Richard H. Wallace
July 27, 1949 - August 28, 2020
Richard H. Wallace, age 71, of Newark, DE, passed away on Friday, August 28, 2020.
Born in Nassawadox, VA on July 27, 1949, he was the son of the late Harry R. and Violet (Jones) Wallace. Richard proudly served his country in the U.S. Army during the Vietnam War. Later, he was a mail carrier, retiring after over 30 years of service.
Richard was a member of St. Nicholas Episcopal Church. He was a lifetime member of the VFW, Disabled Veterans of America, and 11th Armored Cavalry’s Veterans of Vietnam and Cambodia. Richard was a proud Green Bay Packers fan and shareholder, and council member of the Clan Wallace Society. He was known by his family and friends as an exceptionally hard worker. In his leisure time Richard enjoyed travelling. A man with a huge heart, he loved animals and more importantly, his family and grandchildren.
In addition to his parents, Richard was preceded in death by his wife, Linda (Parks) Wallace. He is survived by his children, Jennifer N. Melanson (Christopher) of Culpeper, VA, Lauren W. Bernardo (Lance) of Elkton, MD and Richard Tyler Wallace of Newark, DE; and grandchildren, Mason and Sasha Bernardo.
A visitation for family and friends will be held from 11 am until 12 noon on Monday, September 14, 2020, at Spicer-Mullikin Funeral Home, 121 West Park Place, Newark, DE. Face masks will be required for all in attendance. Services and interment will be held privately.
In lieu of flowers, contributions can be made in Richard’s name to Veterans of Foreign Wars at heroes.vfw.org or by mailing a check to VFW, Processing Center, P.O. Box 8958, Topeka, KS 66608-8958.
Shana
Thinking of you, Lauren & family. Love you….
Lauren
Dad,
As a little girl, I thought you might live forever and a day. I never imagined my life without you in it.
I regret all the times I delayed returning your messages because I was working, cleaning, or running errands. People always document their firsts, but never their lasts. You never know when your last moment will be together. You’ve reinforced to me to appreciate every moment you have with your loved ones, no matter how brief. They are gifts. That is why it is called the present; Be present.
You did just that for me. I have many great memories of you being present such as when you surprised me with the Peaches and Cream Barbie when I was sick in the 2nd grade, the 10-speed bike I got for Christmas, and I was too small to ride. You helped try to me keep on the seat so I could peddle. I did not give up (scrapes and all, ha!). You and mom were at every Nutcracker and Spring Gala performance. You calmed my fears freshman year of college. You brought me Cheezits all the way to Scotland during Winter session, and we toured castles together. You and mom walked me down the aisle, and I watched you become “Papa” to my children.
It is my greatest wish that you were healed of all pain, and you are now free and at peace to rest.
Please say hello to Mom for us and give her our love. Please watch over and guide us together.
‘tha gaol agam ort athair’
I love you, Dad.
See you later, xo
Michael Boyle
If I needed to explain my relationship with Rick, it could be compared with Abbot and Costello (Who’s on first) or Laurel and Hardy (Here’s another fine mess you got me into.)
We met in Viet Nam and my fondest memories and least favorite memories were there. Rick arrived one month before me, and he already had war stories to tell me when I showed up. What I saw was not as scary as what was to come. Rocket attacks and being overrun by the Viet Cong was a possibility for any given day, but for some reason the war stories don’t stand out in my mind.
What does stand out is the story of two unlikely war buddies making their way through life, miles apart yet staying friends throughout the years.
The most vivid image that I see when I think of our friendship, Rick, is that of two old geezers fishing in a rickety old boat on a cold windy lake in Louisiana, trying to catch what we couldn’t see. I caught the biggest fish of the day, an 8 lb bass (disguised as a minnow,) dangling from my worn-out fishing line.
Our relationship has always been one of luck and stubbornness, actually finding each other through the sketchiest bits of information 20 years after the war ended. I cannot believe that this was an accident. Your final words to me were “Back me up, buddy.” Hopefully my lifestyle and my beliefs will do just that. Perhaps we will see each other again soon. I will miss our frequent phone conversations; I’ll miss you more than you’ll know.
Michael