R.I.P. Richard "Dick" Wickliffe, 1932–2025

My "second dad"—Richard "Dick" Wickliffe—passed away on Thursday, December 11, after a brief but severe bout of pneumonia. He and two of his three young'uns, Gretchen and Todd, had been over for Thanksgiving dinner only two weeks earlier, and he had been doing very well at the time, so his death came as a shock. Dick was 93 years old. His funeral was this morning.

Dick and his wife, Martha (who passed away in 2013), and my parents were long-time best friends, and since we all spent so much time together, the Wickliffes literally became our second family. Gretchen is my age, Todd is a couple of years younger, and Scott is five years younger (the same age as my late brother), so we had a lot in common, especially in the mischief department. Dick and Martha always seemed to catch on to the mischief sooner than my parents did, and this was always a blessing because they tended to have more patience than my folks.

 

Dad and Dick worked together at the E.I. du Pont de Nemours & Co. plant here in Martinsville for many years, which was how they got to know each other. Mom and Martha hit it off immediately, and though their personalities were oil and water, they somehow managed to get along better than human beings in general have a right to. It was Martha's habit to call Mom on the phone every afternoon, no matter what, about 2:00 p.m. After Martha died, Dick took up the mantle and called her daily without fail until Mom became too debilitated to even use the phone. His faithfulness always meant the world to me.

In his younger days, Dick was an avid scale modeler, and in more recent years, he took up the activity again, building plastic scale models of airplanes, tanks, ships, and even the starship, USS Enterprise (essentially the same model kit that I had when I was a kid). These were intricately detailed and painted, and his collection had become impressive indeed. Lately, every time I'd go for a visit, he'd have some new model in the works.. His completed models occupied a several tables at the funeral today.

All of Dick's family, as well as Kim and I, were pretty well shocked when he passed so suddenly. But while that shock is hard to deal with, I think that, in the long run, the fact he didn't suffer a long, debilitating illness is, in its way, a great relief.

 

The funeral service today was a fitting tribute to Dick—intimate, uplifting, and reassuring. I know his family, Kim and I, and so many good friends will remember him with love for the rest of our days.

 

Here is his official obituary from Roselawn Funeral Home: Obituary, Richard E. Wickliffe

Martha and Dick in our living room in the early 1990s

Dick, Martha, and Mom, Christmas 2008

R.I.P. James A. (Jim) Moore

The last time I saw Jim Moore — Necon 2022 in Lowell, MA

I learned yesterday that friend and fellow writer James A. (Jim) Moore has passed away. He'd been fighting and winning over cancer for several years, but now his fight has ended. Jim was one of the most beloved writers—and human beings in general—I've ever known and for excellent reason. Jim was a man of great humor, commitment to friends, and exceptional generosity. I didn't know him half as well as so many of my peers; I only ever got to see him at conventions, and I haven't been a regular con-goer for a long time. Still, I found a lot of joy in hanging out with him when circumstances permitted, and I've admired him since the day I met him. I'm far from the most qualified to write a fitting tribute to him, so I'll suffice to say that, Brother Jim, you've always had and always will have a special place in my heart. Godspeed.

My Memories of Lara Parker (R.I.P. October 12, 2023)

I just learned via actress Kathryn Leigh Scott that Lara Parker (née Mary Lamar Rickey), best known as Angelique from Dark Shadows has passed away at age 84 years old (October 27, 1938–October 12, 2023). Lara and Kathryn have been good friends since the days of Dark Shadows, so my heart goes out particularly to Kathryn for her personal loss.

I remember the first time I saw Lara as Angelique on Dark Shadows, and I fell in love with her right there on the spot. She was beautiful, powerful, menacing, passionate... everything a nine-year-old boy could possibly desire, apparently. Back then, I adored everything about Dark Shadows, especially Jonathan Frid as Barnabas, but it was when Angelique appeared on the screen that I melted into a mass of lovestruck goo.

After Dark Shadows went off the air, Lara appeared in numerous television series, such as Baretta, Kojak, Kolchak: The Night Stalker, Kung Fu, Remington Steele, The Six-Million-Dollar Man, and Switch, and a few theatrical films, such as Hi, Mom, Race with the Devil, and Save the Tiger. I made a point of watching most of these, and my youthful heart remained smitten, but it took a long time for me to get over my resentment over the cancellation of Dark Shadows... and thus Angelique.

Many moons later, Lara wrote a series of Dark Shadows novels, the first being Angelique's Descent, which HarperCollins released in 1998. At the time, Harper was planning a full series of Dark Shadows novels, and Elizabeth Massie and I secured a contract to write the second book — Dreams of the Dark, which was released in 1999. To my profound excitement, Lara wrote the introduction to our book, and to this day, I remain ridiculously geeked about this. Unfortunately, it wasn't long after Dreams of the Dark's release that Harper shuttered its media tie-in division, and this put the kibosh on Ms. Massie and I writing any further Dark Shadows novels for Harper. In the early 2000s, Tor Books contracted several more Dark Shadows novels from Lara.

Over the years, I attended a number of Dark Shadows events, but none was more memorable than my first — the 1999 Dark Shadows Festival at the World Trade Center in New York City. Most of the show's surviving stars were slated to appear and, more than anything, I looked forward to meeting Lara. And, in fact, she was literally the first familiar face I ran into at the festival. She greeted me cordially but had pressing obligations that prevented her from carrying on a lengthy conversation. Happily, several times, she and I were able to talk at greater length. However, the clincher for me was that she and I appeared together for a presentation on our respective Dark Shadows novels in front of the entire convention group. I had started out with a few butterflies in the old gut, but once things got under way, I managed to carry on without (much) embarrassing gushing.

I met numerous other Dark Shadows cast members at that and other gatherings, but that was the first and only time I ever got to spend any appreciable quality time with Lara Parker. And, of course, that was also the last Dark Shadows event at NYC's World Trade Center. I absolutely cherish the fact that I was able to spend some happy, memorable time there before it was gone forever.

To all Lara's friends and loved ones, I send all my sympathies and respect. She truly played a pivotal role in my childhood, and to me as an adult and an author, she added special meaning and nuance to my career. R.I.P., Lara.

Here are a couple of links to articles featuring some of Lara's thoughts on her acting and writing careers:

• The Collinsport Historical Society — Out of the Shadows: Lara Parker
• Tor/Forge Blog — Researching the Back Story by Lara Parker

On stage with Lara Parker at the 1999 Dark Shadows Festival at the NYC World Trade Center

Phred’s Posthumous Profile in the Winston-Salem Journal

 

A nice posthumous profile of my brother in the Winston-Salem Journal today:

Alan “Phred” Rainey, Owner of Earshot Music, Has Died

I most appreciate that the piece features a video of him from 2014, when he was healthy. And I love being able to hear his voice again.

Barbara Rainey: A Life of Love

My mom passed away today. It’s been a rough one, so for the moment, I will simply post her obituary, which I wrote at her request.

Barbara Rainey, of Martinsville, VA, passed away on July 21, 2020, following a prolonged struggle with dementia and complications from COVID-19. She is survived by two sons — Stephen Mark Rainey of Greensboro, NC, and Alan Rainey, of Winston-Salem, NC — and one granddaughter, Allison Rainey, of New York City, NY. For 45 years, Barbara was married to Carl Rainey, who passed away in 2001.

Barbara was born on October 16, 1935, to Dan and Christine Bell in Gainesville, GA. Through her childhood and college years, she called Gainesville home. She attended Brenau College in Gainesville, and, shortly after her graduation, met Carl Rainey, son of Gordon Rainey, the pastor of St. Paul Methodist Church, where she was a member. In August 1956, Barbara and Carl were married in that church, with the groom's father, Rev. Rainey, officiating.

Carl secured employment with E. I. du Pont de Nemours and Company, which led him and Barbara to settle in Chattanooga, TN. For four years, they dwelled happily in a house Carl had built on Signal Mountain. In May of 1959, their first son, Stephen Mark Rainey, was born. Shortly afterward, Carl was transferred to the Dupont plant in Martinsville, VA, where he remained as an executive for the next three decades. In May 1964, Barbara gave birth to their second son, Alan Rainey.

For her full adult life, Barbara loved Martinsville and her family's home near Lake Lanier. After Mark and Alan left for college and then moved to their own homes, Barbara and Carl remained in their treasured home, which Barbara dubbed "Pleasant Hill." She continued to live at Pleasant Hill until her mid-80s, when increasingly severe health issues forced her to move to an assisted living facility.

Barbara was an active member of First United Methodist Church in Martinsville. She especially loved singing in the Chancel Choir, of which she was a member for over 50 years. She served the church and the community diligently, frequently involving herself in vital charity work, both locally and nationally. On her own time, she enjoyed playing bridge and, for many years, belonged to a group that met regularly at the members' homes. She had a passion for crossword puzzles and, on occasion, jigsaw puzzles, needlepoint, and decoupage. Her home was a source of great pride for her. She loved turning it from a mere house to a perfectly personalized home for her family.

Well-known for her strong faith, generosity, and subtle humor, Barbara lived her life prioritizing others' needs above her own. During Carl's long battle with complications from diabetes, to which he ultimately succumbed, she spent countless days and nights tending to him when he was unable to care for himself. Despite the unrelieved stress of being a full-time caregiver, never once did she exhibit despair or bitterness; if anything, her struggles honed her deeply held faith. After Carl's passing, she continued to honor his memory in every aspect of her life. Even as the ruinous effects of dementia inexorably destroyed memory after precious memory, she never forgot Carl or her children.

Barbara's life was a testament to faith, hope, charity, and love. Her love will never be forgotten.

R.I.P. Lew "Moose" Hartman

I've dealt with the deaths of many friends and loved ones over the years, and when a death hits you so unexpectedly, as it just did with my old friend Moose, it's hard not to seriously resent those years as they march blithely on, their pace increasing as if they've been injected with caffeine, knowing one of them has got your number. I suppose it's better to treasure the time allotted; to be grateful to have had as many moments, days, years as I have; to consider that the alternative to watching their passing is to actually pass on. Sure, why not? For me personally, it seems that April is the month where the years gather up their meanest clout and just go to town. My dad died 14 years ago, on April 11. My sweet little cat, Charcoal, died on April 16, 2007. Right now, my oldest cat, Chester — the Siamese — is doing poorly, probably on his last leg. My mom's health has declined dramatically in just the past couple of months. And now the Moose is gone.

I met Lew at the University of Georgia in 1979, as I entered the BFA program there. He was several years older than me, pursuing his MFA. Lew was an artist, to be sure, with a special interest in fantasy, horror, and science fiction. Hard to fathom why we might have had anything in common, wot? We hit it off right away, and without even a moment's thought or hesitation, the Giving of Shit commenced. There were insults, epithets, threats, shaming, bullying, you name it. Never were two meaner people more meant to connect with each other. Quite by chance, in 1980, we ended up working the same rotating shifts together at the Dupont Nylon plant, and it was here, on our breaks, that we began to shoot the shit about our favorite writers, artists, movies, music... all things creepy and creative. It was Moose who introduced me to the work of Karl Edward Wagner, who, in later years, was to become a personal friend of mine and regular columnist for Deathrealm. Moose was perhaps the most die-hard fan of Roger Zelazny I was ever to meet, and he forced me, on pain of withholding bong hits, to read Zelazny's Amber series — which, to this day, is one of the single most memorable, pleasurable, and all-around inspiring pieces of fantastic literature I have ever read. At Dupont, we used to take smoke breaks perhaps a little too frequently, and we got called on it a time or two; but we didn't care. We didn't give a shit. We were talking about all things Zelazny, Lovecraft, Frazetta, Godzilla, the Atlanta Braves, Jethro Tull, the Moody Blues — you know, things that mattered.

After leaving UGA, I only saw Lew a couple of times, quite a few years apart. But he became a regular contributor to Deathrealm. He provided the cover art for issue #23 (Spring 1995). Somewhere around then, at one convention or another — I think it was in Columbia, SC — we met up with Karl Wagner, and the three of us spent an entire evening drinking bourbon, shooting the shit, and generally having the time of our lives. A decade and a half before, if we had known we'd ever be hanging out with Karl — who was such a profound creative influence on both of us — we probably would have had coronaries and never lived to see the day. I think, of all those bazillion times together with Moose, that was my favorite. Now, both Karl and Moose are gone. And just for a second there — a very fleeting second — I think I felt some real gratitude for those long-gone years we had in each other's company.

Back in the UGA days, I knew Lew had seriously high hopes, and I have to admit I sometimes thought his reach exceeded his grasp. I also came to find out that reaching was the only way to ever get to where you could grasp what you desired. Lew wanted to paint rock-and-roll stars he admired. Well, he went out there, met them, painted them, and sold them his work. He wanted to meet and paint his favorite sports stars. He did that. Lew reached and reached. Now, make no mistake, Lew was a decent artist. But his art paled beside his ability to inspire his friends and acquaintances. I heard that more than once tonight, just a few hours since he died. "He inspired me." "He was my mentor." "He reached out to me." Yeah. That's what that man did.

These past few years, Facebook allowed Moose and me to reconnect on almost as close a basis as we had when we lived just a few miles apart from each other, and — even recently — there have been any number of instances where the slinging of insults reached the intensity it had back in the late 70s and early 80s. We actually had a mini shit-slinging session a week or so ago. I never, ever expected those to end. Not yet. Not yet.

I think Lew may have told me how he came to be called Moose, but I don't remember. It's probably better I don't. All I know is that Moose is gone, and I'm going to have a drink to him. Probably several.

Goddamn, man, your life went too fast. Our lives are going way too fucking fast. But in that bloody race of time there was excellence. Not enough of it, but a lot.

Lew leaves behind his wife, Cathy, and his son, John, both of whom I knew to some degree back in the day. It's gotta be the hardest time for them, and my heart is with them. With them, and with everyone whose life Lew touched. It was a big, tough, wonderful...gentle... touch.

Rest well, old friend.