NOVEMBER 2002

Rick Colson is gone. We lost him somewhere over Martha's Vineyard, in the middle of the night, for no good reason at all. Rick was a pilot.. He was a good one too, and everyone knew it. The fact that he didn't land, made no sense.

Rick's door was always open and he just let us run around like crazed indians. A visit to Rick Colson's meant a full boar boogie of huge laughs, song swapping and late night pizza, tossed by Rick himself, right there in the kitchen. As far as I know, that house was always full of people and laughter. Carpenters and old Key West friends, local crazies and the ocassional member of the Hell's Angel Motorcycle Club. I don't know how he put up with it. Ah, but Rick was different. He would just smile that smile and sing you a song on his old Martin guitar with the song list taped to the side. Bring them all in, feed them whiskey and music, with coffee in the morning....you can stay as long as you like. Ah, yes.

I see now that Rick Colson was his own design. Like the houses he built for a living , he spent his life making more than what was already there. He came up hard and alone and made his way out of Lynn, Massachusetts by inventing himself a little everyday. He saw the world as big and wide open and he took all the action he could get....and whatever he had, he would share with the other guy. He was kind and quick-witted but , above all, he was authentic.

So here's to you Rick. Here is to those gigantic nights flashing around your island like a pack of wild dogs, side split from laughter in the window of the Ritz Bar with hearts full of music. You taught me a lot about belly laughing and old John Prine songs, but most of all you taught me everything about generosity. I will miss you for now.

Long May You Run.

MDB
Thanksgiving 2002