There are people who can make a newsroom feel lighter the moment they walk in. Richard was one of them. His laugh — easy, infectious, bent over at the waist, impossible not to join — could cut through the tension of a deadline like sunlight through fog. He had an unbridled enthusiasm for a good story and could fire up a reporter like nobody else.
I first worked with Richard when I was at the Los Angeles Times bureau in San Diego, before I transferred to the Metro staff. He was the kind of editor who made you want to do your best work — not out of fear or competition, but out of genuine respect for the craft and the joy he brought to it. Years later, I was lucky enough to work with him again, briefly, when he was directing the Center for Health Reporting at USC. The same spark was still there — the humor, the optimism, the sense that what we were doing mattered.
Richard was always upbeat, always a joy to be around. He reminded you that journalism, at its heart, was an act of curiosity and connection. He leaves behind a legacy of stories — and of storytellers — shaped by his energy, generosity, and belief in the work. He was also a friend whose company and wise counsel I always cherished.
I’ll miss his laughter most, and the way it made the impossible days feel possible again.
David Freed
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