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| At HOF induction 2012 (courtesy W. Terrell) |
My close friend and former Trinity employee Rick Roberts, who worked in fundraising, passed away January 29 from complications resulting from his two-year battle with cancer. In November when he seemed to come out of the woods I lamented to him that I had a half-written blog post about him that was now useless. He laughed and said, "Well, save it. I want you to do my eulogy." I told him I would love to, thinking it wouldn't be this soon. He still gets a blog post. He was the kind of friend that would VOLUNTARILY read my blog without prompting. Many, many friends and family gathered at his service at Texas Lutheran earlier this month. For the record, here are my remarks at that occasion, minus when I was losing it of course:
February
6, 2018 – Rick Roberts Memorial Service Remarks
My name is David Tuttle and I have been friends with Rick
for the past 24 years. I am humbled that I have the opportunity to say a few
words to you today. I think Dacia is worried that I will talk too long. Mostly
because she sent me a text that said “don’t talk too long.” Nah, not really.
But do get comfortable. Rick is going to get his due.
I love that today is Rick’s birthday though I am not a huge “birthday” guy.
Rick hated it when I would forget his birthday. Hated it. When he was at Trinity
by day’s end he would call me and say something like, “Hey, did you want to
tell me happy birthday, I’m leaving soon…” I always dreaded forgetting his
birthday. Well, I will never forget now.
If he were here, Rick would be thrilled and probably a little uncomfortable
with this crowd. After greeting you, despite this being his memorial service, we all know he would quickly turn the
conversation to you. Asking about how you are doing. Right? Then
he’d ask you for money!
Thank you all for being here. I want to especially thank and acknowledge some
people on his behalf.
First, Welcome to all of the people from Trinity University, who just loved
Rick so much. He left, but never left us behind.
I want to thank the Texas Lutheran community who quickly learned what we knew
about Rick and who embraced him, and who he embraced, after TLU President
Stuart Dorsey stole him from us at Trinity. I shake my fist at you Dr. Dorsey.
I want everyone here to know what a wonderful president and man Stuart Dorsey
is. His unwavering support for Rick in so many dimensions reflects his
kindness, generosity, leadership, and friendship. Rick repeatedly told me how
much this meant to him and was stunned at how much Dr. Dorsey supported him and
Dacia the last couple of years. I want to thank Debbie Cottrell, Kristi Quiros,
and other members of the cabinet for their friendship and support of Rick. He
loved all of you.
Last night there was an informal celebration of Rick’s life with his extended
family and many of his close friends from Seguin and TLU. Rick’s colleague Sam
Ehrlich gave a wonderful eloquent and emotional talk about Rick and what he
meant to his team. (You need to share that Sam.) It made me realize that while
Rick was loved at Trinity, he is beloved here at TLU. I guess we got to rent
him whereas TLU got to own him. What a testament to Rick that he had such an
impact professionally and he did it in a very personal way.
I want to acknowledge the caregivers from the hospital for their wonderful
treatment they provided Rick. I would jokingly say to them “I want the best
treatment for my friend here,” as though I had any authority. But they were
giving it anyways. He touched them like he did all of us. His incredible spirit
and wit inspired them and he was their best and favorite patient.
I want to welcome Rick’s family, many whom have traveled here from New Mexico.
I got to meet many last night including siblings, in-laws, nieces and nephews.
What wonderful caring, and expressive people. Being around Rick’s friends and
family really helps you see why he was such a quality guy. He was surrounded by
awesome people.
I want to acknowledge my wife Donna and my kids. When Rick took me on as a
friend it was truly a family affair and the connections between all of us,
especially the four of us have been so meaningful and we are all hurting.
I want to thank my friend Raphael Moffett for teaching me to say I love you to
male friends. I was able to say this to Rick, though I still have to add the
word “man” at the end. But I was able to tell him how I felt during this past
year, thanks to you Moff.
To Elizabeth and EJ, I just want to tell you how proud your dad was of you and
how much he loved you and Mandy and Arthur. His life revolved around you. You
probably don’t see it this way, but you gave your dad a tremendous gift.
Watching him grow and change because of you has been so gratifying. Through you
he had to reconsider some of his viewpoints. He was always a good Christian.
But you opened his eyes and heart in ways he never saw coming. You turned a
good Christian into a true Christian.
Finally, I don’t know what to say about Dacia. She accompanied Rick through his
illness with selflessness, love, and support. I can’t sit in the waiting room
at the Med Clinic with my family for 30 minutes before I’m like “uh, I’m
hungry, I’m missing the game… what’s this going to cost.” Rick turned all
matters of his illness over to Dacia. She was there as his researcher and advocate,
hour by hour, day by day, week by week, and month by month. She drove a lot. She
never wavered. Ever. All of us marvel at you Dacia and what you did.
My wife reminded me, though, that your relationship
shouldn’t be defined by the last two years. It would be like judging Sean
Elliott’s career on the Memorial Day Miracle shot. (That’s my analogy, not my
wife’s.) But Rick and Dacia were married for 38 years, which is amazing. They
had two kids together, managed other health issues, grieved the loss of family
members together, shared several homes, traveled regularly to New Mexico and
Colorado after moving to Texas, and experienced all of the joy and challenges
of a sustained relationship. Dacia, you meant everything to Rick, and he loved
you with everything he had. You were a great wife and he was lucky to have
you. For you, Dacia, to lose him, now,
is just so hard. We all love you.
I met Rick when I came back to Trinity in 1994. Our friendship evolved from the
basketball court, to running, and to connecting outside of work. We ran
together after the attacks on 911 and shortly thereafter we started training
for half and full marathons. When you run with someone that much you get really
close. We shared everything about our work, our families, about how lucky our
wives were to have us and about how right we were.
We shared a common love for the Spurs, as many of us do. We were at game two of
the Minnesota series in 1999, together when we lost. We were mad. We were at
the Laker game later that year when the Lakers had a foul to give but instead
let Tim Duncan hit the game winner. We celebrated. We probably dissected
hundreds of Spurs game on our runs together. The last time I saw Rick it was at
the rehab hospital where we got to watch one last game together.
When I was the subject of a roast at Trinity it was Rick who landed the best
blows. And when he left Trinity, I was able to talk about him at his farewell
reception. And then there’s this. Outside my family, my friendship with Rick
has been the most significant relationship of my adult life. I was so lucky to
have a best friend with the same interests, the same sense of humor, and the
same values. We knew one another’s weaknesses and flaws as well, but didn’t
care. Our friendship was unconditional and easy.
I learned last night, that I probably can’t tell you anything you probably didn’t
know or haven’t felt. Rick was consistent and treated everyone the same. But here
are some things that need to be read into the record.
Rick had a tremendous sense of humor. Rick always reminded me of one of his
favorite comedians, Jerry Seinfeld. His keen observations, his funny comebacks,
his self-deprecation... He would see humor in most everything and he would
retell stories of his missteps in ways that would have you rolling. Even to the
end, he was always cracking jokes with the hospital staff.
Rick was the nicest guy in the world. I often felt like I was George to his
Jerry. Whenever I was slighted at work or elsewhere, as I often am, Rick was an
incredible sounding board. He had a way of listening, not over-reacting, and
making me feel good about myself and helped me feel supported. Even at the
hospital, he treated the staff with incredible respect and kindness. He could
work a room because he wanted to
meet people and to learn about them and support them too, but he never really
worked people. It was always
genuine. When you were with Rick you felt important and that you mattered.
Rick was extremely generous. He was in the perfect job. He got appropriately frustrated
when I would tell people to watch their wallets when Rick approached. That’s
because he never saw himself as someone who would separate people from their
money. He was a steward of people’s resources as he helped them help others.
Now Rick would see this next bit as the most important part of my talk, so
humor us. He was a great basketball
player, even at his age, and I gotta break down his game for you!
Inducted into the Trinity Noon Ball Hall of Fame in 2012 (yes, that is a real
thing), he was always one of the best players out there. He played how he lived
his life. He worked hard, had great skill, expected excellence, and was a great
teammate and sport. I hated guarding him because he always moved without the
ball and knew how to set and use screens. He was a tenacious defender. He was
probably the best and most consistent three-point shooter we had on the court.
And he was often the best passer. He was the king of the touch pass. That was
Rick, he shared the ball like he shared everything else.
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| Rick and Trich: with bald buddy Kellyn, July 4, 2017 |
Rick was a man of great faith. When we had Kellyn in 2002 we knew we wanted
Rick and Dacia to be the godparents, despite them not being Catholic. When I
went and did the paperwork, the Deacon said we couldn’t use them. They weren’t
Catholic. They were the most Christian couple we knew, so I went to another
church, Our Lady of Grace. This time I knew the question would come up so I was
better prepared. I figured it was bad form to lie to a priest, so let’s just
say I was evasive when the late Monsignor Walsh asked me about Kellyn’s
sponsors.
I think he knew, but he got it, so he didn’t press the issue. He waved them
through. Every year thereafter, without fail, Rick and Dacia would come over
with breakfast to celebrate Kellyn’s baptism date. They were always active in
their faith communities and Rick was guided by his faith until the end.
Finally, I had no idea how resilient Rick was until his illness. I am not a fan
of when people say someone was strong, or they fought hard. I think people deal
with adversity the way they deal with it. No weak or strong. They simply cope
the best they can. But I learned so much from Rick. I always assumed people
fought illnesses from a place of fear. That’s how I would do it.
But Rick always fought from a place
of hope, strength, and his eternal positive attitude. I should have figured.
When we would play basketball and I would take a hard foul I would inevitably
let out this kind of involuntary yelp. And Rick would just shake his head. “You
okay there?” he would say with his sheepish grin. He was tougher. For crying
out loud, he just learned this fall that he had a heart defect his whole life.
When I would turn the ball over, as I am prone to do, and then stop to pout,
Rick would always admonish me to get back on defense. He would never give up. He
was fearless and determined.
I tried to engage Rick about how he was feeling, emotionally, these past two
years. He wouldn’t bite. Dacia recounted to us last week that Rick told her
that it was odd that I asked him if he was afraid to die. She reminded him that,
well, he did have stage 12 cancer. But he said he that while he didn’t want to
die, he wasn’t afraid.
Rick looked ahead, never skipping steps, and never losing faith. He was focused
fully on the next thing and not one step beyond. When Rick told me he had
cancer, it was over coffee at Starbucks. “So, I need to tell you something…” he
started. He was almost sheepish about it. Almost embarrassed. It was like he
was going to tell me that he dented my car. This illness was never bigger than
him. Setback after setback and obstacle after obstacle were placed in his way. Despite
pain and extreme discomfort Rick never complained. Dacia says that during his
rehab, when they said do five reps Rick would say let’s do ten. When they would
say ten minutes he would say 20.
Even when I saw this coming I never really expected it. Like Rick, I never
really wanted to look up. And today, I do look up, and I see all of you. Rick
was my best friend. You naturally see people mostly in the context of how you
know them. I was speechless last night and a little disoriented as I was
reminded that Rick was much more than my friend. Husband, dad, brother, son,
co-worker, friend, noon-baller, donor. He belonged to everyone in much the same
way. Without doubt, Rick made an incredibly positive impact on everyone who
knew him. Even now. Ironically, on this day, he is the gift-giver and always
has been. I love you Rick. We all love you. Happy birthday.
