I know Richard Walton as a genteel and elegant genthleman scholar who plied his vigilant notice through many corners where most of never quite reach: He was an international journalsi and thinker; he was a builder of things that outlive him – like a school in Nicaragua and making its town Nikinomo a Providence Sister City program in the 19980s and 1990s.
He lived in Rhode Island in an old stately dereliction of a shore home in Pawtuxet Cove, grew a Santa Claus beard, was instrument in forming and caring for the Stone Soup Coffeehouse and fostering good and folk music throught the region. He was known around labor, storytelling, activation, civil rights and children’s theater programs. He hanged often in Hope’s, the Providence Journal/ Trinity Square waterhole of the ’80’s.
I loved and awed Richard Walton since I first met him in the 1970’s. He always liked me too and the last time I saw him was at my own ramshackle abode on a waterfront in need of attention: He came with a big home-grown squash hoping it would be appreciated. His concern made it so.