RICHARD MORITZ

(June 22, 1944 – August 23, 2025). Richard Moritz, aka Rick, Ricky, Moe, and "The General," passed away peacefully at Michael Garron Hospital palliative care in Toronto, Saturday, August 23, with family at his side. He had endured with grace and courage a long illness brought on by sepsis, incurred while living his best life in California with his beloved fiancé, Dorothea Ditchfield. He returned to his roots in Canada in 2018, where he was surrounded by loyal friends, angelic caregivers, and loving family members, who knit together a supportive network to help him through this awful transition. But the sepsis had left his powerful body paralyzed and vulnerable to opportunistic infections, which after seven years finally won the battle. Rick was born in Boston, Massachusetts in 1944 to Reginald and Monie Moritz, who could not have been more different in temperament. This genetic union no doubt accounted for the contradictory nature of Rick's personality. He was at once strong, athletic, risk taking, and charismatic (our father) and in equal measure soft, intuitive, loving, and vulnerable (our mother). These qualities led him in many contradictory directions. For example, he was heartsick after killing a rabbit with a BB gun with his cousin John when he was ten, yet he was deployed to Vietnam in 1966 as a member of the elite 101st Airborne Division Screaming Eagles, where he saw active combat for 18 months during the worst years of the Vietnam War. He never wanted to talk about those years, but we all knew the experience haunted him. His hair turned white within five years. Rick grew up in Guelph, Ontario, where he excelled at athletics and showed early signs of leadership, becoming the All-Round Champion Boy at summer camp and Best Athlete in the eighth grade. He was an Eagle Scout, a Junior Forest Ranger, an endurance swimmer and an ardent canoeist, a scuba diver, squash player, and runner. He loved the outdoors. Lately, his passion for sports was the armchair version, devoted to the Buffalo Bills and College football. Like many young men in our generation, he was an indifferent student in his teenage years, preferring the social, romantic, and athletic pursuits of youth, but after returning from Vietnam, he went back to school and earned his Master of Education at University of Toronto. He had a long-distinguished career teaching high school, first at Emory Collegiate and later at Don Mills in Toronto. Rick had a steel trap memory and on occasions when he and his students met up years later, he would shock them by remembering where they sat in his class and what career they had pursued. As the football coach and girl's basketball coach years later, he could remember what position they played and even the outcome of some of their games. As a teacher, he could be an exacting taskmaster. Borne of his army background, he demanded that his co-op students come to school in dress pants or skirts, white shirts, and ties. "Dress for the job you want, not the job you have," he would tell them. If they were late, he'd shut the door and bar them from the classroom. But they loved him. He demanded professionalism, and they met his expectations. His classroom was their bootcamp. Rick was in his element socially. He easily made friends and remained loyal to them all his life. He kept up with public school friends, high school friends, colleagues, and family. People always remembered his voice and his distinctive laugh. Sometimes, he would laugh so hard when they were together, he could shatter glass. He especially enjoyed the camping trips he and his friends took together, where they'd paddle hard all day against the current and read Jack London stories around the campfire at night. He was in charge of provisions: Lots of booze and food at the front end; not so much in the back. His striking good looks and doleful eyes didn't hurt him with women either. He was pursued by many, loved by many, and in turn loved back. To all those wonderful women, I thank you and apologize. He regretted many lost opportunities. Longevity was not his strong suite. Even now in his final year in a long-term care home, he has charmed the nurses and support staff who have lovingly cared for him. "So handsome, so sweet," they would tell me. "He looks like Richard Gere," they would gush as they wheeled him into the dining room to be presented to the other residents. They doted on him. He had the "it" factor even at the end. Rick's illness took a great deal out of him. Instantly, he became paralyzed and dependent. He had to rely on others for everything. The whole thing was undignified. But his initial anger soon gave way to stoicism. He never complained. He never gave into despair. He found pleasure in small things: a good cup of coffee, a steak brought to him by my son, a book read to him by his sister or his caregiver Lorie, baths lovingly given, a soft voice at night if he woke up. For seven years, first at the Sumach Retirement Home and then at Chester Village, where he lived his final year next door to his brother-in-law, Bob Struthers, he was especially blessed by his private angels Marina, John, Anndhy, Vincent, and Lorie, whose attachment to him went beyond professional, bordering on love. Rick will be lovingly remembered by all who knew him, his childhood friends, and colleagues, too extensive to list, and his immediate family: sister, Wendy (Bob) Struthers; his niece, April DeMelo, her husband, Mike, her children, Mathias and Amelia; and his nephew, Jonas Struthers, who shared a special bond as well as his many cousins and their children. He leaves a big hole in our hearts. Beat on brother, boats against the current. A Celebration of Life for all those who knew him on Sunday, September 7th, 11 a.m., at McDougall and Brown Funeral Home, 2900 Kingston Road, Scarborough, Ontario. Please bring stories you would like to share. Food and refreshments will be served.