Tributes from the Spring, 1986 Esalen catalog
Richard Price died on November 25, 1985 while hiking in the Big Sur hills he loved so dearly. As far as anyone can tell, he died almost instantly when he was hit by a falling boulder. The following is from the Spring, 1986 Esalen catalog.
Remembering Richard Price • October 12, 1930-November 25, 1985
Michael Murphy, longtime friend and Esalen Institute co-founder with Dick Price
At a meeting a few days after his death, 60 or 70 members of the Esalen community reminisced about him. Two staff members described hikes with him that helped restore their strength and confidence after personal misfortunes. Another told about his encouraging smile during a gestalt session, how it gave a sense underneath all the contradictions and suffering, and somehow everything was all right. Two or three others talked about his contagious sense of self-sufficiency, which helped them see that they might find pleasure in the simplest things. Though I had known Dick for 25 years, there were stories I had never heard before about those he had helped with his humor, cheerfulness, and by the example of his integrity and sweetness. The many ways he touched others for the good, the sheer number of things he had done for all of us was astonishing; and in the weeks that followed, people who hadn’t been there added their stories to those we heard that night.
Though he possessed a natural buoyancy and generosity, Dick’s helpfulness to others arose largely from the practice by which he converted his own suffering into self-awareness and personal freedom. In his 20’s, he had been forced into insulin shock treatments after entering a “psychotic” state, which he considered essentially a healing process, complete by the time of his hospitalization. Through the years, he gradually transformed the wounds from that experience into a deeper understanding and feeling for others. By faithfully addressing his own conflicts, he developed an even greater capacity to help others heal themselves. At Esalen, he helped establish a milieu in which others may explore the sources of their suffering and options for a richer life. His work has influenced other practitioners and communities and will do so in the future.
Dick was also an adventurer. He explored many edges of experience, through the gestalt awareness practice he learned from Fritz Perls, through meditation and other disciplines, and in the wilderness. He probably cleared more trails through the coast ridges and canyons than anyone else, just as he opened new ways to awareness by his work here at Esalen. He was fearless in these explorations, finding joy in the rugged Big Sur country as he did in the reaches of inner experience. There was something in him of both John Muir and a wild Taoist monk.
He was gentle and wild, caring and courageous, life-giving and a joy to be with. Dick is gone now, but he will be with many of us for the rest of our lives. Knowing him was an extraordinary gift and privilege.
Brian Lyke, long-time family friend, Esalen Institute General Manager
“Back to the Source”
It was a pilgrimage of sorrow that we seven undertook. Light from a nearly full moon filtered through the branches above us illuminating patches of earth and rock. Below us, the creek, running full with the recent rain, sang its song to the night. We walked in silence alone with our thoughts. I carried the blanket that we would wrap him in while others, ahead, carried the stretcher basket. We walked along the water line trail that he had helped build after the fire. I can see him still, coming out of the canyon in the late afternoon, covered with sweat and dust, looking like a coal miner with white eyes and teeth flashing joy as he talked animatedly about the work.
He went back there this morning, perhaps on the same trail, to note the changes since the resent storm, to check the waterline, to commune with the Spirit in his own way. He didn’t tell anyone he was going. And he went alone. He expected to be out only a few hours because he had planned appointments in the afternoon, but he missed them, and people began to wonder and be concerned.
Chris called me about 8:30 p.m. to say that he still hadn’t returned, and she wondered if Dick had made his 3:30 appointment with Steve Donovan. He hadn’t. Donovan had waited for him and then left to return to San Francisco. I asked if she thought we should start looking for him, and she said that no one really knew where he went hiking, and that if he wasn’t home by morning, we could begin to search. Once, several years ago he had spent several nights out during a howling winter storm. He had become disoriented by the heavy rain and poor visibility and found shelter in an abandoned cabin up on Devil’s Creek. When the storm let up, he bushwhacked his way out to the highway and jogged home, scratched and hungry. But this felt different. There was no storm, and the moon provided ample light for walking.
I was uneasy with the possibility that he might be seriously hurt and unable to help himself. A long night without medical help might prove to be a tragic delay, and so I asked Glenn, the gate supervisor, to contact Steve Beck to let him know of Dick’s absence to see if he might be willing to join me on a hike up Hot Springs Canyon to look for him.
Steve contacted me shortly via CB radio, and I suggested that we hike back to “the source,” the name we give to the catch-basin located nearly a mile back in Hot Springs Canyon where Esalen collects its water. He agreed, and so we started back about 9:30 p.m. with medical supplies, warm clothes, hot coffee and some cookies. Our flashlights cut the darkness as we entered the canyon, not on the waterline trail, but along the stream. We walked, looking for signs of his passage, whistling and shouting occasionally, and listening for any sounds in reply. It was slow going, picking our way over slippery rocks and downed trees, and not a little eerie. We crossed the stream several times, finding the easiest walking and made steady progress. Steve led most of the way, while I whistled and shined my light up and down the sides of the canyon. As we neared the source, Steve, still in the lead, shouted for me, and I could tell by the way he called that we had found him.
He was just a few feet from the catch basin, half sitting, half lying in the water. There was a large wound on his forehead, probably from the huge rock that had crushed half of the basin. We couldn’t tell the extent of his injuries, and at that point it didn’t seem important to know, because he was clearly dead, his muscles already quite stiff. We sat there with him, trying to comprehend what our senses told us, but somehow unable to accept that it was true. We knew in that moment that our world had irrevocably changed, and our hearts ached, especially for Chris, Jenny and David.
After assuring ourselves that there was nothing to be done for him, we hiked out on the waterline trail, thinking silently, and occasionally out loud, about how we were going to break this news.
It was about 11:30 PM when we arrived at the Little House. Chris was sitting on the couch next to the fireplace. Jessica and Pam were sitting with her; Jenny was sleeping. As we walked in nobody said anything for a moment. “It’s not good,” I said. “We found him back at the source. He’s gone.” I showed them the watch I had removed from his wrist, as if somehow that could make more real this unbelievable message.
There were many questions. How did it happen? Where is he now? Do you think he died quickly? And we said what we knew and guessed that he had probably died instantly. We hadn’t moved him, as we knew the coroner would want to see the scene as we had found it, but as we talked it became clear that it was most important now for Chris to see him and be with him. She wanted to get him out of the water and wash his body and care for him the way families used to care for their dead. She wanted time to be able to integrate this awful reality in the most human and loving way possible, and so the decision was made to go back and bring his body home. I hoped the coroner would understand, but it didn’t really matter; we knew we were doing the right thing for Dick and ourselves.
And so we hiked in until we reached the spot where he lay. We placed him on the stretcher basket, wrapped the blanket around him and buckled the straps securely. Before carrying him out, we joined hands together around him in silent prayer. It was a two-hour journey out and we arrived back at the house at 3:15 a.m. to find Chris, Jessica, Pam, Janet, Bette, Nancy and Joyce waiting to receive him. They cut off his clothes and washed his body with an herbal solution and wrapped him in a clean sheet and blanket.
As the morning dawned, calls went out to his friends telling them what had happened and inviting them to come by the house to say their farewell. These last hours with his body were a sacred time – a time to see and experience the reality of his passing, a time to honor the vehicle that carried his spirit, a time to grieve and cry with friends, a time to love and support one another, a time to remember him as he was without making him larger than life.
He was an ordinary man, and a very special man. He lived here for nearly 25 years, learning his craft, developing his practice, and teaching by word, but mostly by example, how we can heal ourselves and come to wholeness. His legacy lives on in those who were touched by the magnitude of his heart and who walked through the door he worked so hard to open.
Like Dick himself, his work, his practice, was not glamorous or flashy; it was full of substance and depth, solid and not unlike the boulder that killed him. On the outside it appeared quite ordinary, nondescript, caked with dirt, but on the inside, broken open to the light, ah, what white shining beauty!
David Streeter, Esalen massage practitioner, workshop leader, and “gate guard”
From the first day I met Dick to the last night I was with him I watched everything he did and how he did it. His teaching was non-verbal. He was my teacher and a large reason for my being here…. No eloquent language or accumulated knowledge or even spiritual power impresses me very much. My spiritual father had once told me that the essence of saintliness is total acceptance of the present moment, harmony with things as they happen. He told me that a saint does not want things to be different from what they are; he knows that, considering all factors, they are unavoidable. He is friendly with the inevitable, and therefore does not suffer. Pain he may know, but it does not shatter him. If he can, he does the necessary to restore the lost balance - or he lets things take their course. I saw this in Dick and this is where he shone so brightly.
Michael Worth, excerpt from a letter written just after Dick’s death to Chris Price from her 22-year-old nephew
I wish I could explain to you better the influence, motivation and the insight that, not only Dick has given me, but your whole family as well. It has always served as a goal to what lies ahead of me. And from what happened it has staggered my dreams somewhat. And that is scary.” “But, I can still grow from that. I can remember his outlook for if the whole world praised him he would not be moved. If the whole world blamed him he would not be discouraged. He knew the difference between that which is within and that which is without. And when understood, that in itself is a lifetime of help.”
Christine Price, Dick’s wife and co-worker in gestalt practice
One week before his death, Dick read an article in which Robert Wagner discussed his feelings after the sudden accidental death of his wife, Natalie Wood. Dick read to me from that article, and after his death I found the following piece tacked up by his desk. Robert Wagner, when asked what kept him from falling apart after the death of his wife, quoted Eugene O’Neill:
“Man is born broken. He lives by mending. And the grace of God is the glue.”
The practice Dick shared in his life provided many of us with a basis for that mending, and his presence carried some of that healing grace. I am very grateful to have been his co-worker, wife, and friend.
Of all the traditional texts, the Tao Te Ching was Dick’s favorite; recently, he read most frequently from John Heider’s translation for group leaders, The Tao of Leadership. The following excerpt was marked in Dick’s personal copy of the book and was the one which his daughter, Jennifer chose to read at the memorial gathering. It speaks well of Dick’s path in his lifetime.
Chris Price
John Heider, author, teacher, Esalen workshop leader, and a close friend of Dick
From The Tao of Leadership - Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching Adapted for a New Age by John Heider
The Ripple Effect
Do you want to be a positive influence in the world?
First, get your own life in order. Ground yourself in the single principle so that your behavior is wholesome and effective. If you do that, you will earn respect and be a powerful influence.Your behavior influences others through a ripple effect. A ripple effect works because everyone influences everyone else. Powerful people are powerful influences.
If your life works, you influence your family.
If your family works, your family influences your community.
If your community works, your community influences the nation.
If your nation works, your nation influences the world.Remember that your influence begins with you and ripples outward. So be sure that your influence is both potent and wholesome.
How do I know that this works?
All growth spreads outward from a potent and fertile nucleus. You are the nucleus.