We lose touch with old friends.
I called Rich my friend back in the Hudson, Mass. days before he and Janice, Eric and little Zak moved across the world to Canoga Park. When they left I lost a second family.
Seeing Richard as an "old man," in the memorial book photos wasn't so hard; he just looked like Rich; mischievous smile and attentive presence.
A fond memory I have is when I sat down in his kitchen with Rich, Eric Lilliquist and Janice and played and sang a song that I had written. If Rich hadn't been in that room, I just couldn't have done it, but his attention, his sincere interest propped up my confidence. When Orphan was practicing or jamming, Rich would always try to get me doing something, "Lee, play the congas," he would say, "sing." When He was on tour with The Below-Average White Band, with Marty Mull in the late 70s, I would drive over from Cambridge and take Eric to his little league games; Rich made sure that Janice and the boys were looked after when he was on the road. There was a bus load of musicians around to help in those days.
When I lived in Tucson and Rich and Janice were in California, I kept in touch by phone and holiday cards; on those calls Rich was always interested in what I was doing musically - and I wasn't doing much - he would press me, "Are you working," he'd ask. Yeah, I have a job. "No," he'd say, "are you working!" doing gigs? He wanted his musician friends to follow their potential and develop their passion for the muse.
I lost touch over the years, but there has always been a place in my heart for the Adelman family. Richard Adelman affected my life in a positive way. He was a special friend at a time when I needed one.