Remembering My Friend Russell

Russell Ward around 1976-77

It was at my 50th high school reunion (last year) that I found out Russell had passed away a couple years earlier. No one seemed to have any specific information. He and I had been close for years, and had lost contact for years as well. Which is what happens as one navigates through life.

Obviously, it has taken me a while to deal with this loss.

Russ and I knew each other in high school and hung out a bit, not a lot. We both took a year off between high school and college and ended up at the U of O at the same time. He lived across from me in the dorms that first year. We rented an old house together with a couple other friends the second year.

Russell didn’t drive so we would bounce back and forth between Eugene and Portland in my old Toyota Land Cruiser, usually at night so we could knock back a six pack, and not be seen. (Yeah, I’m sure my friends are surprised I would do something lie that...)

I was 20 with a long pony tail and thick beard. Russ was 21. He stood 5 feet tall and if he shaved closely he could look pretty young. On weekends we would go to the movies. I would pay for one adult and one under 12. If the people at the box office gave me one of those looks I just said he was my kid brother and Russ would nod. He couldn’t actually say anything as he had a pretty deep voice which would have totally busted us. After the film we’d go grab a beer. Inevitably they would card him at the tavern and totally ignore me.

One time we decided for whatever reason to hitchhike to the coast. I had a perfectly good running car, we just thought it would be more of an adventure if we hitchhiked and camped with our back packs. Of course the weather didn’t cooperate. The first day started off sunny but by the time we arrived at the coast it was raining. We had no money, part of our big plan, and we didn’t bother to check on any state parks. They were all still closed at that time of year.

Over two nights we snuck into two different campgrounds and since they were closed we couldn’t start a fire to warm ourselves up. I slept under a picnic table both nights and Russ had a very small tent of his own design. By the time we hitchhiked back to Eugene we were soaked and cold. It was an adventure to say the least and we got some rides from some very strange people.

For as long as I can remember, Russell would sit and draw these amazingly detailed pieces, all with a Bic fine point pen on whatever piece of paper was lying around. The Bic fine point was his favorite tool. I asked him why he didn’t use fancy pens and ink and all of that? “A Bic pen is always available.” It’s what he was used to.

I always told him he should publish his cartoons but he was never that interested. He enjoyed drawing and didn’t see it as a job.

At the end of my sophomore year I left Eugene and moved to LA to go to film school.

Over the years he gave me all sorts of cartoons he had done. One envelope contained six cartoons and a rejection letter from The New Yorker. I don’t know if he was just giving them to me or letting me be their caretaker until some later date?

The Stupid Stamps

We stayed in touch the old fashioned way, by mail. And that’s where his “Stupid” stamp series started. Russ would create these wonderfully detailed drawings built around the stamps on the envelopes. I’m not sure if he would buy specific stamps to match some sort of idea he had, or if he just bought a stamp and then came up with an idea. I enjoyed the drawings on the envelopes as much as the letters. I always looked forward to receiving them to see what he had come up with this time. I often wondered what people in the postal service thought of his envelope drawings, or if they even noticed.

After 5+ years of living in LA I decided to move back to Portland to pursue my goal of being an independent filmmaker. Russ and I hadn’t communicated in about a year and he had no idea I was heading north. I loaded everything I owned into my old Land Cruiser and a rented trailer. It was packed solid and made for a very long slow trip up Interstate 5.

The heat was incredible and at times on the drive, the only way I could keep my car from overheating was to run the dual heaters it had. I was grinding through the Siskiyous in shorts and a t-shirt with both heaters blasting so as not to overheat. The windows were up as I had so much stuff in the car I didn’t want it to blow around.

I had been driving and sweating for two solid days. As I came flying down the final hill outside of Ashland I was exhausted. It was 5 pm and I was dying. I had $40 in my pocket, enough money to get a cheap motel room. I debated stopping there for the night. Then I thought, if I can push for a few more hours I could make it to Eugene and crash on Russell’s floor and save my cash.

Russell didn’t have a phone (a lot of people didn’t back then) so I had no idea if he was even home. I decided to take a chance and if he wasn’t there I’d figure something out. I parked outside of his apartment building, and walked up the stairs to his apartment. It was still really hot, the door was wide open and he was sitting inside reading. I walked right in, sat down on his couch. He looked up.

“Is it my turn to buy or is it yours?” I asked.

“I think it’s mine.” he said.

We got up. Left the apartment. Walked a few blocks to a tavern, sat down, and Russ ordered a large pitcher of beer. The waitress brought back our pitcher and two glasses. Russ filled up both glasses and handed one to me.

“So what brings you to town?” Russ finally asked.

The beer was cold and after my long drive, tasted better than any other beer I ever had. We spent the next few hours having a great conversation.

That’s how we were. We could go quite a while without communicating, then just drop back into each other’s lives and fill each other in as if no time had passed.

Russell received a double degree in math and physics. Throughout his life he was an avid hiker, backpacker, and climber. He had multiple patents on hiking and climbing gear. After college he worked at the Long Beach Veterans Hospital designing and making prosthetic devices for veterans who’d lost limbs. He lived in a small apartment and spent weekends in nature when possible.

I believe he had the occasional girlfriend and I hate admitting that I don’t know if he ever married or had kids. I don’t think he did. He was never with anyone the times we talked or when I saw him over the years. He was a loner, albeit a very friendly one. I know both of his parents are gone and he had two sisters he wasn’t close to. I’m not sure what happened to them.

Over the years we had many amazing conversations about all sorts of things. Finding out he passed away really hit me. We also believed in each other.

I’m getting older and have been losing a lot of friends and acquaintances these last few years. And it doesn’t get easier. That’s just how things go.

Sometimes we lose someone and it’s not just their loss that bothers us. It’s a signal that things have changed, we’ve changed. We think of the good times and the bad, but coming to grips with some losses goes a lot deeper. We have no one to truly share those memories and times with. Those adventures we had become stories of the past that we no longer tell. We don’t tell them because others don’t wish to listen. They are too busy living their own lives just as we were.

We live our lives and leave some friends by the wayside as we move forward. Ever now and again a name, a memory from the past resurfaces and we smile. I feel bad that Russ and I lost touch. I’m also very lucky as I have both memories and his drawings.

Since the reunion I have pulled out his drawings a few times. I realize he’s still with me. That makes me feel a little better. I can still hear his voice, and remember the funny and stupid things we used to do. And that is gold.

I’ve posted a few of his drawings here. I think he’d be okay with that. And tonight I’m going to hoist a beer in his memory. I’m also going to laugh some, because that’s what he would have wanted.

I miss you Russ. Thanks for leaving me these wonderful drawings and memories.

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