By KIM BELL
Special to the Sentinel
OCEAN CITY – I first met Rick in Ocean City when I began driving in 1981. Every summer until her death in 2012, my mom and I would stay at the beach town a half-dozen times each year, also making the 100-mile drive each way for the day if a beautiful Saturday was in the forecast.
On those trips, I always parked in the same lot, the smells of the nearby peanut shop leading me there long before Waze. The same guy was always manning the lot, ever patient and kind when he had me back into a spot, for a passing grade on a driver’s exam does not a skilled backer-upper make.
“How you guys doing?” was his standard greeting.
Several years later I would have access to Philadelphia Flyers tickets. At one game my mom and I noticed Parking Attendant Guy, and we continued to spot him at the Spectrum all season. Although well into winter, his skin was still golden brown. I wondered if it takes an equal amount of time out of the sun that you have spent in it to lose the burnt sequoia of summer?
When June offered the first lovely, sunny day, we pulled into the parking lot. I rolled down my window, allowing the salt air to wash away the months since last fall. While chatting about the off-season, I handed him my money, then asked,“Do you go to a lot of Flyers games?” He looked at me in surprise, then slowly replied, “Yeeeesss.”
“We go to a lot, too, we sit in Section 29 and have noticed you walking up and down the steps at every game.” He laughed, then explained that he was a statistician for home game radio broadcasts. That made perfect sense as the press box was located above our seats.
On this day, summer wasn’t the only thing that was beginning. This was the moment that we became friends. Introducing ourselves, we shook hands. His name was Rick. As we gathered our chairs, cooler and beach bags, we learned that like my mom, Rick was from Philadelphia. From this moment on, he called her “Silly Milly From Philly.” She loved it.
We would run into Rick at our favorite breakfast spot, the Beach House Grille, always seated at the counter, facing a large mirror where he could watch the vacationers. He was part of the family of the restaurant, not by blood but by community.
The years passed. I met my husband, Keith, who bonded with Rick over sports. Large chunks of time moved on. Before I knew it, Keith and I were married for 20 years. A few months before that milestone, my mom received upsetting news about a mass in her belly but we did not yet realize the ramifications of this terrifying intruder. Three months later she would be gone. Summer would never be the same for me. Trips to the shore stopped.
It took several years before I could bring myself to return, but one fall day I did. (Summer would have been too difficult.) We had given up our Flyers tickets five seasons prior. So much had changed but when we walked into the Beach House, there sat Rick. I told him that Silly Milly From Philly had passed away. He was very upset, which touched me deeply.
A few years ago, Keith and I went for the final weekend of the Beach House Grille. After 30 years in business, they were closing their doors and their griddles. Rick was there and it was clear though happy for his friends, he was sad. As was I. Somehow it felt like losing mom all over again. We have not been back to Ocean City since.
Recently I got to thinking about Rick and googled him. It seemed a futile exercise as I knew he doesn’t have a social media presence, but I did it anyway. I was dumbstruck to see his name in the results. It was his obituary. I immediately began to cry.
He had died on Christmas day a year ago at the age of 68. I showed my husband the obit. When he finished reading it, he said there was a line in it that may be the best he has ever seen: “The ‘king’ of long goodbyes always had one more thing or one more person to ask about before disconnecting.”
It has never been so easy to stay in touch with people as it is these days. Therefore, it is even more distressing when someone falls through the cracks and you find yourself looking at their photo on a funeral home’s website. The only thing worse is discovering they have been gone for awhile. I cannot explain why that matters, but it does.
For three decades Rick was as much a part of our lives as the ocean, both constant and predictable.
I am sure that most days my mom is on the 10th Street beach, it is the perfect temperature, the sun is high in the sky. She is drinking lemonade and eating cheddar Goldfish crackers. When it is my time to leave this Earth, I know that she will come to get me.
As we take to our beach chairs, I will notice a familiar figure on his beach cruiser bicycle riding down the boardwalk. Walking up the steps from the sand, I will wait for him, able to see the Flyers logo on the front of his T-shirt.
He’ll ask, “How you guys doing?”
“Me and Silly Milly From Philly are just fine, thanks. How are you?”
Kim Bell authors the website SisterRain.net.
