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Dick Bothwell was a newsroom character, a cutup, a clown and a daily dose of humor for the common man.
By SCOTT TAYLOR HARTZELL
© St. Petersburg Times, published February 6, 2002
ST. PETERSBURG -- In March 1979, Dick Bothwell radiated twice his normal joy.
"The world is also celebrating Albert Einstein's 100th birthday, said Bothwell, who was enjoying his 40th anniversary with the St. Petersburg Times. "I have always felt (Einstein and I) had much in common."
For 42 years, Bothwell provided humor as an author, public speaker and newspaper columnist.
"He reminded me of Will Rogers," said Times cartoonist Don Addis, 66. "You were always glad to see him."
"For most of our readers, (Dick) was the St. Petersburg Times," said Bob Haiman, 65, former executive editor. "His column wrapped them in a blanket of good humor, nostalgia and eternal optimism."
John Richard Bothwell was born in Memphis in 1917, the same year Buffalo Bill Cody died. "I have always been a cowboy myself," said Bothwell, who grew up in Lead, S.D.
In 1939, Bothwell answered a Time magazine ad and landed the sole job in the Times' art department. "I left the Black Hills for good, coming to Florida" for $17.50 a week, Bothwell said.
As a weatherman, Bothwell introduced his alter ego J. Thundersquall Drip and Pelican Pete to readers. "Cold everywhere but here," Pete would say. When temperatures dropped, Bothwell predicted a blanket-grabber of a night.
"That's what he was doing when we met," said June Bothwell Becker, his wife of 33 years. "Weather wasn't his favorite, but he always brought humor to what he did."
The couple married one year after Bothwell's Army discharge in 1947.
After reading Bothwell's bulletin board offerings, a Times editor said: "If Bothwell is so funny, why doesn't he write a column?"
The cartoonist got his column, and in 1949 another Bothwell alter ego was introduced: Kcid Llewhtob, or Dick Bothwell spelled backward.
He wrote about his artwork: a melding of 16 plumbing pieces that included faucets and float balls. Parts could be removed, he said, and the art wouldn't depreciate.
When an editor called Llewhtob an Old Arab Turk, "that's how O.A.T. came about," Bothwell said. In 1962, O.A.T. headed the humorist's column Of All Things.
"He would tell things that happened in our family," Becker said. "We'd be embarrassed."
In 1978, Bothwell lightened Mondays with B.U.M. (Brighten Up Monday). "He'd write about our travels, everything," Becker said. "Everywhere we went, he had his notepad."
"Every night at dinner he would tell us about the people he talked to that day," said Leigh Dallas, one of Bothwell's two children.
Sunrise 200, Bothwell's 1975 publication, traced the city's history. His Great Outdoors Book of Alligators and Other Crocodilia of 1962 still sells. "He made 5 cents a copy," Becker said. "I'm still getting $80 to $100 a year in royalties."
Dr. Roy Peter Clark, the Poynter Institute's senior scholar, said Bothwell had "a finger on the pulse of an aging and transplanted community. He was interested in everyday human foibles."
Bothwell claimed he resembled actor Robert Redford. He sang at work, sold 3-cent candy and told jokes he stole from numerous sources. "He brought humor into the newsroom," said Wilbur Landrey, 78, the newspaper's former foreign editor.
On his last day in the newsroom, Bothwell dressed as a cowboy and twirled a lariat.
The next day, Jan. 30, 1981, Bothwell awoke at 6 a.m. feeling uncomfortable. He died within 30 minutes while praying.
"We had taken a stand," his wife said. "We weren't going to go any medical route." The Bothwells were Christian Scientists. About 30 days later, it was determined that Bothwell died of natural causes.
In the space where Bothwell's column normally appeared, the Times wrote: "Someday the cluttered desk will be cleared and occupied. But never will the bright corner be filled."
There were more than 300 letters of sympathy. One reader wrote: "I picked up the Times from my driveway and tears began to flow before I could reach the front door."
- Scott Taylor Hartzell can be reached at hartzel@msn.com.