Dateline: Southern California, October 26, 2002

Heartline: Death of a Famous Friend.

In 1967, in London, England, I was managing a boisterous Russian bistro called The Borscht ‘n Tears, in Beauchamp Place, just a stone’s throw from Harrods. Like many London restaurants, "The Borscht" was located in a basement, below the retail shops at street level. Much of the night-life of London took place underground. The Borscht It is still there, while I have long since moved to sunny, Southern California.

On a night that I’ll never forget, I heard footsteps coming down the stairway and I went to the entryway to make my customary greeting. But as I looked into the doorway, the eeriest thing happened. I looked at a man and saw myself. The man looked back, and he too had the look of someone who had just seen a ghost.

The man was Richard Harris. Richard Harris, the Irish actor who died last Friday.

Now I am not suggesting that I have movie-star good looks, but then again Richard never did either. As noted in an obituary I read, Richard once said that "my face is like five miles of bad Irish road." In that case, I think I might easily qualify for ten.

After that shocking first meeting, Richard would always call me "little brother," in his Irish accent. I would call him "big brother," in my American one. Over the years of our acquaintance, Richard often reminded me of what an American accent sounded like to people from Great Britain. He mocked me, and I loved it.

In 1969, I moved from England back to the States; to Los Angeles to try to carve out my own fame and fortune in the restaurant business. While I built my restaurant, first called The Taming of the Stew, and then Lost On Larrabee, Richard continued building both his film and stage careers and his larger than life reputation as a world class carouser of Brobdingnagian proportion.

It was just after Richard married Annie Turkel, that they started frequenting my restaurant in Los Angeles. That same eerie connection we had both sensed that first night in London was still there. The brothers were re-united. I have always been a non-starter when it comes to alcohol. I do not drink much or often. So our little brotherhood was comprised of one carouser and one semi tee-totaller, but brothers none-the-less.

This week’s obituaries referred openly to Richard’s penchant for hard-drinking and hell-raising. It’s a good thing too, because if they didn’t, they wouldn’t accurately reflect the life Richard led, and we would not be able to remember him as we actually knew him.

We all hear so much gossip and innuendo about movie stars, politicians, athletes and others in the public eye. Most of the time we don’t know if any or all of it is true. I am here to tell you that if you hear a story about Richard that seems over-blown, I’d suggest you believe it.

One night, Richard, well into his cups, got loud and obnoxious with another patron in my restaurant. The inevitable mini-brawl ensued, with Richard coming up much the worse for wear and me driving him and his bloody nose to the emergency room at Cedars Hospital, a few blocks away.

Little brothers sometimes have to take care of their big brothers. So I did.

Time and life went on. I closed my restaurant. Richard moved away from Los Angeles. I never saw him again.

The fact that we teach others how to deal with grief over the death of a loved one or divorce, does not make us immune from the natural emotions caused by loss. Quite the contrary, we may even have a heightened awareness.

Yesterday’s news took me by surprise. I never got a chance to say goodbye to my "big bother," in person, so I will do it now, in print.

Goodbye, Brother Richard, you were one-of-a- kind. I loved you.

Russell Friedman and John W. James
Grief Recovery Institute Educational Foundation
Sherman Oaks, CA

John W. James and Russell Friedman head the non-profit Grief Recovery Institute Educational Foundation in Sherman Oaks, CA. The Institute and thousands of affiliates throughout the United States and Canada offer a variety of programs for grievers. Additional information is available by calling 888-773-2683 or on the web at www.grief.net