Richard Cory

About the Content

Richard Cory is a poem first published by Edwin Arlington Robinson in 1897, and is one of my favorite works of poetry. The poem is real and authentic, leaving readers wanting more. I decided to tell my own story based off of the poem and wrote a short story centered around the tale that is the man Richard Cory.

Robinson’s “Richard Cory”

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,

We people on the pavement looked at him:

He was a gentleman from sole to crown,

Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,

And he was always human when he talked;

But still he fluttered pulses when he said,

“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—

And admirably schooled in every grace:

In fine, we thought that he was everything

To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,

And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;

And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,

Went home and put a bullet through his head.

– Edwin Arlington Robinson

The Horribly Rich

Everyone knows the ballad of Richard Cory. A man who was born into wealth, who seemed to exude confidence wherever he went. In the concept of living legends, Richard wasn’t one. He was more than that. He was a God. The drama of what was Richard Cory’s life starts with optimism and ends with a bang, quite literally. How could a man with seemingly so much decide to put a bullet through his head one warm summer night?

Richard Cory was a renaissance man, a politician of sorts. He was interested in the finest of things, from paintings to wine, and could talk himself out of any situation that came his way. Or so everyone thought. Richard and I used to be friends in high school. When hard times fell on my family, we were forced to sell our house. Since the town was so close-knit, you could imagine our excitement when we heard that the Cory family bought it. Being close family friends, we assumed they would donate it back to our family, but instead they decided to topple it in order to build a new house for Richard. Forcing myself and my family into public housing, I vowed that day that I would get my revenge.

The townspeople were so enamored with the idea of perfection that they never considered Richard Cory to be a fake. As mayor, I am the one who should be looked upon as royalty.

The morning before his death, Richard stumbled into my office as usual, wanting to reminisce about our childhood friendship. In Richard’s eyes, I forgave him for what his family did, but on the inside, I was fuming. As Richard walked out of my office that day hundreds of people ran to shake his hand, as if he were the mayor and not me. However, I had suspected that Richard Cory had been putting up a front ever since his parents’ death; he was broke.

The morning of Richard’s death I held a town hall meeting outside of the local pub. Money had been tight recently and most of our citizens found themselves without food. Surely, I thought to myself, that a man with so much money and influence would be more than willing to fork over some of his fortune if it was for the betterment of the townspeople. As I waited for Richard and the townspeople to arrive, I rehearsed my speech in my head. Richard was of course fashionably late, making sure that every last townsperson was there so they could see his presidential swagger that he consumed himself with. After the crowd finally hushed, I began my speech.

I started by talking about how poor our town really was. I made sure to leave out nothing, from the worms in the fruit, to the rats in the houses, to the mold in the stores. Right when I thought I had my crowd where I wanted them, I turned to look at Richard Cory and said my plan. “Why don’t we have the illustrious Richard Cory, with all of his wealth and status, sacrifice some of his fortune in order to aid the sick townspeople who so desperately need saving?” The look on his face was one I will never forget. His reached to loosen his collar as beads of sweat began to form above his brow. As he began searching for words to say, the townspeople began to praise my idea, thanking Richard Cory for his gratitude. Richard, seemingly caught up in the moment, turned and briskly walked back towards his house on the hill. Being the mayor, I found it in my best interest to go up to Richard’s estate to see what’s wrong. Or at least that was what I told the townspeople. In reality, I was going up there to see that stupid look on his face, that look that I have been waiting 15 years to see. I wanted to see him defeated.

As I made my way up Richard’s driveway, I noticed how much it had changed since my family had once called this land ours. The grass was long, and the lights were dim. As I approached the front door, I stopped to reminisce on this moment. I had waited so long to get Richard back for what his family did to mine, and the moment had finally arrived. I was going to study his facial impressions and remember every word he said. After I wiped the smile off of my face, I walked up to his door. I gave it a few small knocks and the door slowly creaked open. I walked inside and was taken back. The house was empty. Nothing was there. No chairs, no pictures, nothing. It looked like somebody had come in and looted the house while Richard was gone. “Hello”, I muttered as I walked into the house. “In here”, Richard said. His voice was creaky and soft, a far cry from his usual boisterous pitch. I walked into the backroom where Richard was sitting on a stool, slouched over with a bottle of whisky in his hands. “What do you want?”, he proclaimed. He looked up at me and I saw his face. Finally, I thought to myself, the mighty had fallen. His face was drooped to the right which was either from the alcohol or his own despair. I paused and chose my next words very carefully. “Was it worth it?” I said, “Putting up this front for so long?” Richard turned his face away from me and took a deep breath. “No”, he said, “I don’t know if life is worth it anymore at this point.” Suddenly a light went off in my head. Richard was an only child, meaning if he was gone, the Cory’s were erased from history. I’ve kept a gun with me ever since I was mugged a few summers back. I removed the pistol from my waistline and placed it on the floor. “You’re right,” I said. “You’re alone. No real friends or family. Your house is empty, and everyone will know you’re broke. You have nothing to lose at this point.” Richard took a deep breath and put down his bottle of whisky and slowly picked up the gun. He studied it for a while before pushing the barrel against his temple. As I turned around to walk out of the room, I heard a small broken voice whimper out my name. “Hey Matt?” I turned to face him so I could see his look of despair one last time. Richard looked down at the floor and then craned his neck up to me, his brown eyes swelling up with tears. “I’m sorry for what my family did to you, I really am”. Before I had a chance to say anything back, Richard squeezed the trigger.

A few months later I had the house destroyed. Richard’s body was buried out back at an unmarked grave, and on top of the hill where Richard Cory’s house used to sit was a new house. One with massive skylights, numerous bedrooms, and a porch so big the whole town could go over for a barbecue. I plan on moving in next week.