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It was vintage Larry Flowers: a clever prank on the perfect foil. This one had all the earmarks of legend.

In 1997, I was a copywriter in the Marketing Communications Department at Lithonia Lighting in Conyers, Georgia. Larry, my boss, was a proud and accomplished trickster.

Larry wasn’t merely skilled at perpetrating practical jokes; he was a bona fide genius. An artist.

Which is why, when a co-worker ran into my office and breathlessly announced that a prank was about to go down, I sprang from my chair and followed a parade of other people outside to watch.

It was a few minutes before 5:00 p.m., almost quitting time. On the way out to the parking lot, I learned what was about to happen. The prank, as the best often are, was simple.

Larry’s boss, the late Dick Morse, drove a beat-up, high-mileage Honda Civic. Dick was a well-paid vice president, but it was no secret that he came to the company with financial problems. His constant penniless condition, and the series of decrepit vehicles he owned, hinted at the extent of his troubles.

Dick was a past president of the Atlanta Shakespeare Company and as you would expect, given to theatrics. In his role as our boss, he developed a sort of faux gruff demeanor, but it was exceedingly faux. In truth, Dick was good-natured, good-hearted, and undemanding. We knew it, and he knew we knew it.

Which helps explain why he was an ideal foil for Larry’s machinations.

Sometime after lunch that day, Larry had gone out to the parking lot and, using two small axle jacks under the front wheels of Dick’s car, raised the front tires one barely-noticeable inch off the pavement.

The Honda, Larry reported later, sat rock-steady on the jacks, and it looked perfectly normal to any casual observer, including Dick.

By the time Dick emerged from the building at 5:00 p.m., half of the people in Marketing Communications were stationed in and around the cars, waiting for him.

On the surface, it appeared to be the usual afternoon exodus. We were anonymous among the hundreds of company employees leaving for the day.

But our attention was quietly focused on Dick. Some sat in their vehicles, feigning activity. Others stood in small groups, feigning conversation. I watched from the vantage point of my car 20 yards away.

Dick walked out to his parking space carrying his briefcase and a purloined box of K-Dry paper towels. He unlocked the Honda, placed the items on the back seat, and got behind the wheel.

He rolled down the window, poured some stale coffee on the ground, lit a cigarette.

He started the engine, put the vehicle in reverse, and turned to look over his right shoulder, preparing to back out.

The engine roared. The tires spun in mid-air with a mighty whine, but the Honda went nowhere.

Dick eased off the gas, and the engine subsided to an idle.

He turned off the engine, restarted it, and tried again to back out. Same result.

I watched his head bob as he looked left and right, up and down. He leaned out the window and peered at the tire.

Leaving the engine running, he got out of the vehicle and paced back and forth, looking at the grill and hood. Dick knew less about automobiles than the average 10-year-old.

As we relished the scene, trying to keep our snickering inaudible, Dick raised the hood of the Honda and looked for… he knew not what.

As he stood figuratively scratching his head, Larry got out of his car a few spaces away. “Hey, Dick!” he shouted. “What’s up?”

I couldn’t hear Dick’s reply, but I watched gleefully as he explained his plight to Larry, gesturing at the car, shrugging his shoulders, shaking his head.

Then Larry put an arm on Dick’s shoulder and pulled him closer. For a few seconds, Larry talked and Dick listened.

When Dick finally grasped that it was a joke, the moment was unmistakable. He looked skyward, then dropped his head to his chest, then shook it slowly from side to side.

The rest of us emerged from concealment and gathered around the two of them, laughing and chattering. Dick laughed as heartily as anyone.

Soon, the jacks were removed. Dick drove away, and we dispersed. For the umpteenth time, I mentally tipped my hat to the prankmeister himself, Larry Flowers.

For years, that was how I fondly remembered the episode. But as usual, there was more to the story.

Recently, I emailed Larry and asked him to refresh my memory about the car-jacking incident, so I could write this post. His reply was wholly unexpected:

Rocky, I tell you the following with mixed emotions. I set out to have some fun and play a trick on Dick. But once it was done, I felt pretty bad.

Dick came to Lithonia Lighting in poor financial shape. He was just divorced, and the IRS was all over him. His pay was being garnished. He had no money.

Dick knew little about mechanical things. One time, he poured a gallon of windshield washer fluid into the oil filler of his Cabriolet, blowing the head gasket.

When I walked over to his Honda that day, he had a worried look on his face, and it hit me. The man had just borrowed money from the bank so he could have wheels to get to work. That car was  his lifeline to Conyers and what little money he was able to keep. I made him think it was ruined. I felt pretty lousy.

When I explained that it was a joke, I expected him to be angry, but he wasn’t. Not at all. He was just relieved that his car was okay.

He just said, “Larry, get it off the jacks so I can go home.” It made me feel really terrible, and I’ve regretted it every since.

Dick left Lithonia Lighting in 1998. He died in 2002. He said many times that we would miss him when he was gone, and he was right.

As Larry put it:

Dick was a lovable scoundrel, a master of getting by with stuff that still amazes me. But he was a true advertising man. A good writer, a man of impeccable taste.

Wherever Dick is right now, I know he’s got something going on, and he’s surrounded by his precious books and cats. Rest in peace, Dick.

Amen to that.

Richard V. "Dick" Morse