RIP Neil, Richard

In the span of a few days, I learned about the deaths of two acquaintances (one hopes they considered me a friend, but was never sure), Richard Watts (d. 11/29/23), and Neil Becker (d. 9/11/24). Richard I had known since 2004, and Neil since 2012. You might call them "old souls", but each was singular, strong, tall, cranky/curmudgeonly, smokers, and of similar age. Kind of giants in their own way -- they loomed over you, skin ashy from decades of smoking. In another life, they might have been cousins. Richard maintained a highly curated antique shop called Oddities and Such, smoked cigarettes in front with the furniture put out for sale, often in his rocking chair, which while adult-size, looked too small for his lanky frame, and drank 2-liters of diet cola and ate moon pies and oatmeal pies for his meals (he had lived with his mother until she passed five years ago). Neil owned a Volvo mechanic shop named Becker Auto. Both had definite opinions about things (Neil's shop was posted with a lot of hand-written Dos and Don't like the rules at Kenny Shopsin's: "No outside car parts for cars after 1974!"), and a lot of chutzpah (Richard knew I was Jewish and would lecture me antisemitically about Israel). Richard loved to talk, and Neil was pretty terse and skeptical, peering down at you through his square glass frames. Richard died suddenly in his sleep of a heart attack at age 70, and Neil of a short (2.5 month), but devastating bout of cancer that started in his lungs and moved to his spine. Both worked their craft until shortly before they died (Neil was still working in June), with little or no time outside of the shop.

How does one make sense of such a thing? Were they owed something more, some deeper purpose, a vacation even, or is it fitting to go out doing the thing that was one's life's work? Did they get everything they wanted? Did they know that they were loved, and is it just me that is still searching for answers since I was never able to say goodbye?

I knew something had changed at Oddities as the entrance door was different (now it was the door facing Main St rather than Fidelity St.) and there were foreign cars parked in the in the driveway where Richard kept his truck and Richard never did like that anyone park in those spots but customers and there was a part of the store open now (just through that door facing Main St.) that I never seen before and it was filled with stuff that didn’t quite look like Richard's.

His brother Tommy said Richard was buried in Westwood cemetery. I remember his playing his old timey tunes, his lisp/stutter, so incongruous on such a big man, which made him strangely childlike.  His brother Tommy, who also kept an antique business on site, and still does, was quieter, and his merchandise more conventional, although he too had some interesting pieces. Tommy and I talked about Richard’s folk art and how some of it now went for thousands.   

Mr Hunter's Grave (obit essay as reminiscence)