Some people
are illuminated from within. You know it the moment you meet them — there is a
spark, an essence, a twinkle in the eye, that sets them apart from the rest.
Rick
Kaloust glowed with this inner light. He celebrated life. Never one to stay
down for long, Rick was always quick with a laugh or up for having some fun.
You would never place the word “boring” in the same sentence with Rick Kaloust.
If you were
one of the many fortunate to have known him and called him your friend, you
know of his big heart, his loyalty, and his fun-loving spirit. In the days
since he died on Jan. 9, so many people have come forth to express how much
Rick meant to them and the many ways that he touched them. He made all of us
feel special. We all know how fortunate we are to have called him “friend.”
My memories
of Rick go back to childhood. He was this dark haired, chocolate-eyed kid who
played on the Little League team that my father coached in
Manchester-by-the-Sea. Even then, he had this energy about him, something
special and soulful that you wanted to be around and try to absorb. Later, when
he moved to Gloucester, we became good friends during high school. We were all
crazy — and carefree — back then. To the consternation and endless worry of our
parents, we had a blast. And the memories were forged, indelible and life-long.
Everyone
had a nickname that remains with us to this day. Rick was “Kahlua” or “Guido
the Killer Pimp.” I was “The Cowboy.” Paul Murphy was “Puddles” or “Francis.”
Ricky Schrafft was “Dicka.” Kevin Warde was “The Wonder.” Don Riley was “Don
Juan.” What I remember most was the laughter, much of it completely silly and
inane, but laughter that would bowl you over and make your insides churn. It
was humor that was understood by us, that only good friends can share, like a
code or a foreign language to which only we had access and meaning. The banter
was constant:
“We are all
very proud of you.”
“What up?
Cut up! Shut the f—up!”
“My Corp,
your Corp, Marine Corp.”
“Give your
president respect.”
“It’s
Guido, the Killer Pimp.”
“Paco
Robano on ice.”
“Eddie’s on
the warpath.”
“Wearing
the spurs.”
“Gee
Sammo?”
“The Mighty
Atlantic.”
“Cowboy
jumped the marsh!”
“Is the
Wonder still doing the Wonder?”
“Dicka’s
Number One.”
“Murphy,
what is your fascination with Gay Paris?”
“She’s
livin’ out on the island. Tell her to come home.”
And on and
on and on.
Truth be
told, we all benefited from his loving and generous parents, who, like Rick,
were always welcoming people into their home. There was love there and
laughter. Sometimes the love was tough, but it was good and pure, and
unwavering. Ed and Joyce Kaloust are beautiful human beings. If you love Rick,
you know why he is such a good soul; he came from good stock. And there are his
brothers and sisters, Donna, Kim, John, and Derek. They each have that same
spark within them. If you know them, you understand what I am talking about.
They are authentic people, with good hearts and a loyalty that runs deep.
In recent
years, Rick and I stayed in touch every week, and I visited him a handful of
times in Florida. He lived in Tampa and I was in Rockport, but thanks to cell
phones, we would check in all of the time. He was there for me, and he gave it
away. We would end our conversation with “I love you,” a phrase that is not
something I give away freely. But we both knew what that meant — that life was
precious and friendships like ours were rare, and life-long friendships ever
more so.
I could
mention all of the good times in detail, but Joey C., another good soul who
shines that inner light, captured it so eloquently in his tribute.
One memory
that does come to mind somehow seems appropriate today. It was October in
Gloucester in the early 1980s. The Kaloust’s power boat was still on the
mooring off Eastern Point. Of course, we all decided, about eight of
us, to head down after dark by boat to Salem’s Pickering Wharf for some
drinks. We left Gloucester Harbor, and the seas were raging. The boat was a
24-footer with a great deal of horsepower, but we were being tossed about just outside the breakwater near Norman’s Woe. Terrified, I thought we were going to capsize
and drown. At the helm, Rick, of course, was laughing and pushing onward, feet
solidly planted apart and hands steady on the wheel. Eventually, off Magnolia, the seas
flattened and we made our way down to Salem Harbor along Boston's North Shore coast.
Who knows
how long we stayed, and how many drinks and laughs we had, but I do remember
this: Upon our return, the moon was glowing white on the water and the sea was
as still as glass. I stood beside Rick at the wheel. We felt the icy October
air in our faces and in our hair and we smiled silently at each other as we
flew across the calm water, free and beautiful and full of light, heading home.
