I met Richard Shea about 5 years ago, when I responded to an online Meetup group (set up by Richard) for those who enjoyed literary fiction and related discussion. We read books and discussed them. We met in coffee shops and encouraged each other on our own writing aspirations and projects. I often felt dwarfed by Richard's intellect and insights, and by how well-educated and how well-read he was, but he never made me feel that way. He was never anything but a sweet, kind, caring and humble friend, by whom my life was enriched, who left a meaningful mark on me, and it was a mark of distinction. At the end of every get-together with Richard, I walked away with a significantly longer reading list than I'd had before. I will always be grateful for the authors and novels he turned me onto, which have become a part of me, as has Richard's influence. I remember when my garage collapsed to the ground under the snow one winter and I performed the demolition myself, dismantling it piece by piece and filling a dumpster -- Richard and our mutual friend Matt came over and spent the day, helping to fill that dumpster. Richard never thought twice about helping a friend in need. A couple of years ago, Richard invited me to keep him company on a road trip from San Diego (where he was picking up a car from his father-in-law) back to Minneapolis, which I was happy to do. My memories of that road trip are vivid and sweet; we read aloud to one another, enjoyed a delicious Mexican meal in Salt Lake City, turned each other on to music (CD's) we liked, began writing a song together (which I finished post-trip), and had many laughs along the way. I remember we were both pleased with the accommodations of a Little America hotel we stayed at in Wyoming. I remember that Richard really liked the soundtrack from the movie Crooklyn, one of the faves I shared with him, and ended up buying it. I also remember him giving me a hard time about how often I needed to go potty during the drive, and having to point out just how much water I was drinking. He still thought I should go have myself checked out. Once you reach a certain age, meaningful male friendships are not easy to come by; to say nothing of the rarity of finding a male friend who shares the interests of reading and discussing literature, of creative writing, of engaging in philosophical dialogues, someone upon whom my two years of Latin study is not wasted, someone who is a gifted conversationalist, who is cultured and cultivated, courteous and caring, and who has the time and inclination to develop and maintain a friendship -- in short, someone like Richard. I do not expect to meet another like him. I'm still stunned with sadness and incredulity to think he is gone, and will miss him very much. Whenever I read the work of Javier Marias, Richard will be right there with me. And I will also be taking every opportunity, while thinking of Richard, to cheer loudly for his beloved Barca!