Richard Russell

Richardson

On March 7, 2025, at the age of 83 years, Richard Russell Richardson (also known as Dickie, Dick, D-Dad, and Dadio) left this world for the "other side" as he would put it. While he is deeply missed, his family was gifted with the chance to spend every day of his last month with him - a blessing for which we have unending gratitude.

This tribute is not written in a typical chronological fashion. The hope in writing it is that anyone reading it, if only in part, might come away with a good sense of who Dad was and what made him unique.

Dad could be irascible, but he would run through a wall of fire for his family. As he grew older, his capacity to express love expanded, outpacing his surly nature. We called him the curmudgeon with a golden heart. If he were a candy, he'd be a Sweet-Tart (definitely more tart than sweet). Like fathers and sons sometimes do, we got sideways on occasion, but it never lasted. I always knew, with absolute certainty, that he loved me.

With his signature Sweet-Tart brand of love, Dad taught me many things: how to throw, hit, and catch a baseball; how to play football; how to mow and edge the yard; how to drive; how to change my oil; how to do greater than and less than equations; how to build fence; how to camp, fish, and golf. Most importantly, he taught me how to show kindness.

Dad was a thinker, a fixer, a man of great heart, and often, a comedian. He was:

• Smart – Dad was good with his hands (much like my sister Debra). He had a mechanically inclined mind. If something needed repair, he could devise a way to do it.

• Well informed – He enjoyed historical documentaries, particularly those about World Wars I and II and the post-WWII escalation of the Cold War. He loved the movie "The Death of Stalin" and the satire demonstrating Soviet oppression. On the lighter side, he also loved the movie "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" and Seinfeld was always welcome viewing. He consumed news regularly and any TV series that focused on building anything, mining anything, or subsisting on the land in any way. He was a champion of the underdog (which I greatly admired), and a believer in democracy. He had a particular disdain for the narcissism, greed, and hypocrisy of today's politics.

• Loving – Dad had his own love language. That language had to do with the safety of those for whom he cared. He was inherently cautious by nature. He always wanted to make sure your brakes didn't squeal, your tire treads weren't thin, and that your oil level wasn't low. We joked how he was obsessed with Ranger Hill on I-20. Without fail, he liked to remind us of its perilous nature both coming and going.

• Kind – I had saved my allowance over several weeks to buy a Cub Scout pocketknife. After purchase, Dad cautioned me to be careful with it. Throwing caution to the wind, I immediately went into the backyard and began jabbing it into the ground with no specific purpose. The knife folded, and I cut my finger badly. I went inside to stealthily grab tissue paper, tend to the cut, and went back outside. Dad watched and had a feeling something was wrong. He came outside and saw me trying to stop the bleeding. I thought he would be mad, but I could see the concern in his face. I started crying while he calmly and kindly took me inside, washed the cut, and bandaged my hand. It might have been a small moment in parenting, but it was incredibly impactful for a child who would later become a parent himself.

• Funny as hell – Like my brother, John, Dad had a wonderful ability to create a turn-of-phrase on the spot regardless of topic. One day we were looking through a box of old family photos that included many distant relatives. Dad said, "Scott, I'm not sure how much of this is worth keeping. It's not as though anyone in the family split the atom."

Hopefully, those little vignettes share a sense of who Dad was. I think the chronology will expand upon that.

Dad was born on February 3, 1942, in Colorado City, Texas, to Douglas and Harriet Richardson. He was the middle son of three brothers; Jim was the oldest and Dean the youngest. He spent his childhood on the family farm and attended school in Colorado City up through his high school years. A natural athlete, he played football, basketball, and baseball. He had a love for sports that he passed down to his children. He would later take great pride in watching his daughter Debra compete in English and Western saddle competitions, and cheering on his sons, John, and Scott, as they played football for the Sweetwater Mustangs.

He had wonderful anecdotes of growing up in Colorado City, a couple of which follow.

He often shared a story of playing "slow-motion" football with his older brother and his friends. Among those friends was Hollis Gainey, who was a record-setting track athlete at the University of Texas between 1957 and 1959. The irony of "slow-motion" football is that it was always Hollis's idea. Dad got "tickled" with the thought that one of the fastest athletes in the county always wanted to play in slow-motion.

He and his older brother Jim engaged in plenty of mischief. One such moment involved the "unauthorized use" of a Cletrac tractor to plow over cedar trees on the farm (trees that didn't need removal). "Mom and Dad weren't exactly thrilled with the moonscape we created." As Dad said, "All in a day's work."

After graduating high school in 1960, Dad was drafted into the Army, serving in Korea from 1961 to 1963. He later joined the Army National Guard where he served until 1967. In 1964, he married BJ Worrell (also of Colorado City). They lived in Odessa briefly before moving to Lubbock. There, Dad began work at Pioneer Natural Gas while he and BJ both attended Texas Tech University. They later moved to Big Spring, Texas, where Dad worked at Sid Richardson. He later joined the Union Pacific Railroad, where he spent 30 years as an engineer and conductor managing freight movements along the I-20 corridor out of Big Spring, Odessa, and then Sweetwater.

Upon his retirement in 2004, Dad and his brother Dean spent time caring for their mother, Harriet, who lived to be 101. While he was able, he also spent time visiting his children and grandchildren and managed to sneak in a couple rounds of golf each week, carrying an impressive 8 handicap. He also attended a number of Texas Tech football games with his sons.

He was a deacon of the First Christian Church in Sweetwater until the membership became too small to continue. Keeping the church going was a lot of work. He was always called upon to fix everything because he could fix ANYthing. The congregation would eventually donate the building itself to a church with a younger congregation so it could establish itself.

At each stage of life, humor was one of Dad's defining traits. He employed a mix of sharp wit and practical wisdom. A few instances come to mind:

Once, while watching a news report about gas prices crossing $3.00 per gallon for the first time in Texas, he remarked, "I think $3.00 is a good price to keep your car running. Have you tried pushing one of those things to the store?"

When discussing buying cars, he mentioned during his younger years that he liked buying used. He said, "I always bought used cars, but they were always used up."

He once bought a car from a good friend and neighbor because he liked the model and the gas mileage. It came with three new tires. After the purchase, he wondered aloud, "Who buys three new tires?"

Dad often seemed to draw less-than-stellar service when visiting restaurants. Maybe his surly nature induced a certain apprehension with wait staff. One afternoon in Sweetwater, while having lunch with his grandson, Jackson, Dad noticed flies hovering. Then, the waiter promptly delivered a container of Ranch dressing that he first dropped on the floor, then reattached the lid before placing it on the table. With perfect timing, Dad said to Jackson, "I don't think there's a restaurant I've been to that I haven't learned to hate." Jackson found great amusement in his D-Dad's brand of humor.

Even in his final weeks, his humor never wavered. A hospice representative came to visit him in the hospital for what was supposed to be a 30-minute conversation. It stretched into a 90-minute sales pitch. As the rep finished, she said, "One of our nurses will come out and go over all of this in the morning." Dad replied, "We have to do this again? I'm not sure I have that much time."

When first going into hospice, my mom handed him a pair of hearing aids. They worked well enough but not great. Mom told him they were a temporary fix for his hearing. He quipped, "Believe me, temporary is all I need."

Dad was a creature of habit. He drank coffee regularly and smoked until his illness would no longer allow for it. As his son, one of the things I loved most about Dad was his capacity for change despite being so habit driven. I can only think to share this by way of example. He grew up in mid-20th century West Texas which, like the whole of the southern US, wasn't exactly a bastion of advanced racial acceptance at that time. Yet he learned over time to put aside the attitudes he grew up around and recognize that, "We're all made of the same stuff, and we need the same things."

Over the years, we had many conversations - at his house, on the golf course, and on the phone - covering a wide range of topics. My wife always knew when I was talking with Dad on the phone because she could hear me laughing from the other side of the house. At one time Dad and I discussed reflecting upon one's own life. I said to him, "I've said a lot of stupid things over the course of my life that I can now see in retrospect." He said, "Well, we all have, and we all still do. But as we get older, for most of us, the rate of incidence goes down." He recognized that we, as humans, are perfectly imperfect.

It's only been a month, but I already miss being able to pick up the phone and talk about politics, the Kansas City Chiefs, Texas Tech football, or any other random history lesson he had tucked away from one of the many documentaries he absorbed. I miss his one-liners, his complaints, his voice.

That was Dad - honest, sharp, loving, and always armed with a remark that had perfect comedic effect.

Dad was very practical and didn't want a service. In getting to spend every day of his last month with him, we got to celebrate his life in a very real and authentic way. Despite the grieving and knowing that we were soon to lose him, the laughter and remembrances we shared in his final days are precious.

His circle was small but his effect on those around him was profound. He was one of a kind, and we are so grateful to have had him in our lives.

I love you Dadio. Save a place for me on the other side … and a cup of coffee.

Dad was preceded in death by his parents, Harriet and DouglasRichardson; his brother, Jim Richardson, and his first cat, Lady.

Dad is survived by a large and loving family that includes:

His brother, Dean Richardson

His Sister-in-Law, Kathy Richardson

The mother of his children, BJ Worrell

His children: Scott Richardson (Suzanne), John Richardson (LeeAnn), and Debra Hernandez (Armando)

His grandchildren:

-From Debra's side - Elizabeth Smith (Stephen); Noah Hernandez (Makayla)

-From Scott's side - Jackson Richardson

-From John's side - Drew, Jack, and Mary Helen Richardson

His great grandchildren: From Debra's side – Lyla, Mays, and Maya

His cat, Ms. Kitty, for whom he always provided water, nourishment, companionship … and a safe, warm place to sleep.

Both written and video tributes sharing more about Dad and what made him one-of-a-kind can be seen
via the following web addresses:

tinyurl.com/dickierichardson (shortened Facebook link)
or
www.richardrichardson.net

Miss you, Dadio.