Sanford Neiman

Rick had a remarkable abitity to confront and accept all of life's twists and turns with equanimity - even serious health problems and knowldge that he was dying. Never complained. He had a great writer's insights. His perspective was unique, original, thoughtful and often provocative. Rick could be skeptical and cynical about many things, including ideas everyone just assumed were true; he had trouble believing me that he would be blown away when he had his grandchild - that lasted a split second on first sight.

I always felt a little better about myself after talking with him. I believe that he felt the same. That's a genuine lielong friendship. Our last conversation a week ago ended with expressions of our love for each other, as we had come to do regularly. Imagine saying that at the flagpole or in the locker room in 1964.

I can't find the right words to express how deeply I will miss Rick. That would take poetry or a way with words like Rick's.

Joyce Marcus

Rick's sister, Hillary, asked to have this message to the class on In-Memory.

I spoke to my brother, Rick, weekly, sometimes even more. When I saw the 619 area code pop up on my phone I immediately ran for my Swiffer or dust rag, because I knew it would be at least an hour long conversation.

I would start off by asking, “How are you, Rick”? His reply was always, “Let’s talk about something else.”  Then we would launch into a discussion that ranged from family to politics and all manner of topics in between.  His first priority of business was to tell me something cute his grandson had done, accompanied by a video.  Cary was his next topic.  How he loved that boy.  And the feeling was mutual. 

We talked a lot about our family and being the kids of Selma and Bernie.  He always said that he had nothing but love for our parents. Our Dad was bigger than life to him and my sassy Mother unlike other moms of that time.  Rick was so happy with our relationship – how close we were.  He said he couldn’t imagine why in so many families siblings had no relationship.  That old hurts and rivalries ran so deep that they could never be forgiven.

He talked and I mostly listened.  I heard so much about all of you. Old anecdotes, your successes, your marriages, your children and the wondrous ways in which your lives unfolded.  He really loved his friends and was so genuinely interested.  But you all knew that.

I am just Hillary now.  No longer Rick’s sister.  It feels so strange and lonely.  In time, I will adjust as will all of you.

Rick said his goodbyes and left with nothing unsaid.  The best way to make an exit.

Sanford Neiman

Through high school and to the present, Rick was a force in my husband Sandy's (Neiman) and my life. When I feel less sad, I will dig up the pictures and correspondences of our long lasting and mighty friendship. When he and Joyce moved to Sun Valley we were so sad. Our Noah missed his friend Cary for a long time.Rick was so witty. We have letters from him describing Cappy's (Steve Caplan) being a pharmacist as the same as putting a tabby in a fish market. We still smile remembering how funny Rick was. When I would go skiing every week with Judi ( Hoffman) Kasdan, we would put Rick's product Fire Feet in our boots. Sandy and Rick talked quite often even up to a few days before he died. Sandy always felt good after his phone calls with Rick. He will be sorely missed.  Roz ( Goodman) Neiman

Joyce Marcus

Rick’s Obituary is in today’s (Sunday 12/13/2020) Pittsburgh Post Gazette.  Cary’s obituary will be in this Wednesday’s Idaho Mountain Express. Ruthellen asked about Rick’s publications.  Brown Shoe and Thirst can be purchased on Amazon. You can check the archives of Surfer Magazine, Outside Magazine, Sun Valley Magazine for some of his articles. Thank you all for your heartfelt comments on this page, personal emails, and your calls. I copied all comments for Cary, Rick’s family, and very close friends. They were our virtual Shiva and we appreciated all of them more than you can know.

https://obituaries.post-gazette.com/obituary/richard-david-slone-1081169415
 

Cary’s Obituary for Rick follows:

It is among my greatest honors to be able to share a brief and incomplete description of my dad. He had strong opinions about life, death, friendship, consciousness, and writing, of which I will do my best to adhere to. 

Rick Slone is my father and what follows is a snapshot of what I imagine he would want to be shared about his personality, beliefs, and of least importance, his accomplishments. A few weeks ago he mentioned that society evaluates one's life by the things that they have done, goals achieved, losses incurred, jobs held, and objects acquired. He believed that these components alone paint an incomplete and inaccurate portrait but that we rarely look beyond or ask the necessary questions to see ourselves or others accurately. Instead, he was much more interested in one’s feelings associated with these components believing that these emotions more accurately define the individual than the objects or events that preceded them. While I agree, and will do my best to honor this perspective, his ‘resume’ reinforced this viewpoint, and is what most people will expect in the coming paragraphs. 

My dad was an author writing adventure stories for Surfer and Outside Magazine, a speech writer, a novelist, and held liner note credits to my college degrees. He was a surfer, riding waves in Hawaii, Fiji, Central America, Europe, Brazil, California, and Canada. He was a mountaineer, climbing in Peru, The Himalayas, and Alaska. He was a three decade season pass holder in Sun Valley, also skiing in British Columbia, France, and Italy. A youth diving champion, a college football athlete, a hockey player, and baseball player. My dad was also an academic: a graduate of Princeton University, a member of Mensa and a voracious reader. When asked about any of these resume bullets he would be happy to reminisce but the summits, pow days, or academic accomplishments were not what really interested him. Rick viewed these as a way to remember the experiences themselves, the friendships, and the feelings that were inseparable from them. 

Parental relationships are inherently asymmetric. In the beginning parents are responsible for taking care of their children and keeping them safe. This dynamic often continues beyond the point when the child is able to act in their own best interest or learn from their own mistakes.  But if you are lucky there will be a window when the parent and child can exist on level ground. The point when the parent allows the child the freedom to make their own decisions and prior to the time when the roles inevitably reverse. From an early age my dad stopped trying to exert his agenda on who I should be or how I should act, enabling us to discover that sweet spot earlier than most. We talked about how lucky we were to enjoy the same outdoor activities and from a young age he included me in his adventures and travels. Our relationship was special in that we were friends first and family second. He often said that “you choose your friends” and I feel honored to have been chosen.

Cary Slone
 

Sallie Hipps (Dent)

Dear Joyce....  Guy and I are heartbroken for you, Cary and the entire family.  We spoke to Rick about a month before he passed.  He was waiting for Cary and Palmer to visit.  How he looked forward to their visits was a description of pure joy.

He had called to ask about the health of our oldest daughter Meghan.  He knew she was being treated at the Dana Farber Hospital in Boston, where he received treatment for many years.  

Guy had reconnected with Ricky about a year before the 50th reunion, which roughly coincided with the passing of our youngest daughter Kara from congestive heart failure.  Once Rick found out about our Kara, his calls became more frequent.  Guy would call Rick, or he would call us.  At one point about two years ago Ricky was reluctant to go for a treatment and Guy said he was going to fly to Idaho and accompany him to Boston.  Rick went to Boston shortly after Guy's offer.  I think he was afraid Guy would talk his ear off.

Guy and Ricky were friends fron Allderdice days.  I knew who he was, like every other female in high school, just from seeing him in the halls at TA.  I never realized what a compassionate, kind, and caring person he was until Guy would hand me the phone at the end of their chats, and Rick and I would talkat length.  Not many people take the time to stay in touch, but Rick always took the time to call for the past seven years.  Those monthly and sometimes weekly calls meant the world to us and we will always have those fond memories.

After reading all the wonderful, warm thoughts about Ricky, it is easy to understand why he was such a special person.  He was one in a million and will be missed by all who knew and loved him.

He leaves a heartfelt legacy to all of us.  Guy and I will truly miss our conversations with him about life, family and friends.

Howard Portnoy

Thanks for sharing those tributes, Joyce and Cary. All I can say after reading them, is what a life! What a guy!

Emelie Berlin (Schwab)

Joyce and Cary

I know we have been in touch.  Just want to say that with all of these amazingly special thoughts about the hurt and anguish we all feel,  your hearts have got to be filled with Ricky's kindness, love and strength.  That's a good thing that helps through this awful bad.

I know how this is.

Take care my beautiful friend of past times.  (can't use that old term...we are not that old)

Emelie

Henry Henry (Herskovitz)

For Carey,

As your dad’s classmates (and you) have attested, Rick excelled at everything he tried. He was popular, athletic and admired by all, boys and girls. But Fuggettabout all that… The man could stop Time. It happened; I was there.

It was fifth grade and we were on our way home from Colfax. We were maybe five of us on the backside of Davis School. They call it something else now, but it’ll always be Davis School to us. A steep hill sloped down to Phillips Avenue and since the snow had stopped, were lobbing snowballs on the passing cars. It was a Pittsburgh snow, wet and dense, not like the powder you’re used to in Ketchum.

Colfax’s gym class was coached by a fellow named Don Seamon. We were Seamon’s Demons, and Coach Seamon created some sports events for us to compete in. One such was “Softball throw for distance”, and your dad set the record. Not only set the record, he “Beamon’d” it. (Ref: Bob Beamon in the long jump ’68 Olympics). Never mind that Bob hadn’t achieved his fame at the time, Ricky (he was Ricky then) still Beamon’d it. He had an arm like no other, and I believe the record still stands.

Anyhow, back to the hill behind Davis School, and pelting cars. Your dad worked up a huge snowball; some of us were watching him building it, some still hurling smaller ones. He reared back and launched this 5-pound hunk of near-solid ice at a 45 degree upward angle towards Phillips Avenue. And at the exact same time somebody yelled “Hold it! It’s a cop car!!”

It wasn’t just a cop car. It was a Pennsylvania State Police car. It was big. I think it was a Plymouth (they used to make Plymouths), and it had a big hood. I think it was blue. Never mind. The point being, that at the moment this snowball had just about reached its vertical apex, and as our ten eyes were tracking its flight along with the horizontal motion of the State Cop Car, something happened.
 
A heavenly hand intervened and Time literally stopped. Our eyes went back and forth during this time-suspended reality. First to the snowball, then to the Cop Car. Then back again. There was this sinking feeling in the pit of our stomachs as Time resumed its relentless path to wherever, and both snowball and vehicle traveled to their now doomed-to-meet destination. Fate was speaking.

The THUD that emanated from Snowball striking Big Hood could have been heard in Hazelwood. Mouths dropped as the big Plymouth’s front tires skidded to a stop, the front end of the car diving towards the pavement. Mouths gaped even wider when both front doors opened. It was the last thing we five saw.

In 13 nanoseconds I was in my mother’s kitchen asking “So, what’s for dinner?” No memory whatever of how I got there. No recollection of which streets traveled, people seen, traffic lights, slippery sidewalks, nothing. Nada. Davis School one moment, Mom’s kitchen the next. 13 nanoseconds.

I wasn’t alone. Five other eyewitnesses confirmed the event, and all testimony was identical: 13 nanoseconds, no recollection of distance traveled, and “Hey, mom, what’s for dinner?”

So when someone tells you that your Dad did this or that, please smile to them and know in your heart he did what no one – not even Clark Kent – ever achieved. He stopped Time.

You could look it up.

Philip Mason

Great story, Henry. I went to Davis for kindergarden and 1st grade before we moved and I then went to Wightman for 2nd grade. Your story brings back memories of both Rick and living across Hobart from Davis. Thank you.

Tom Allison

My apologies for apparent silence on Rick Sloan's passing.  I prepared comments (twice actually), but I don't see that either of them actually made it to the web site.  Sorry.

I did not know Rick nearly so well as many of you did.  We didn't grow up in the same community or go to the same schools together until Allderdice -- and then, coincidentally, Princeton.  We were friends and did share a few classes and were both memebers of the Varisty Club -- though in different sports.  A sort of quirky memory is of Rick sharing a poem he wrote -- "Van Gogh of Beltzhoover" -- with me.  I was thinking, 'this is really off the wall', but it actually encouraged me to color outside the lines a bit more in my own efforts at creatinve writing -- though I got nowhere as far from the safe center as Rick was even then at age 16.

At Princeton, our paths seldom crossed, as we were again in diffeerent sports and pursuing different areas of study.  We did come together senior year -- but on oppostie sides -- of an intramural championship athletic event.  That was the last time I remember seeing him at Princeton.

Then I saw Rick again in 1975 when I was in grad school doing my PhD studies at Pitt.  We were organizing a study on blood-doping involving the blood bank, the department of cardiac surgery, and a group of mountain climbers from the Pittsburgh Explorers Club who were attempting a summit of Nanga Parbat (9th highest peak in the world measured from sea level) in Pakistan.  Guess who was among the climbers?  Yes, Rick Sloan.  That climb ended prematurely in a tragic accident as 2 of the climbers were swept away by a freak landslide as they slept inside their tent, but fortunately Rick was not involved.

Rick always seemed to me to march to a different drum and constantly seek the road less taken.  My sincere sympathies to Joyce, to his family, and to all who knew and loved him so well.