Rikki-Tikki-Tavi
I first met Rex in 1972 in Florida. I was a journalism student in my sophomore year of college when I wrote Rex a short three-paragraph letter asking to interview him. He responded with a five-page handwritten letter, detailing just how busy he was—huge deadlines, phones ringing off the hook, hundreds of letters every week. At the end of this tale of woe, he invited me to pick him up at the Orlando airport and have dinner before he spoke at an Air Force Women’s event at Cape Canaveral.
I arrived at the airport and we went to my yellow Corvette. Rex, who had no filter, immediately made his first unsolicited criticism of my car. He was hilarious. As we drove to the motel, the second criticism came – this time about my name.
My birth name was Richard, but living in the south, I had adopted the nickname Rikki. Rex asked how I came up with that funny name and spelling. I explained to my grandmother that she liked the childhood story Rikki-Tikki-Tavi and I announced that this was my name.
Rex said, “In England, Richard is Dick. That’s a no. In New York, Richard is Yo, Rich. That’s a no. In the South, Richard is Ricky, and it’s definitely not written like a childhood story. From now on, it’s Richard. I got it.” I said okay.
His motel surprisingly had a nice restaurant. Over dinner, we talked about our journeys as two young Southern boys on a mission. A handsome young man, perhaps of the gigolo type, approached our table, asking if he might be interested. There wasn’t. Another criticism followed – Rex noticed the gentleman’s expensive bracelet. My mother was a big customer of Bvlgari and I recognized her immediately. When the check arrived, Rex made no effort to collect it. In all our years together, I have never known Rex to receive a check. I was not upset – my father always paid for everything, everywhere.
Rex asked me if I would like to stay there. Not wanting to drive two hours back to campus, I checked into the room next door. We continued to chat in Rex’s room, eventually falling asleep while staring at the ceiling from our separate beds.
Rex’s mood was deep. His constant complaining about the job made me realize that he really loved it – he loved to complain and more than anything, he wanted to be famous. He barks a lot for life, but I saw him as a dog barking with a wagging tail. He liked deadlines. He almost never laughed. Instead, he had a smile.
I decided to have fun with his humor. I found a printing shop, put together a “form letter” for Rex to use, printed 1,000 copies and sent them to his apartment in New York, along with the exact Bvlgari bracelet he’d been criticizing. I knew he admired her. His response was immediate and hilarious.
In 1975, I moved to New York City. At Rex’s insistence, I found an apartment on Central Park West where we could be close when the riots engulfed us. He also insisted that I use his answering service, where live operators answered our phones. We shared a wonderful hostess, Louise, who reminded me of Mabel King in “The Wiz.” She was fiercely protective of us and never shared anything about our lives with anyone – not even Rex’s phone calls to me or mine to Rex.
I first learned about someone named Rick who answered Rex’s phone and took messages. Once, he called to investigate my friendship with Rex. I’ve always been very private and I asked Rex about Rick, adding that I wasn’t nice to anyone asking about my private life. Rex said Rick was his sidekick, though I suspected otherwise – he was there very late and sometimes very early. Rex never talked about Rick. I knew about Rick, but since we weren’t romantically involved, I didn’t think twice about his modifications to his life, or even mine. Years later, Rex would reveal more, especially about Rick’s untimely death.
My friendship with Rex was not one where I relied on him. However, he relied on me several times, especially when danger knocked at his door.
I’m petrified to share this, as I’m not a writer, and entering his world in print is something Rex would no doubt greet with his infamous, mischievous grin. More than anything, Rex wanted to be famous and loved. Rex was both.
