I lost a close friend the other day. Lee Richardson, one of the coolest, sweetest and most uncommonly decent people I’ve ever known, died while on a business trip in Ethiopia. In a way, it was fitting that he died in a faraway place. Lee had been trotting the globe for years, going back more than a decade to his days as a Vice President at SAS Institute. Lee was in Ethiopia on behalf of a new startup company he’d just joined. Ever the entrepreneur, Lee was always signing up with startups — or launching his own. Along with his adoring wife Val, Lee also had built a small real estate empire, including ownership of the Duke Towers Hotel and Condominiums, a hidden treasure in downtown Durham. He and Val worked hard to make the place homey and comfortable, which it certainly is. Val was always at Lee’s side. Lee made it clear to us all that he worshiped her. Together they were quite a pair, exceptional in every way.
It was a pulmonary embolism that killed Lee. There was no warning and we were all shocked. A pulmonary embolism? Lee Richardson? Part of the surprise came because he was an exercise freak. He ran, biked, swam, played tennis and played golf, all with passion and energy. He loved to garden and, with Val, had created an outdoor paradise in their back yard in Durham’s Forest Hills neighborhood, gorgeous plantings and trees surrounding their swimming pool. Lee loved that spot with all his heart. He told me so.
A lot of people say they speak several languages, but in my experience that’s sometimes an exaggeration. That wasn’t the case with Lee. He spoke fluent Japanese and was more than competent in Korean, Mandarin Chinese, French and Spanish. He loved to travel. He seemed to take pleasure in entertaining me with stories of his treks, especially his endless trips to Tokyo. I couldn’t get enough of his tales, which were somehow sophisticated and folksy at the same time.
Lee and I played golf together — and we both were avid walkers. Given the choice, we both would walk instead of riding a cart. For years, Lee and I played golf almost every Sunday with Dub Gulley and Matt Weitz. Together we formed the only real foursome I’ve ever had. We were a perfect group. We knew each other’s games as well as we knew our own. Talk about comfortable: We were like one on the golf course. Although we all played together so often, Lee and I ended up playing by ourselves a lot too. We both left our traditional careers to start our own businesses at roughly the same time. As a result, for a while there, we had plenty of time to play golf — and we took advantage of it. I thought about this recently and figured that I’d played more rounds of golf in my lifetime with Lee Richardson than anyone else. That means countless outings together, spending four hours strolling through green pastures and piney woods — all in the company of one of the finest individuals you’d ever meet. Whether with Dub and Matt, or by ourselves, we told jokes. We acted silly. We played serious golf for a few dollars here and there. We confided in each other about life’s frustrations. We talked about anything and everything. It was easy to make Lee laugh and he was good at returning the favor.
It’s been a week or so since I heard about Lee’s death. Somehow, the sadness has grown with time, not the other way around. A friend told me such a reaction is the sign of strong and genuine affection. I cannot argue with that.