There was a quote in Dick Townsley's obituary that said it all.
"What we have done for ourselves dies with us," it reads. "What we have done for others remains and is immortal."
That's certainly apropos of Richard Wayne Townsley.
Dick said a lot of wise things to me when we were neighbors. The one that stuck with me the most — and did me the most good — was something he said several times after I'd graduated from Eastwood High School and prepared to make the big leap to college.
It was, simply, to treat school like it was a job.
This was a bit foreign to me since I had never had a job before. I didn't consider all those hours I put in on Saber, the high school newspaper, to be work. It was too much fun to be considered laborious.
But I was anxious about college. Texas Tech seemed so big, so vast, so unfamiliar; Lubbock so far away. Eastwood was like an extended family. Eastwood was home.
I wasn't worried just about that great unknown known as higher education, I was afraid I 'd never make it in the newspaper business. I didn't think I was good enough.
But Dick Townsley told me I had nothing to worry about. He wasn't the only one who encouraged me, of course. My parents did. My older brothers did, too. So did my journalism teacher.
But Dick's encouragement carried serious weight.
After all, he was a West Point graduate, and a decorated Vietnam veteran who had gone back to school after the Army, got an MBA at UTEP and worked as an accountant and an accounting teacher.
Dick and Marge Townsley's kids were like siblings to me, especially as my older brothers left town one by one.
Peter, their youngest, and I bonded soon after we moved in across the street from the Townsleys, when I was 13. Kim, his sister, was a real sweetheart. I didn't know Rick or Mike, the two oldest, as well, but they were around for most of my junior high and high school years.
So what Dick said meant a lot. If he said treat college like a job, not an excuse to party, it meant something. Get to class on time. Do your homework. Work hard. Don't fall behind. Ask questions if you're uncertain. Do that, he'd say, and you'll be all right.
Fortunately, I embraced Dick's wisdom, even if I did party a bit too much at times. I did well in school, despite piling on 18 hours my first semester and 17 the second, making the dean's list four straight semesters.
Who knew I was going to land a walk-on job with the student newspaper my first week on campus, much less find a girlfriend?
The hard-work ethic my parents instilled in me, and Mr. and Mrs. Townsley encouraged, paid off. By my senior year, I was the entertainment editor of the student newspaper and a freelancer for the El Paso Times and Lubbock Avalanche-Journal.
Any fears I had about finding work in the newspaper business were gone by then. It's been 36 years since I first got a paycheck from a newspaper. I lived in Michigan for a long time, but stayed in touch with Dick and Marge, mostly through Christmas cards and occasional visits when I'd come home for a few days.
By the time I moved back nearly four years ago, Dick had gotten ill and he and his radiant wife Marge had moved to a condo nearby. I never saw Dick again. I was told he probably wouldn't remember me anymore, so I stayed away out of respect.
Dick's gone now. He died Dec. 20. He was 81.
He went peacefully, having lived the last stage of his robust life at the Texas State Veterans Home, where they draped him in the stars and stripes after he left us.
A beautiful gesture for such a patriotic man.
There are plenty of things I remember about Dick — that knowing smile, that jocular personality, that love for the country for which he'd put his life on the line. But I'll never forget what Dick did for me that fateful summer.
Now I’m passing it on to you.
Doug,
What a wonderful tribute to Dick. What you said was "right on". Brings back many memories of our three Woodway families. It was good times for us all. I hope that your mom is doing okay. We'll all miss a close and wise friend.
Paul Harris
Posted by: Paul Harris | January 05, 2012 at 12:21 PM