Per Rick’s request his obituary has been written by his lifelong friend Ben Rushing.
The Natchitoches Years: Rick was one of those rare people you don’t just remember— you can’t forget. In his career, he taught high school physics, which meant he could explain Newton’s three laws of motion while having his students live by a fourth—Rick’s own law—that paying attention in class brought greater rewards than not. Later, he became principal of St. Mary’s High School, where his combination of discipline and dry humor kept both teenagers and teachers equally on their toes.
Rick was a man who appreciated quality. Not the “comes-in-atwo- pack-at-the-hardware- store” kind, but the real deal. If you showed up with a cheap tool, a weak argument, or a lukewarm opinion, you’d know quickly—often before you finished your sentence. Rick wasn’t interested in “good enough.” If something was worth doing, it was worth doing right—and if it wasn’t done right, you were likely to hear about it.
Though he rarely spoke of it, Rick served in Vietnam as a POW interrogator. He learned the language and relied on more than just words to find the truth—he read people like open books, even when they were trying to write in invisible ink. That same sharp intuition stuck with him all his life. He had a way of sizing things up fast, usually with unsettling accuracy. You didn’t bluff Rick—not unless you wanted to become part of a story he’d retell with a grin.
Rick was a crack shot with just about anything that went bang. Handguns, skeet, trap—you name it, he didn’t just compete; he made it look easy. He didn’t collect firearms so much as command them. In one handgun tournament, he even found himself paired against Jerry Miculek—yes, that Jerry Miculek, the fastest revolver shooter in the world. Rick may not have walked away with the trophy, but he definitely walked away with a story—and probably a grin. Later, he traded pistols for shotguns and jumped into skeet and trap shooting, where he again aimed for excellence and hit it—right on the nose, or at least center mass.
His musical side came through in the band Dick Dante and the Infernos—a name that should probably be in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame just for audacity alone. Rick sang harmony and locked in the rhythm with his D35 Martin guitar. He and the band brought a lot of fun to small-town stages. Their performances weren’t just good; they were unforgettable.
Rick was a master of wit. His sense of humor was fast, dry, and sharper than a new scalpel. If he liked you, he’d take you down with a one-liner before you even saw it coming— and if he didn’t like you, well… let’s just say the silence could be deafening. With Rick, sarcasm wasn’t a defense mechanism— it was a handshake.
His love of flying took him from radiocontrolled planes to full-sized aircraft. He co-owned a Cessna 172 and later, a beautifully restored Champion 7EC. The Cessna was affectionately referred to as the “B.A.G. plane.” The meaning of the acronym was known only to a select few— that was part of the fun—but the stories surrounding it could fill a hangar. Whether on the runway or dancing in the clouds, Rick handled flying the way he handled everything else—with skill, confidence, and a low tolerance for foolishness.
Now, as Paul Harvey used to say: here’s the rest of the story.
The Shreveport Years:
Rick moved to Shreveport in 1989 and joined Woodlawn High School as a math teacher. He clearly made an impression, because after just one year, he was promoted to Assistant Principal of Discipline—yes, that kind of discipline. From there, he transitioned to the Caddo Parish Central Office and worked in the IT Department. In fact, every job description in the Caddo Parish School System ended with the line: “Prepared by Richard Dezendorf.” A small line with a big footprint. Rick cast that kind of shadow wherever he went and whatever he did.
He eventually became Assistant Principal of the Caddo Career and Technology Center (CCTC), and fittingly closed out his 40year career in education as the Principal of CCTC. But Rick wasn’t one to sit still, even in retirement. After his time at CCTC, he spent five more years with EdGear as one of their trusted computer gurus.
In his final chapter, photography became Rick’s creative outlet and daily joy. He was a masterful photographer who saw the world through a precise and artistic lens. He captured beauty with the same deliberate care he brought to everything else in life.
In time, Alzheimer’s disease began to take away that magnificent mind—piece by piece. But even then, the essence of Rick remained: that quiet sharpness, that unspoken expectation that people do things right, that ever-ready remark waiting just behind a raised eyebrow.
While his professional career in education spanned some forty years, the entirety of Rick’s life was filled with wonder, learning, teaching, laughter, and building a legacy of a life well lived. We, his friends and family, mourn his passing. We find comfort in the memories we shared, and in knowing we were among those privileged to have him in our lives.
Rick wasn’t just accomplished—he was distinct. You always knew where you stood with him, and if you stood close, odds are you were laughing— possibly at your own expense. He lived with intention, with style, and with a steady stream of wisecracks. Without a doubt, his friends and family will miss him terribly, but there will be many smiles at the thought of one of those classic Rick remarks—usually delivered with a sideways glance, a pause, and just the hint of a grin.
Rick didn’t just live well—he lived intentionally, with a large dose of mischief.
He had a way of leaving things better than he found them— whether it was a conversation, a classroom, a cockpit, or a friendship. He didn’t chase attention, but he had a presence that was hard to ignore. He expected a lot out of life, and he gave a lot back in return: laughter, insight, honesty, and the kind of loyalty that didn’t need to be announced.
He could be tough, funny, particular, and generous—all in the same five minutes. He taught by example, called things like he saw them, and didn’t waste time pretending to be anything he wasn’t. You always got the real Rick—whether you were ready or not.
In the end, that’s what made him unforgettable. He didn’t just live a good life—he lived his life, with purpose, precision, and plenty of punchlines. And for those of us lucky enough to share part of the ride with him, the skies are a little quieter now—but the stories will fly on for a long, long time.
Rick passed away on Wednesday, June 25, 2025, in Shreveport, after battling Alzheimer’s Disease. He was born on October 18, 1946, in Natchitoches, LA to Mary and Richard Dezendorf, Sr.
Rick was preceded in death by his parents, his grandson, Henry Maupin Stewart; sister, Frances Dezendorf; sister- in-law, Nancy Lowery; and his mother-inlaw, Frances Albright. He is survived by his loving wife of 19 years, Mary Albright Dezendorf, son, Christopher Sean Dezendorf; four daughters, Christy Dezendorf Rachal, Morgan Stephens Allen (Missy), Amanda Allen Stewart (Ned), and Emily Allen Hayes (Rob); five grandchildren, Edward Benedict Dezendorf, Magdalene Elizabeth Dezendorf, Michael Stephens Allen, Mary Virginia Allen, and Bailey Frances Stewart; he is also survived by many nieces, nephews, cousins and good friends.
The family would like to acknowledge special relationships throughout Rick’s life. His CCTC family, St. Mary’s classmates, his bandmates, airplane flying buddies, Natchitoches friends, and his special friend, Jamesha Jefferson.
The family requests that memorials be made to the Alzheimer’s Association, or to the charity of the donor’s choice.
Rick, you’ve slipped the surly bonds of earth. Now dance the skies on laughter-silvered wings. Reach out your hand and touch the face of God.