The good neighbor

Tim Richardt led his posse of five bike riders onto the Minnesota River Bluffs Regional Trail from Edenvale Boulevard. We were Summerhill Drive dads in Saturday duds on a sunny morning in June 2017. Richardt’s sleek bike-racing jersey, tights, helmet and goggles camouflaged the 61-year-old software programmer inside, disguising our personable, unmarried neighbor.

Lake Riley was 4 1/2 miles to the southwest. Our longer return on city trails and streets would skirt Riley’s northeast shore and Bearpath Golf Course, tunnel under Highway 212 and snake through the big woods and wetlands that cradle Rice Marsh Lake

That perfect morning, we Summerhill guys exchanged smiles and “Good mornings” with joggers and dog walkers. We struggled up and sped down a few steep grades. We pedaled by Mitchell and Round lakes and through woodsy, garden neighborhoods. In man-speak, we shared thoughts about the Twins and personal bucket lists. Other bike treks would follow.

“Trying to keep up with him was always a challenge,” recalled John Pratten. The guy had a lot of miles under his belt for bike riding. … He was certainly the most healthy of us.” 

Tim had been a noted track and swim competitor at John Marshall High School in Rochester. He had spent a year at the University of Kansas on a track scholarship before transferring to St. Thomas University. He continued to compete in triathlon, cross country ski and marathon races. Tim’s house, close friends say, was filled with trophies.

Four years later, other Summerhill residents and I received an email dated Sept. 6, 2021. It was from Tim.

“You may have noticed my house went up for sale recently,” he wrote. “After one day on the market, a purchase agreement was signed last Friday, and my closing date will be early October. I’m sorry I have not been able to say goodbye in person to everyone. I moved to Rochester on August 10th out of much encouragement from my family and a necessity of increased health care needs. I now receive infusions and ALS clinic care from the Mayo Clinic, as well as increased nursing aid here at The Waters in Rochester. It was hard to leave the neighborhood I’ve known for 21 years. I miss everyone I’ve gotten to know over the years. I am sure the newest neighbor on Summerhill will turn out well!”

Tim passed away this year on June 29.

ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis) is a degenerative disease affecting brain and spinal cord neurons. Leg and arm muscles begin to twitch, speech begins to slur. Walking, eating, speaking, and breathing become a challenge and then impossible. There is no known cure. Tim Richardt, his family, friends and neighbors knew how, if not when, he would die. ALS is fatal.

A celebration of life in Rochester

People from the various chapters of Tim Richardt’s life came together for the first and only time at a funeral home in his hometown of Rochester. Family, professional and church friends, bicycling buddies and a handful of Eden Prairie neighbors gathered to share their respects on a sunny July day three weeks after Tim’s death.

Holly Boe and her youngest son, Shane, Joyce Myhre, John Pratten, and I roamed the visitation room. We looked at snapshots and slides of Tim’s life before he had become part of ours. The stuff included a high school yearbook, diplomas, racing medallions, and a professional award for his information technology team at Medica, an HMO.

The handout for the chapel service featured a photo of Tim. It topped a column of words, the familiar poem, “I’m Free.”

Tom Wegner became friends with Tim at Rochester Community College in 1975. Their friendship naturally ebbed and flowed over the decades. Wegner’s informal eulogy articulately confirmed what we already knew. The handsome software engineer/athlete/bachelor loved corny jokes and would inject wickedly funny quips into conversations.

Wegner sparked tears and smiles as he shared anecdotes. Tim genuinely cared about people and was chronically late: late for appointments and late for dates, concerts and meet-ups. But he showed up. During Tim’s ALS fade, the two had become closer than ever. Tom’s confession: “He was the nicest guy I have ever met.” 

Later this summer, Tim’s Summerhill friends added more perspective. Tim had never referred to his neighborhood as a “community.” Neighbors were just neighbors, folks good for sharing snow blower duties during a blizzard and a chat anytime. Tim would walk the loop formed by Summerhill Drive, Woodhill Trail and Woodland Drive and chat with kids on a trampoline or folks raking leaves.

“We would be doing yard work or playing basketball on the driveway and Tim would just show up,” said Holly Boe. “He usually had a silly joke or story he would share.”

Next-door neighbors Joyce and Doug Myhre smiled while recalling the times when they would take a call from Tim to just hang out on their deck. Sometimes, the calls were from just outside their front door. When invited to pick some of Joyce’s potted tomatoes, the guy who knew lots about Java computer code needed to be told that the red ones were ready for the salad. They gave lifts to each other when needed for errands and appointments. Every Fourth of July, Tim and Doug set off fireworks on Doug’s driveway. They were delighted teenagers.

After an exhausting 100-mile bike ride, looking like a superhero in his biker suit, Tim would dismount his rocket 30 yards shy of his driveway, badly in need of a shower, to ask about a neighbor’s day. And he would adjust bike chains, brakes and gears for us. He had the tools.

Tim contemplated his attractive but messy honey locust tree and the shady and steep parts of his property. These were either hard to mow or colonized by ground ivy, bare soil and buckthorn thickets. A lady friend worked with him to prune tree limbs. Neighbors pulled and stacked buckthorn and deadfalls for recycling. Professional landscapers also helped with thicket removal and grass seeding, but the contemplating continued.

Tim also sought advice for a makeover of his home’s exterior, an homage to 1970s in-vogue Brady Bunch chic. Tim figured the house needed curb appeal for the Zillow era. He asked neighbors for advice. Holly even took him on a safari by foot to take the measure of the paint schemes of other homes. “He chose better colors than I would have,” she confessed.

Tim never kept a pet but he treated his old gas hog, perhaps a Jeep Cherokee, like a beloved black Labrador. He had a hard time parting with it, even after buying a new car, and then hemmed and hawed about selling it to my family, the Strates. He didn’t. “Tim marched to his own drum,” says Joyce.

Friend Deanna Justeen recalls that Tim loved Summerhill’s September block parties. Block party Saturdays began with a breakfast for the organizers at Beryl and Paul McHale’s home. Our worker bees had arranged for dawn tee times at Glen Lake Golf Course and twilight performances by the likes of Elvis impersonators, magicians, and Eden Prairie squad car sirens. In between, gunny sack races, bike parades, and volleyball games were held. Everyone, including Tim, partnered up for the water-balloon distance toss. Barbecued burgers, sweet corn, potluck side dishes, and lemon bars were balanced on flimsy plastic plates as neighbors and new arrivals socialized on the street. America distilled, Eden Prairie style.

As Barred owls began to call into the night, Tim would sometimes hang with the beer drinkers and storytellers around a portable fire pit. They could claim their Summerhill fête was the longest-lived block party in Eden Prairie.

A turning point

As winter gave way to spring in 2019, muscle fatigue and twitching became part of Tim’s life. He shared his concerns with a neurologist and with Holly and Dave Boe. He hoped the symptoms were temporary or, at worst, indicators of emerging multiple sclerosis (MS). They were not.

Early on the morning of Tuesday, June 4, Tim appeared at the Boes’ front door. Dave had left for work. Holly recalls that Tim just stood on the doorstep. His face was blank; he looked numb. He was silent.

“I asked if he wanted to come in and talk.” He did. He had just returned from his neurologist’s appointment. They sat down in the living room.

“Tim had thought he might have MS. But he told me the diagnosis was ALS. What do you say to that? There are no words. There is nothing to say, besides how incredibly sorry you are.” 

She gave Tim a hug. They sat quietly for a while. Both were now numb. Then Tim said, “I think I have a lot to do. I have a lot of phone calls to make.”

The next few years

Before his September 2021 move to Rochester to a long-term care facility near family, Tim began taking Riluzole and Radicava, prescription drugs to slow the progression of ALS. He knew his speech would slur, that he would lose his ability to walk, talk and write. He also knew that as paralysis set in, his mind would remain sharp. Tim Richardt was described by those who knew him as not just “bright” but “very bright.”

John and Teresa Pratten’s driveway was one of Tim’s regular stops. John recalls that Tim “muscled” through ALS with a walker and then a high-tech, electric wheelchair. It had a joystick for steering. Holly tried it out in her driveway.

“He kept engaged with everyone,” says John. “He would motor up and down the street in his wheelchair. … He was the kind of neighbor you want.”

In spite of his collapsing physical condition during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, Tim nudged forward. His inner compass remained true. 

He crafted a letter to his state legislators, Sen. Steve Cwodzinski and Rep. Laurie Pryor. He urged them to propose or support bills that would “prevent assisted living/skilled nursing places from accepting recovering COVID-19 patients” and “provide immediate funding for recovery care facilities designed for COVID-19 patients.”

Tim also celebrated his birthday with a few neighbors outdoors in the chill of an April 1 afternoon. Social distancing protocols were honored. It didn’t look like much, a bit sad really. But our man was ready. Having slyly balanced goofy-looking eyeglasses on his nose, he surveyed us as if he was a blasé high-society snob. He got the laughs. Tim was born on April Fool’s Day in 1956.

With the gradual departure of several longtime residents, Summerhill’s annual block party had begun losing its fizz. Deanna Justeen told me that even though Tim had been diagnosed with ALS in June, he volunteered to organize the September block party to keep the tradition going. This would be its 47th incarnation, and he might not be around for the 48th.

From his home, Tim recruited game referees, potluck donors, and a portable fire pit. He set the agenda for the picnicking and high jinks and wrote and designed a promotional flyer. Summerhill was the Eden Prairie branch of Tim’s family. ALS be damned.

The final laps

Holly Boe became the lead liaison between Tim and Summerhill after his move to Rochester. Tim’s emails and texts became less regular, his phone calls labored and slurred. Planned drives to Rochester for visits needed to be postponed. Tim’s circle in Rochester knew more. The predictable was playing out, said Tom Wegner, “but he stayed positive and was very dignified about it.”

Tim’s cousin, Steve, drove Tim to Eden Prairie for a planned October 2022 get-together with Summerhill friends. We understood it to be a farewell gathering. Dave and Holly Boe were the hosts.

As a triathlete, Tim had endured intense physical challenges but now needed a walker to stand. He could no longer walk. A nurse helped move his wheelchair through the kitchen and living room to the clusters of friends. Nearly 50 people trickled in that afternoon. Tim had difficulty forming words, but we listened. He could listen and nod and smile. The man’s strength and love prevailed through his chiseled face and eyes.

Back in Rochester, around last Christmas, Tim caught COVID-19. He was moved from his long-term care residence to a Rochester hospital and then to several nursing homes in the Twin Cities. He had asked for more advanced ALS management therapy and care. Tim’s bicycling friends apparently helped him with the moves.  

Holly and Dave Boe visited Tim during one of his short stays. He could no longer use his arms and hands, needed help eating, could barely form words, and needed and wanted a haircut.  

The official obituary notes that when Tim died June 29 at Methodist Hospital in St. Louis Park, he was surrounded by people who loved him.

Editor’s note: Writer Jeff Strate is a founding member of the EPLN board. His family has lived on Summerhill Drive since 1995.

Summerhill Drive block party status

The 47th edition of the Summerhill Block Party that was organized by Tim Richardt in 2019 was its swan song as an annual event. The event hasn’t been held since.

About ALS

Approximately 30,000 people in the United States have ALS. For more information, check out the following links:

• The Mayo Clinic ALS website.  

•  The ALS Association website.

•  Target ALS is a national nonprofit aggregator of and communications center for medical research, long term care facilities, therapy options and data. Target ALS website.