Goodbye Brett

123113

Dear Brett,

Jesus, buddy!  What the hell happened?  I think I can safely assume that you are probably pissed off right now at the manner of your demise.  I can imagine what you might have thought at the last moment.  Probably something along the lines of “This is such bullshit!  Please, God, let me have two more minutes…just TWO MORE MINUTES so I can run and grab my .45 and blow a hole through that guy before he gets away!”

You were such a good dude.  I feel sorry for the way you died.  But I don’t feel sorry for you.  I think you had a pretty good life.  You can tell when someone is having a good life.  It’s in the eyes and in the voice…the choice of words and inflection they use when they describe their day, or their family, or even another person.  Even when you and I would make fun of other dealers I knew that you had no animosity toward them…it was all just snarky observation and silliness.  The way you told the story about Nathan and the way we embellished it together every time we recounted it.  Or the one about Whiskey Bill.  So great.  And your laugh…such a great fucking laugh.  It made me laugh.  The way you would walk in the store and sometimes we would just look at each other and start laughing.  And the way you would walk in the door, straight past me toward the bathroom for a thirty-second piss and you would just say “be right back.”  So funny.  

We were both on the road, though you were there a lot longer…a warrior as they say.  Coffee is for closers and all that bullshit.  And you didn’t even drink coffee!  But you were the most caffeinated person I ever met.  We had met so many of the same dealers, been in so many of the same bathrooms, met so many of the most interesting, ridiculous, good, bad, ugly, and awesome personalities in this beautiful and heartbreaking industry that there was never a shortage of material for a good conversation.  Sellers, Baer, Nancy, Nathan, The Time Toilet (a little inside, I know), Tom T, fucking Looney Tunes parade, man!  Overture!  Curtains, lights…  Fuck me, are you telling me I can never have one of those conversations again?  Because I know for a fact that there is not another person alive who saw people in quite as similar fashion as I.  And that just sucks.  I am selfishly pissed off at the miserable, filthy bastard who did this.

Your cars…how many fucking cars did you go through in the years I knew you?  All those awful retired police cruisers for so long!  You would brag about how cheap you got them at auction but all I saw was a piece of shit.  But you didn’t care because you were a road warrior and those were your war horses and war horses are meant to be filthy and mean and ridden to death and that is what they expect and hate and that’s okay because God has a special place for them and for the men who ride them.  Well…at least for you.  Those cars have no doubt been melted down by now.  

I never met your family but I like to imagine they meant a great deal to you.  I imagine you loved them very much and I feel very sad to think that they will miss you.  I can’t fathom how shocked they must feel.  I pray for them in wordless mourning because how can you use words ask God to assuage what they are experiencing.  To attempt to do so would do a disservice to the awful depth of despair that accompanies the violent taking of a loved one.  So I guess I just want your family to know that you were a connected person…that is to say that there are a lot of us who feel a huge sense of loss right now.

I never ordered stuff from J&B Importers.  I ordered from Brett Walquist.  Your prices were always higher than QBP and I always found mistakes in the product you shipped.  I think it was because you relied on your memory, which was prodigious, to input part numbers.  Like the time you shipped us about twenty 3-way Torx wrenches.  WTF?  Or all the times you send us the wrong kickstands…the ones with the flat plates instead of the s-shaped ones.  But you always made good…”Oh don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of it, you’ll see something show up next week with the same value but there won’t be a charge!”  Shyster…  

If I still drank, I’d throw down a few bourbons for you.  It is New Year’s, after all.  Instead, I think I’ll go out back and burn all my J&B catalogs and fire off a few rounds of the ol’ 9mm to say Goodbye.  You take care now and stop fucking pacing around so much!  Relax, buddy, the hard part is over.  

-Richter