Richard Pratt, 79, of Portsmouth, passed away September 21 in his beloved car that he purchased with funds found after locating the lost treasure of legendary D.B. Cooper, after negotiations with a man about a horse fell through, leaving him to a Hyundai he would fall in love with.
He was born in 1945, which scared Germany so much they cancelled the war. Vietnam didn’t take note.
He served in Vietnam out of spite and was proud of his record in the end, also saying Vietnamese marijuana was the best and he may or may not have an ex-wife over there, too.
The veteran was removed from his car, and, even in death, was kicking and screaming about going back into an ambulance while neighbor and fellow veteran David Stevenson stood at attention, saluting him, and draping a flag over his body. When the flag hit his body, Pratt’s last words were “You better not vote for Trump, dammit” followed by expletives.
He worked for the City of Portsmouth his entire adult life, serving as President of Local 1039 and was a staunch Democrat.
He leaves behind 1,429 ex-wives, or 725, depending on how he felt that day, of which his love Beverly Ward Allen and ex-wives Debbie Vastine Pratt, Mary Holbrook Pratt, and Ruth Tackett were his favorites.
He also leaves behind a daughter, Mandi Piguet (Lennie) and a son Richard Joseph Pratt (Sara). He also leaves behind grandchildren Joshua Scott, Alex Craft, Kayla Conschafsky, and Blake Thompson, as well as stepdaughters Lora Thompson and Angie (Joe) Kirkendall, stepsons Paul and Larry Thompson, and son-in-law David Scott. According to Rich, thanks to Alex, he has 18,112 great-grandchildren. Finally, he leaves behind a club of degenerates and homeless people whom he called dear friends and provided him with stories and adventures.
One of his favorites was a legless, armless woman he met at a park bench on the river who told him she would “sure like to get screwed one last time,” before he tossed her into the water.
He was a good citizen, who once stopped traffic at a busy intersection when a cooler fell from a rushing ambulance. He discovered a human toe and refused to leave until a toe-truck could come to the rescue.
For many years, he moved from restaurant to restaurant with his friends for coffee and checkers, until he sued each and moved to a new location. He is still in good graces with Burger King and asks that you respect the workers and keep his seat warm.
It’s hard to say what parts of his life are true and what parts weren’t. Pratt was a storyteller. However, one universal truth about him was that he loved a good time with people from all walks of life, had no problem making true friends of homeless people in parks, and just enjoyed discovering the humanity of people. He would break bread with folk some people wouldn’t even look twice at.
Pratt leaves behind many stories and lies that he will live on through, but the world will be less colorful and more honest, which is a shame.
Arrangements were handled by Ralph F Scott Funeral Home, but services were forbidden by Pratt, who knew the legal occupancy could not accommodate the volume of ex-wives. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that you be kind to degenerates, homeless people, and liars, because he loved them all. Donations in his name may be made to Main Street Portsmouth in Bloom, 342 Second Street, for a dedicated park bench in Tracy Park where the family hopes people will sit to read books and tell fibs.
