On June 10, Queen Anne resident L.D. Zobrist e-mailed me with the news that Rick Malsed, 69, died the day before in Palm Springs, Calif.
I had to step outside and take a long walk in the mild June sunshine — and remember.
In the mid-‘90s Rick, with his longtime friend Zobrist, contacted the News to see if we would help them raise funds for Connie Freeburn, daughter of their Queen Anne High School classmate Denny Freeburn.
For those of you not here in 1994, Connie was a 26-year-old Seattle resident with a bright future who fell prey to a random and vicious attack that left her with brain injuries. Over lunch at The 5 Spot, Rick and L.D. talked about their drive to build Connie a home in Idaho to meet her special needs.
So the News got involved.
Rick played a major role in the push, logging long hours each day, reaching out to the community for help. He even organized a July 1995 march around Uptown Queen Anne in Connie’s honor.
A brilliant smile and refreshing playfulness were part of who Rick was. The world struck him vividly, as it does many sensitive souls. He seemed to have total recall for local history: names, places, dates and the ways Seattle had changed. It was good to find a fellow commiserator over the loss of Frederick & Nelson.
A born promoter, Rick brought his skills to bear to help organize the first supersonic Concorde fund-raising flight around Seattle in 1984, and he got his airplane ride of a lifetime.
His parties were known for their creativity and the unexpected, though, predictably, “Louie Louie,” lurked on the turntable.
Helen Malsed, Rick’s mother, is credited with inventing the Slinky pull toys and Fisher-Price Snap-Lock Beads. In his mother’s Nov. 1, 1998, Seattle Times obituary, Rick recalled, “I was given a regular Slinky coil for a gift one Christmas. I made the offhand suggestion, ‘I wonder what this would look like with wheels on it.’” Clearly, Rick’s magical pragmatism came to him genetically. “She immediately made my dad go down to the basement, take apart one of my other toys and put the wheels on the Slinky. That was the beginning of the Slinky Train.”
In the latter 1990s, he wrote a lively, monthly column for the News, one of which, published Dec. 29, 1999, appeared in “Magnolia Memories & Milestones,” under the title “A Malsed Magnolia Millennium Moment.” The column consisted of three top-10 lists, displaying Rick’s light, insider’s touch.
The “Top 10 Glad They’re Gone from Magnolia” list included the noon Wednesday air-raid siren; the Interbay open-burning garbage dump; Jane Fonda and her fellow protesters camped at 36th [Avenue West] and Government Way in the fight over Fort Lawton; and, No. 1, “the stop-and-go intersection (before the overpass and underpass) on 15th [Avenue West] at Garfield, Dravus and Emerson [streets].”
Of the 10 things most missed: Johnny’s Pasture, the No. 19 Carleton Park bus, the Village bowling alley and, No. 1, Magnolia Theater.
Among his many activities, Rick served as president of the Queen Anne High School Alumni Association in the mid-‘80s and was a longtime member of the Class of 1963 reunion committee.
I met Rick for lunch at the Two Bells in Belltown each summer when he popped into town, his shaggy little dog, Maggie, in tow. There was laughter, always, over the human comedy and our own roles in the thing. Once, I even gave him a farewell hug, and I’m no man-hugger. But then Rick, with this disarming honesty, had a knack for bringing people out of themselves.
And Connie Freeburn?
Her house was built. She lives in Eagle, Idaho, and volunteers at a local elementary school, an inspiration to staff and students and a miracle of human perseverance and courage.
Rick leaves behind son Michael Malsed; his wife, Cyndi; and their children Dalton and Julia; and daughter Michelle Bieda; her husband, Rich; and their son, Justin Bieda.
No memorial service is planned.[[In-content Ad]]
