“Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.” – Mark Antony, from Shakespeare’s The Life and Death of Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene 2

It’s early Fall of 1990. We had just released our first three GMT games, and I thought at that point that I’d probably design most, if not all, of our games. Thank goodness that turned out not to be true. As luck or divine intervention would have it, the phone rang.

“Gene, this is Richard Berg. I see you are creating some really good games. I have some games that I think would fit in your line.”

The conversation continued, and I agreed to take his Civil War game, 1862, because I loved his GBACW system (though his 186x system was different) and Civil War tactical games in general. Then he continued…

“There’s this other game, one I’ve designed with Mark Herman, and I think it could be something special.”

“What’s the topic?” I asked.

“Ancients.” I deflated. I didn’t know much about the period and every game I’d seen set in ancient times was boring to me. So, like the total newb that I was, I said:

“I think I’ll pass on that one. I don’t think Ancients will sell” (and up to that point, I thought that was probably an accurate assessment).

“Ok,” he responded. And then he uttered those famous, intentionally grammatically incorrect words that I must have heard 500 times from him over the years: “But one never knows, do one?”

He continued. “Mark will be disappointed, but I’ll let him know.” Then we ended the call. I was really excited to be doing a game from Richard Berg, one of the designers I’d looked up to as I grew up playing SPI (and Avalon Hill) games. But I was a little disappointed about missing out on the opportunity to work with Mark Herman, who ran Victory Games (my favorite company) and was definitely one of my idols in the hobby (and still is!).

About half an hour passed after Richard’s call, then the phone rang again.

“Gene, this is Mark Herman. You don’t know me, but I’m going to ask you to do yourself a favor and take this Alexander game. It’s going to be something special.” It turned out to be a really short conversation. Mark’s personal touch–and something about the certainty in his voice–had won me over in three short sentences. So I said, “OK, I’ll take it.” Note that this was the situation Mark Herman often calls “the time Richard sold me into slavery to Gene,” but the truth is, he brought it on himself!

Of course, that game (Great Battles of Alexander) went on to win multiple awards, sell out several times, spawn a Deluxe version, inspire SPQR, and spearhead one of our best-selling and most acclaimed series ever, Great Battles of History. But the best part of the deal was that it let me work with Richard Berg and Mark Herman, who became lifelong friends.

I’m going to set Mark aside for a bit here–although he was Richard’s best friend and was along for many of the adventures described below–because I want this to be about remembering Richard and the many ways he entertained, encouraged, instructed, and brought us joy in the years we got to spend with him. He was much more than “one of our designers” to me; he was a good friend. So I want to spend the rest of this article telling you about a few of the things I loved about Richard Harvey Berg, who passed from this life several weeks ago, and share a glimpse of some of the good times we were blessed to spend together.

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Game Conventions in the Early Years of GMT

In the first ten years or so of GMT, I went to most of the big game conventions and ran the GMT booth. Mostly I was by myself, except when some of our designers or friends would volunteer to come help out. Richard was a regular in that department. For many years, he and Mark would show up for the convention, not take a cent for their trouble, and help man the booth for much of the three- or four-day shows. They REALLY helped me. I bought them food a lot and gave them a few games here and there, but basically they just did it out of friendship–something I’ll always appreciate.

Those were the times that really cemented our friendship: shared experiences, or maybe “shared hardships,” I think–as working long hours at a booth at a big convention is really tiring–and often isn’t all that much fun. But one thing I learned from Richard at those shows was how to really enjoy the process. He taught me that when you took your time with each customer, listened, shared a story, and were gracious, both of you would be happy when the encounter ended, regardless of whether any games were purchased. Many days, I would watch in amazement as Richard spent hour after hour sharing stories, listening intently and nodding as customers shared theirs, and thoroughly enjoying the interactions. And usually at some point, the customer he’d been talking with would come over and buy some games. Richard was a one-person convention marketing department, but I came to understand that he wasn’t doing it just to sell games. He genuinely liked talking with customers and sharing the joy of gaming (or baseball or music or whatever they wanted to talk about). I decided that was a behavior I wanted to imitate and learn from, and I’m ever thankful to Richard for the lessons.

Here are a few of the cool things we shared at those 90s conventions:

At Origins in Baltimore in 1991, together with Mark, after a long day at the booth we got to watch the 4th of July fireworks over the harbor (with Fort McHenry in the background) from the bar/restaurant on the top floor of the Hyatt Regency. With “Born in the USA” blasting from the speakers, it was an awesome and inspiring locale and show–something I’ll never forget.

At Milwaukee’s combined Origins/GenCon in 1992, Richard (who knew the town from previous GenCons) took us to the BEST Italian restaurant I’ve ever been to and introduced me to the beauty of perfectly-prepared veal. Later, as we got back to the hotel lobby, Richard spotted a baby grand piano in the center and moved toward it. Mark and I knew what was coming, as we’d previously benefitted from Richard’s impromptu rock ‘n’ roll piano concerts at his house in White Plains. Someone in the crowd of gamers asked, “Do you play?” Richard answered, “Oh, a little”–and launched into a medley of Fats Domino that rocked the house. There were a lot of wide-eyed gamers that night. Richard was REALLY good.

In 1993, at the Dallas Origins, Richard came to help at the booth, as usual. The thing about Origins that year was that the Miss Texas pageant was being held on the same weekend in the same hotel. So one night we get into the elevator, surrounded by several middle-aged, not-too-fit gamers, and right before the door closes, several Miss Texas contestants get on as well. In the awkward silence that followed, Richard looked from one group to the other, shook his head, and breathed, “When worlds collide…” It broke us all up.

That was also the year of the hyped Berg/Herman Clash of Titans GBoH grudge match. It brought a lot of interest to the booth, but the result was a foregone conclusion in my book. You see, anyone who knew Richard knew that he was great at DESIGNING games but not very good at all at WINNING them. I’ll give him credit; he put up a good fight. But Mark, the master strategist and tactician, prevailed. I always thought if I could have gotten Vegas to give me odds on that match that I could have funded GMT for years because there was NO WAY Richard was going to win.

At the Philadelphia Origins in 1995, we had a great show, but I planned poorly and ended up with over $10,000 in cash that I needed to get home on Sunday (when the banks were closed). The convention and the hotel were no help, and I didn’t know what to do as I was flying out that evening. Richard said, “No problem. Change it into the biggest bills you can find, put some in your wallet, but put most of it in your socks. No one will ever know.” It sounded crazy, but I tried it. And that’s how I ended up flying back to California (in the pre-9/11 days) with about $8,000 stuffed in the thickest socks you’ve ever seen! Hey, it got the job done!

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Design/Development Work Together

Richard was, of course, a gifted and prolific game designer. At the time I met him, I had exactly ZERO experience as a developer, having only designed three games of my own. So as we approached game projects where *I* was going to help *Him* make the games better, I didn’t really expect that Richard would pay much attention to what I had to say. Really, there was no good reason for him to do so.

I was stunned, then, by how often he asked my opinion: how I would make a game better, what was lacking from the game’s “fun factor,” etc. Looking back, I realize now that he was taking the time to invest in training me, which was and is a huge compliment.

Working with Richard in those days was really interesting. I was fascinated by how quickly he could make a game that existed in his head into a playable prototype. I don’t think I’ve ever worked with anyone who could accomplish it that quickly. He also loved putting random events in a game to add chaos and some “what might have happened differently” aspects to his designs. He was amazing at that part. And he could write with humor, taking the work seriously but himself not-so-much. The “finishing” aspect of the games, though, never interested him quite as much–not that he didn’t know it was important; he certainly did. It’s just that he found so much joy in the “creating” part of things and not so much in the “working out all the final nits” part, which is why he needed good developers over the years. When he had them, the result was game magic.

I’m pretty sure I didn’t qualify as a “good developer” early on, but Richard was very patient with me. He never treated me like the rookie that I was and never game me the impression that he thought he was better because of his experience and track record of successful game designs. I know some of you will shake your heads as you read this because there were definitely times and situations in his life in which you wouldn’t describe Richard as “humble,” but that’s what I saw in him in those early days. He was humble and patient and gave my suggestions more weight than they probably deserved. I appreciated it very much, and it made me determined to get better at developing as quickly as possible so I could help him make some great games.

After Great Battles of Alexander, we worked on some Civil War games (including reviving GBACW) and other smaller games, including Battles of Waterloo, which I still think might be the best game Richard and I ever designed/developed together. And we made SPQR, which I believe represents the pinnacle of Richard and Mark’s cooperative design skill in those days and was certainly the best title that GMT had produced to date. Through it all, Richard was in his element, turning what he read in his favorite books into dynamic systems that worked, filled with (of course) plenty of random events and more than a little humor. I still think the Flaming Pigs rule from SPQR is the funniest wargame rule I’ve ever read.

All in all, working with him to develop games in the 90s was one of the most enjoyable jobs I’ve ever had. Oh, sometimes it was frustrating, when we couldn’t get systems to mesh correctly. But working together with Richard was an education in game design for me, as well as an opportunity to deepen our friendship in another arena. Two or three times a week, he’d call, always with the same intro: “Hey Geno, what’s doin’?” And we’d talk about how to fix the problem du jour until we had consensus; then, more often than not, we’d talk about baseball for another half hour. I came to understand that baseball (and specifically Richard’s favorite team, the Mets) was worth a lot more discussion time than any game we might be working on. Right or wrong, it was good for perspective and fun to enjoy a shared fandom (although I love the SF Giants), even if over the phone. For the past 25+ years, my phone would ring–though less often in these later years as Richard’s health deteriorated–and virtually every time it was, “Hey Geno, what’s doin’?” But as time went by, we talked about games less and life–and of course baseball–more. Those were joyous conversations and good times, and I miss them–and Richard.

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East Coast, West Coast

Richard lived in New York, and later in Charleston, and I lived in California, so, as with many of our designers, the vast majority of the hours we spent together were on the phone. But there were those times when he or I made the transcontinental trip and hung out at the other’s house for a few days to a week. Here are a few of my memories of those trips:

The first time I went to Richard’s house in White Plains, he surprised me with show tunes on the piano (I had no idea at that point he’d been in a rock ‘n’ roll band), made me envious of his historical library, introduced me to his career on the stage, and generally helped “give me some culture.” We didn’t play a game the entire time I was there (that would NEVER happen at Mark Herman’s house!)! He was intent on making sure I had a grand time. Richard was an entertainer, a great host. So we ate amazing food and had awesome, wide-ranging conversations. He taught me “the secret” to several dishes, including “red pepper makes all the difference in great omelettes and scrambles” that I still use in the kitchen to this day. For a week in which I didn’t get to play any games, I had a blast. I met his family and could see how dearly he loved them.

The next time at Richard’s house is a blur to me, but I know it was in the fall of 1993 because Mark Herman took the train up from Maryland so we could all go together to watch Gettysburg, the new, epic film released that week. MAN, was that fun! I was thinking, “How cool is this, to get to experience a new film on a battle all of us know a ton about with Richard and Mark?” For me, it couldn’t get a lot better than that. So before the show starts, Mark says, “We have to make a pact that none of us will talk AT ALL until the movie is over. Because if we start talking about what we like and what’s wrong, we’ll end up missing half the movie.” Richard and I saw the wisdom in Mark’s words, so we all agreed. Well, the movie was so long that there was an intermission halfway through. So we get out in the lobby, and Richard starts talking about the movie. We quickly said, “NOOOOO! We have a pact. No talking until the movie’s over.” That was hard for Richard to take–as he really wanted to let us know what he thought–but he reluctantly agreed, and we finished the movie. Subsequently, we spent the ride back to Richard’s house and several hours that night dissecting the movie and sharing all the cool parts that touched us most. It was an amazing and memorable evening for me–one that seems like it happened just yesterday. I can still see Richard with his box of popcorn during the previews. Mark and I were digging into our popcorn, but Richard hadn’t touched his. “That is NOT the way it is done,” he instructed us. “We wait until the movie starts to eat our popcorn.” Mark and I looked at each other, shrugged, and continued eating our popcorn. “Philistines!” was Richard’s light-hearted rebuke. It was not the last time we’d hear that from him!

Richard visited our house in California a couple times. He came out in 1999 for our inaugural GMT Weekend. That was before we had a big warehouse, so we had it at an empty space in the local mall. Here are a couple of my photos of Richard from that weekend:

The thing I’ll always remember from that trip is that Richard brought Luke a gift. Richard always brought a house gift–something that seems mostly out of fashion these days. And his gift was always thoughtful. This time, he brought Luke (who was 3 years old at the time) a matching pair of bears wearing SF Giants uniforms. It was a kind and thoughtful gift, one that Luke kept in his Giants mini-shrine above his bed for many years. I went in Luke’s old room the other day and saw those bears still above the headboard. It reminded me of Richard and a side of him that I wish all of you could have seen.

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“Everybody has a plan, until they get hit.”

One of the things I most admired about Richard was that he was able to take life’s punches and keep getting up. The details of those punches involve stories that are not mine to tell. I’ll just say this: I pray that I never have to bury a son, as Richard did. I know it shook him to his core and that the grief and the hurt affected him deeply. MAN, I felt for him. I can’t even imagine what that would be like. For all his public gregariousness, Richard was a very private person. He didn’t talk about it much. He mostly just walled off that part of his life, except for sharing an occasional happy memory with me. I didn’t want to bring it up for fear of causing him more pain. I wish I could have helped him more, but I think he just felt like he had to deal with that in his own fashion. But as I watched him move forward with his life, scarred certainly, but still fighting, I admired the heck out of him for his tenacity and will to keep fighting. The depth of the tragedy he’d endured naturally made me root for him even more.

I know Richard had a reputation of sometimes being acerbic, even harsh online, and I’m not here to fight with anyone about who he was to them. I definitely saw a sadder and sometimes angrier Richard in the last chapters of his life. I’m no psychologist, but I attribute a lot of that to his loss, his grief. Regardless, he was still my friend. And he remained a good one. But he could be rougher in these last years, for sure. I think one thing that was always true of Richard was if he was upset, he wanted you to know with certainty that he was upset. There was no guile or subterfuge about him. He just said it straight up. One day he sent me an email that apparently didn’t get through to me. Well, ignoring him was not something a friend should do, so he fired off a missive basically telling me that if he didn’t hear from me within the next 8 hours, various versions of Armageddon were going to ensue. I shook my head, picked up the phone, and called him.

“Yessss,” he answered, his voice all sweetness and light. “I just had a feeling you might be calling today.” I wanted to let him know I was displeased with his methods but that he was still my friend, so I said, “You know what, Richard? The Mets suck!” There was about a three second pause, then he started laughing. Message received. We worked out the issue in about five minutes, then talked about the important stuff: baseball, of course.

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Epilogue

My last phone conversation with Richard happened about three weeks before he passed from this life. I knew his health was bad and didn’t look like it would improve. I had an opportunity to do him a small kindness and was most happy to do it. He called that day to thank me. “You’ve never forgotten me,” he said, his voice wavering. It brings tears to my eyes as I write this now just as it did that day on the phone.

And then, suddenly, his voice was strong. And he asked the last question he’d ever ask me: “How are your Giants doing?” I had to smile…