Dick Stodghill has passed away

Here is the email I received this morning:
Abe Your phone call meant so much to Dick, thank
you. He died this evening, nothing more I can say.

Jackie Stodghill

Oh, Abe, I am so sorry. I was afraid of that.

I was proud to have known him, and honored to call him my friend.

Like so many others, I met Dick on the PA board.

My memories and tribute

My first contact with Dick was in 2006 on the PA forum. I admired and trusted his judgment on a wide range of subjects. When he left the PA forum I followed him. We were together again on another forum before joining this one, and our friendship continued. We exchanged emails on various matters not suitable for posting.

Whenever I visited the States, we chatted on the telephone. His soft voice emitted a kindness that was not evident in many of his posts. I admired him not only for his extraordinary life experiences but also for his honesty. His courage was not limited to the battlefield but in his posts. When challenged, he rose to the occasion and never backed down to anyone. He was a tough guy with a soft heart. His love for the small creatures is evidence of that.

Dick was always there to offer advice and assistance. He responded to the new authors providing encouragement. He responded to struggling authors offering the benefit of his own writing experience.

I was concerned about his failing health and talked to him by phone. His sense of humor was still intact and his mind alert. He was realistic about his failing health and the inevitable outcome.

My condolences go to Jackie. She was the subject of many posts where he poked fun at her. They enjoyed a special relationship. I can’t begin to imagine the loss she feels at this time. My thoughts are with her.

Abe, that is a beautiful tribute and I echo every word.

His words will live on for many of us. His books are in the hands of my family and friends.

Carol

This man has been my friend for three years. He had become, in my mind, like one of my uncles, all WWII vets, all gone. Now he is with them. My thoughts go out to Jackie. I feel we have come to know her as well. He will be missed by all of us.

Ann

Like Abe, I too have traded words and thoughts with Dick on more than one forum. From PA to AS to here he left his mark on every place he chose to contribute. Many times Dick was a voice of reason in places that needed it. He never failed to offer his sage advice to new authors, and his was a talent and a friendship that will truly be missed.

11/9/2009

I'm in a state of shock ! I just read this..I used to
love to read Dick's blog page, he was so full of
history about WW !! , the many stories he wrote
about......I will miss him dearly....I got to know
him on the PA site..I can see Dick looking down
on us from heaven with his typewriter, his beloved
hamster, smiling, plotting his next great story...Here's
looking at you Dick , I salute you..

Joe

Dick was a wonderful friend, a true gentleman and a great writer.
I miss him terribly.

He made everything interesting.

He will be missed, along with the wisdom he shared through the blog he often posted here. [You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

Thank you, Abe, for posting this sad information. Dick will be sorely missed.

"His kind seldom come along. The world isn't quite as good a place without him."

You all have said what is in my heart. I also met Dick on the PA board
and felt an instant connection with him which has continued to this
day. Re-phrasing an old quote...

Old soldiers never die, they live on in our hearts.

Dick was an admirer of Raymond Chandler, author of The Big Sleep. While this quote does not come from that book, but another by the same author.

To Dick: A man of honor.
Love,
Betty

"In everything that can be called art there is a quality of redemption. It may be pure tragedy, if it is high tragedy, and it may be pity and irony, and it may be the raucous laughter of the strong man. But down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid.

The detective in this kind of story must be such a man. He is the hero; he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor -- by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world. I do not care much about his private life; he is neither a eunuch nor a satyr; I think he might seduce a duchess and I am quite sure he would not spoil a virgin; if he is a man of honor in one thing, he is that in all things.

He is a relatively poor man, or he would not be a detective at all. He is a common man or he could not go among common people. He has a sense of character, or he would not know his job. He will take no man's money dishonestly and no man's insolence without due and dispassionate revenge. He is a lonely man and his pride is that you will treat him as a proud man or be very sorry you ever saw him. He talks as the man of his age talks -- that is, with rude wit, a lively sense of the grotesque, a disgust for sham, and a contempt for pettiness.

The story is the man's adventure in search of a hidden truth, and it would be no adventure if it did not happen to a man fit for adventure. He has a range of awareness that startles you, but it belongs to him by right, because it belongs to the world he lives in. If there were enough like him, the world would be a very safe place to live in, without becoming too dull to be worth living in. "
— Raymond Chandler (The Simple Art of Murder)

Dick had a way with words so much that he made me enjoy the history and the wars. I would never read anything like he wrote about until I met him.

I read about his passing last night but couldn't bring myself to post here before now. With tears streaming down my face for a beloved brother-friend, I add my condolences, words, and thoughts to those already expressed.

Very nice Betty. I also remember Dick speaking of this man.

It is a difficult day.

We knew Dick from his words, their meaning. Oh, how important that makes all our words, how they live on after we do, how those words can make friends, bring admiration.

Carol

Dick was an inspiration to me.
There was nothing about him that was unlikable.
He was a man of wisdom.
A man with a great sense of humor.
He will be missed so much.
I guess he is up there somewhere writing a Stodghill say's so, his job on earth was done he has now moved on, his talent is needed elsewhere, he was born to write that is clear from every word he wrote.
We are all better writers because of Dick Stodghill.
I consider myself privileged to have exchanged words with him.
This is the sadest day I've ever known on this forum.
My condolences to his family.

I have just got an e-mail there, I haven't really been active here but I remember Dick's meaningful posts and I would like to say rest in peace.

It's very sad and I want to show my utmost respect to him.

So sorry to hear about Dick. He was a gift and his stories a living link to the past.

If my following blog is too long - please move it. However, it gives me a peaceful feeling to read my own words about how I felt about the regeneration of life in my beautiful swamp - and my thoughts and words feel as though they came from a place in my heart preparing to grieve the loss of our friend...


by DK Christi


November 8, 2009, 4:48 pm[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.] They say ghost orchids are often laid on graves..





I needed a spiritual uplift today and left my house for church. However, I passed that turn and continued driving until I reached Corkscrew Audubon Swamp. I have many friends who are facing terminal illnesses. I have lost loved ones in recent years and acquaintances whose lives should have experienced more in my estimation. Unlike those with a firm belief in a specific religious creed, I am uncertain of life after death. Sometimes, the thought frightens me. Is it like going to sleep at night - and never again awakening? These questions seem to haunt me most when my spirits are low.

If my beautiful Everglades provides the answer, then death is not like sleep at all. Death is only the beginning of rebirth in a different form. Birth, life and death are a continuous cycle carefully planned in nature. If the natural world has such a logical and careful plan for regeneration, how can such a plan not exist for the complex creature that is human?



Today I walked in camaraderie with one of the volunteer guides as we searched in dying branches for tiny, blossoming orchids that were no bigger than the head on a pin. At first, they were difficult to spot; but the more I looked, the more I could see the tiny green leaves and even smaller blossoms living on their host branch of a cypress tree. There was water today, and the water hyacynths were sending up their purple shoots. The bromiliads were deep green, not blooming at this time. Wonderful white swamp lilies were in full blosson, waving at me in a steady breeze from the weather's change.



Birds called to each other and the deep throated bark of the alligator added to the chorus, joined by a bullfrog or two. An anhinga high in the branches of a tree, drying its wing, shouted its distress at our interruption. We were lumbering interlopers in this cypress forrest of creatures and plants that live in their never-ending circle of life. Even a drought a couple years ago, that was a disaster for many blooming species, contributed to the thick cypress today. The new cypress knees needed the dry soil to grow. Fire, always a fear in a drought, was used to clear away some tender areas in exchange for the opening of seeds that only open by the fire's heat.



As I reached the end of the boardwalk and left the cypress forrest, I looked out across a flat marshland full of tall, green grasses swaying in a strong breeze. Other days, that marsh is a sea of gold or silver or purple, depending on the time of year and what wildflower is filling the air with its aroma and beauty. Even the green today is beautiful, multiple shades of green. A little scat on the boardwalk is a reminder that I missed the raccoons. The thick grass by the side of the boardwalk is packed down; perhaps a family of deer rested there in the night.



The anxiety I've been carrying slipped away as I wandered in my swamp, and the peace I was seeking filled my soul as I left the boardwalk and headed toward my car and civilization. Such a place! I am so fortunate that I can walk there and fill myself with the joy of it.

My deepest sympathies are extended to Jackie Stodghill and to all of Dick's family and friends at this sad time. Dick probably had no idea how many people he positively influenced during his final years. I was one of those people.

Charlie

Me too; I will miss him.

Thanks DK. That was beautiful.

Carol

I loved your tribute, Abe, as well as the opportunity for knowing Dick briefly via this forum. I'm glad you got a chance to talk to him. We will all miss him.

Malcolm

Thanks, Marie

Ann

Thanks! The article was excellent. However, they don't know how helpful he was to struggling writers, giving a touch of realism to their fantasy of fame and fortune and stressing the importance of quality.