Harriett C. Ricks

Ricks, Harriett C. Long-time Southern California resident Harriett C. Ricks passed away in Tustin Sunday from complications resulting from the fact that she was 93. Harriett was born in Montana in 1917 as the youngest of six children and moved to Southern California as a teenager where she met her future husband, Cecil Ricks, Sr., who was also from Montana. While in Los Angeles, she raised three boys (and ironed a lot of shirts) in a house on Orchard Avenue which was built by hand by her husband. That house, which still stands today, hosted many a Scout meeting, and often smelled of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, but it was also known by her sons' friends as the place to be greeted with open arms for either a home-cooked meal, a sympathetic ear, or a place to rest their heads. Harriett was a Christian who seemed to have a special relationship with God. She hummed when she walked and whistled while she worked. To her, the glass was always half-full, and she could convince anyone that talk to the contrary was a waste of time. Her upbeat attitude and freely-dealt compassion touched everyone she knew, from the checker at the grocery, to the butcher, to her mailman, all of whom she addressed and knew by name. Harriett's good nature and compassion should not eclipse the fact that she was quite a looker, too. Once, while working at Bullock's Wilshire in downtown Los Angeles in her early 20's, she caused a traffic accident when the driver of a motorcycle stared at her crossing the street as he rear-ended a truck. Harriett was known for her wicked sense of humor, which was wry and dry. She could find humor in most anything and boasted a boisterous laugh and twinkle in her eye that could yank anyone out of a funk. She is certainly the only grandma in history to be ejected from Grauman's Chinese theater for laughing too loudly during a matinee with her grandchildren. She was also known for her limitless selflessness, which was something to emulate. For years, she lovingly drove her husband to work after his sight became impaired. Early every morning, long before sunrise, Harriett would make Cecil a home-cooked breakfast before taking to the freeways of Southern California for his hour-long commute. Her charitable deeds and daily acts of random kindness are part of the legacy she leaves, and how she will be remembered in the hearts of even those who knew her only slightly. Harriett is survived by her three sons, Cecil Jr., Fred, and Bob, and their wives, Sharon, Lu, and Peggy; her grandchildren, Greg, Kathy, Carol, Bobby, David and Danny, and her great-grandchildren, Jared, Tyler, Casey and Courtney-all of whom have inherited her wicked sense humor and are richer for it.