On a blustery afternoon about two months ago, I was walking west on Walnut between 12th and 13th streets. Since I was on the way back to the office after running a work-related errand, I was doing what any self-respecting American would -- I was taking my sweet time.
As I crawled on, I noticed a compact figure in front of me walking in the same direction. Once I got a good look at him, I realized it had to be Mr. Ash -- I could spot that deliberate gait and unwillingness to wear a decent overcoat anywhere.
Once I caught up to him, I gave him a loud hello and asked him where he was heading. Although not technically my boss, Mr. Ash was a partner at the firm where I work.
"Back to the salt mines, I guess," he said.
With that, I slowed down even more to keep pace with the 75-year-old. I always got a kick out of spending time with Mr. Ash, even if it did mean that I'd have to spend more time in the cold.
In the midst of telling me about the store that was offering a diamond-district-caliber markdown on computer scanners, Mr. Ash -- for reasons I did not immediately understand -- leapt into a full sprint. With a first step to rival Allen Iverson, the old man started flying up the sidewalk.
He'd done 20 pushups in front of me before, so I knew Mr. Ash was in better shape than most his age. Still, the sight of him bounding along made me chuckle, and what happened next made me roar with laughter.
About 100 feet ahead of me, there was a bike messenger pedaling along on the sidewalk. He looked like he was peaceful -- that is, he was peaceful until Mr. Ash started wildly patting his right shoulder and yelling.
The clean version of what Mr. Ash said would go something like "Get off the sidewalk, sir, riding your bike there is against the law." Thankfully, the real version was much more colorful.
I knew he didn't like bike messengers, but I was shocked. In retrospect, I shouldn't have been surprised at all -- Mr. Ash spent much of his life agitating for fairness at the grass roots.
Whether he was fighting for the rights of juvenile offenders to get fair trials, shareholders to get to procedural justice or pedestrians to amble safely without cyclists, Mr. Ash got his hands dirty.
Richard Ash died on Feb. 10 at the age of 75. The headline of his obituary in The Philadelphia Inquirer called him a "lawyer and activist." Just this past fall, he attained recognition around town as the Green Party's candidate for Philadelphia District Attorney.
As a candidate, he attracted support and respect for his principled stands against the death penalty and the so-called war on drugs. I loved hearing him feed one-liners to reporters when they'd interview him over the phone.
Mr. Ash's 75 years were full; my year of knowing him was nothing more than a drop in the bucket. Nevertheless, I doubt I'll ever forget Mr. Ash. His inimitable personality and the examples he set are bound to stick with me.
Mr. Ash scared me at first. Quick and irascible, he kept me on my toes. As time went on, however, we developed a rapport, and I began to look forward to our interaction.
A product of a more erudite age, Mr. Ash would often recite verse and ask me to identify it. Occasionally I would know the answer, but usually I would just guess Hamlet. Although more than 50 years separated us, we both shared a love for Sherlock Holmes and would quiz each other about the stories.
Although I hope those memories of Mr. Ash's warmth won't fade, I know I'll never forget his fire. He didn't take crap from anybody. He lived in accordance with a unique set of principles, principles that drove him to action and, admittedly, drove him to annoy some. If I do someday become a lawyer, I'm sure the example of Richard Ash will be lurking in my gray matter.
When he thought, as a shareholder, that Apple was acting improperly, he sued Steve Jobs. When he sensed injustice in the legal system as a young engineer, he went to Penn Law School. When he felt no political voice was speaking about the death penalty, he ran for DA.
I doubt I'll ever chase a bike messenger off the sidewalk, but I think I'm well-served for having at least seen it done once. Will Ulrich is a senior Philosophy major from the Bronx, N.Y.
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