Randy passed away this week at Providence St. Vincent hospital in Portland Oregon. His best friend, Angela and I were there by his side to the end. He died of complications of heart, liver and kidneys. Between the stubbornness of the Wood side of his genes, the denial of the Phillips side, and his lust of life, his body could not keep up any longer. Randy was an artist and a person who thirst for knowledge. He painted and drew, composed and played music, wrote poetry, short stories and traveled the world. As Randy passed through our lives in the 66 years he was here, we each saw bits parts of him that made up the whole. I don’t think any one of us could accurately and total describe him. I saw him as a big brother, with whom I shared a bedroom while growing up and listened to him sing himself to sleep each night. Angela saw him as kind and generous soul who took care of her several days a week through her medical burdens. And I’m sure each of you saw him in your own way. Through his love of collecting and reading books, he was able survive in Portland by working at Powell’s book store as a buyer/dealer handling rare and first additions. I use the word ‘survive’ because Randy was somewhat of a minimalist in the way he lived. He just didn’t see a need for some of the things that you and I think we must have to get through life. But his one bedroom apartment is filled with more than 1000 books he read (all organized alphabetical). I count 4 guitars, harmonicas, a painter’s easel (very used) and beautiful art on the walls. The day before he passed I had a short window of opportunity to talk and listen to Randy. We laughed and recollected about family and friends. He wrote a short letter in his final days explaining his condition. The letter reads that he knows the way he lived and he takes responsibility in the outcome. The last line in the letter is a quote by Werner Heisenberg; “Every tool carries with it the spirit by which it has been created.
Randy passed away this week at Providence St. Vincent hospital in Portland Oregon. His best friend, Angela and I were there by his side to the end. He died of complications of heart, liver and kidneys. Between the stubbornness of the Wood side of his genes, the denial of the Phillips side, and his lust of life, his body could not keep up any longer. Randy was an artist and a person who thirst for knowledge. He painted and drew, composed and played music, wrote poetry, short stories and traveled the world. As Randy passed through our lives in the 66 years he was here, we each saw bits parts of him that made up the whole. I don’t think any one of us could accurately and total describe him. I saw him as a big brother, with whom I shared a bedroom while growing up and listened to him sing himself to sleep each night. Angela saw him as kind and generous soul who took care of her several days a week through her medical burdens. And I’m sure each of you saw him in your own way. Through his love of collecting and reading books, he was able survive in Portland by working at Powell’s book store as a buyer/dealer handling rare and first additions. I use the word ‘survive’ because Randy was somewhat of a minimalist in the way he lived. He just didn’t see a need for some of the things that you and I think we must have to get through life. But his one bedroom apartment is filled with more than 1000 books he read (all organized alphabetical). I count 4 guitars, harmonicas, a painter’s easel (very used) and beautiful art on the walls. The day before he passed I had a short window of opportunity to talk and listen to Randy. We laughed and recollected about family and friends. He wrote a short letter in his final days explaining his condition. The letter reads that he knows the way he lived and he takes responsibility in the outcome. The last line in the letter is a quote by Werner Heisenberg; “Every tool carries with it the spirit by which it has been created.
