistic wing or what was known as the 38th street bench, I never felt more comfortable in high school.

As a band geek, we had practice rooms. There were 4 at AHS. Each had a piano and a music stand. As Jerry became one of my closest friends he would be found there astonishing us as he marveled us as he hammered out tunes on the piano. He’d play The Exorcist theme to perfection, his take on Great Gig in the Sky by Pink Floyd was a jaw dropper. Then plug in his Telecaster knock off guitar and play anything from Rush to Yes.

You and I were raised so differently, and you told me that so many damned times, that I felt privileged to have the parents I was born to and who after you moved into our home, began to accept you and eventually claim you as one of their own. Laura, Michael, they too, saw what I did in you.

You were just a genuine person.

And then he was gone- off to help his brother with a contracting company in Florida as I was told.

Life went on and one day in my junior year I was driving my Dad’s ’63 ½ Falcon Futura 2 door hardtop to a band practice when I was approaching the intersection of Pierce and Florida when I saw a tall gaunt figure walking with a purpose headed toward me. He had a military duffle bag and over his shoulder a guitar in nylon gig bag.

IT WAS HIM! JERRY!!

I hit the brakes and slid the Falcon to the side of the road. He flinched and dropped his goods and had his hands to his chest by the time I ran up to him. I shouted his name and he recognized me and we hugged like brothers.

So he climbed into the Falcon and I drove him to my home on Newland Street. I never out right asked my amazing parents to let Jerry move in, I coyly asked if he could spend the night. And it turned into 3 years of him and I sharing a room and becoming family. Laura and Michael enjoyed his company. He was there for all of our family gatherings too. He would amaze us with his life stories.

I have been told I was raised in a sheltered upbringing by a former girlfriend decades ago. If that was true I would trade it for nothing. Jerry had the opposite. His parents were hard on him. Put it this way, when I had met him he was living in an unheated basement and relied on a plug in space heater to keep warm. He was shouted at and for the most part starting at a young age had to rely on himself to find a way to feed and clothe and be the parent in his life.

Who does that to a child?

As hard as he was raised, he was the direct opposite. He loved. He cared. He reached out and never spoke of his hardships to make himself a martyr, but became a saint to those who needed his broad shoulders and warm heart to make them feel whole again.

Jerry, I find it hard to put in words just what you did and how you helped me and others. A kind heart and everything you did for any of us was just so genuine. As I went through my style changes, new waver, punk rocker, whatever- you still had that cool ‘stache and long hair.

Always.

You see, I was one of your greatest fans. You lived a life that only some of could only imagine. From traveling abroad, to surviving a horrific motorcycle crash, defeating the odds, walking again and then straddling that bike riding to the hospital where the surgeons wanted to amputate your horrifically damaged leg, to show them you knew all along that you could walk again and even ride that Harley-Davidson again.

Let’s go back and revisit some fun memories-

We both worked at Bonzo’s Pizza in Lakewood, Colorado. The amount of pepperoni and mushrooms consumed as we entered and left the walk-in could be a record holder to this day.

We would play records for hours in our shared room and break down drummers as who we thought were the best. Carl Palmer, Neal Peart, Bill Bruford, Alan White, etc, etc- Who was the best guitarist, new wave –VS-metal, of we went there. As my listening tastes crept left of the dial, Jerry embraced the hard edge of metal! YET- we listened on-

There was the time that I was at Bonzo’s working the late shift and Dad and Jerry were finally dialing in the wire harness on my ’63 Comet. After months of work Dad hit the key and the former dumpster fired up! Excited as they were they backed the car out of the driveway and went for a shakedown run. From Newland St the turned onto Mexico place and Dad accelerated.

Mind you, the front bucket seats were NOT bolted in place and as Dad steadily hit the gas his seat tilted back. Trying to steady himself all he did was hit the gas harder causing the car to race forward, Jerry’s seat to flop backward and slide toward the trunk!

There was the time I had a car full in my ’63 Comet hardtop and from outta no where we hear this crazy high winding engine and tires a frying- What the hell?? From out the darkness there is a Chevy Citation X-11. Eric Fredickson is behind the wheel and he is running it through the gears! Jerry leans out of the passenger’s side window and shouts- “HEY- IF YOU SEE MILNER IN HIS PUKE YLLOW DEUCE, WE ARE LOOKING FOR HIM!”

Can you imagine?

A story he told me that was typical Jerry on Steroids was the night that Eric Fredicson and you went to Mardis Gras ( a Colorado 3.2 bar) Mind you, this was a bar that kids who were 18 (!) could go to, pay $8 (1986 US dollars mind you) at the door and have unlimited pitchers of Stroh’s beer til 11. These guys were not teetotalers, but were going pro. On the blurrrrry way home the LeMans that Eric had snapped a U-Joint, BUT! It locked in place. Eric manned the wheel and Jerry leaned out of the passenger’s side window and steadily they made their way some 30 miles across town to home at a thundering 20 MPH.

When I got married in 1992, I asked him to be an usher and when she and I walked down the aisle, he was the first person I saw. In that time, the moment, you are focused on making everything so right, that the faces watching you meld into a blur, but, as we walked down the aisle and exited and waited to be greeted by family and friends, Jerry was the first person I still to this day remember seeing.

His eyes welled up as we embraced. We had no words to exchange.

When I was trying to be a good Dad and raise kids, he would drop by.

Call me.

Visit.

Holidays at our folk’s house he would always be there, and as we had a really great meal he would sit next to me.

Laughter- Man, Jerry had THE best laugh. We shared many too.

In 2012, Laura sent me a text, which was strange, because we would chat occasionally online and that was about it. This message was serious- Jerry had been riding home on his V-Rod and had an accident.

It was bad. I was in shock. Tears flowed and I could not focus on anything for the next few weeks until like surprise gift, he started to respond. As he went though therapy, skin grafts, bone grafts and countless surgeries, we messaged every day.

I wish there was a way to recover the texts, but his recounting of being in the MRI machine are priceless as only told by the mastery of his story telling as only he could do, it was so damned funny.

Who does that? You are on the cusp of losing a limb or worse and you send out a message how you want to strangle the MRI guy with your one hand and try and make the other work!

In May of 2014 I flew home for the first time in 10 years and stayed with you at your home. We had some great meals, great beers, enjoyed our hometown and got really back in touch with each other. Little did we know I’d be back in October as our sister passed away so unexpectedly. As our family grieved you were there.

How can it be that you are gone? You have touched so many of us many of us by just “being there”. Jerry, you had that amazing smile, confidence to do anything from build an engine, solve a mathematical equation, and to mend a broken heart. I can hear your voice now, every time I saw you it was, “There he is! Oh my God-“ then, you would laugh and our conversation would carry from there.

On Mom’s birthday, May 8th, I had an epiphany. As much as it hurts that you took your life as you did, I think I understand.

You loved to go fast. You enjoyed personal freedom, be it driving where ever you wanted, staying up however late you desired, travelling , riding your motorcycles, doing yard work, helping others, etc.

But after your motorcycle crash, that edge and your mobility were forever damaged. You had to watch what you ate, how much you drank. Your ability to travel long distances was hampered and the medications and constant pains of your wrecked body took away much of your spirit.

As much as you worried about us around you, we should have been really been focusing on your very well being.

He never told dark stories; he always focused on the sunny side of the street.

Jerry Richards will always be the second younger brother to me. He was 1 year younger you see. Yet- he was so much wiser. Where I was shaking in my boots, he handed me the scripts to cheer me on. When the tides were rough, he was a beacon. When I cut the rope and decided it was time, he agreed.

I will miss every hour and day I cannot talk with Jerry, but, I will enjoy the memories of having the pleasure of having you in my life.

My brother you have passed and I will always miss you. You have no idea of how many lives you have touched for the better. With that in mind, we all say

Suicide causes a ripple effect in lives. Hurt, grief, wondering, and as one may take their life, those of us who live on never forget. So please, if you are in a dark and desperate place, reach out here.

https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

Thank you.

-Written by Mark Karol-Chik

July2, 2020

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