Richard Thomsen wore his intellect openly.

"He seemed like the smartest man I'd ever met," Kristine Thatcher said of Thomsen, who died late Monday at 76. "He was full of facts."

And he had the manner to present them. Tall and thin, he had a deadpan face and a professor's diction.

"He was the brightest man I knew," said John Peakes, who founded BoarsHead Theater with him.

The surprises, Peakes said, were under that surface. "He was full of the Devil."

That was clear when the two men acted together. "My most vivid memories are Richard and John onstage, breaking each other up," said local actor-director Ken Beachler.

That light approach helped BoarsHead beat huge odds.

On one hand, the theater did serious plays, new plays, daring plays. It used Thomsen's subtle skill as a director.

"He had the touch," said Ute von der Heyden, a BoarsHead fan. "You could tell if something was directed by Richard."

On the other hand, Thomsen could take a light view of life. He donated his body for medical science, said his widow, actress Libby George - and specified that $200 be included so the medical students could party afterward.

Thomsen had recent heart problems, she said. Doctors found a small lung tumor, which was removed successfully. Two weeks later, he began coughing.

"He had a rough nine months, but the end came quickly," she said.

No specific cause of death was given.

The tumor was removed Nov. 4, a day which George describes as "typical Thomsen."

In the recovery room, he said: "Results?" She began talking medical results, which left him impatient.

"He said, 'No. Election!' "

He had grown up around political passion, she said. His father, a pharmacist in Charles City, Iowa, was "a prairie socialist who never voted for a winning candidate."

Thomsen was an Air Force pilot, then a TV anchorman. In 1960, he earned his master's degree from the University of Iowa and became an instructor.

That's where he met Peakes. In 1966, they took over a summer theater at the Ledges Playhouse in Grand Ledge.

"What impressed me was the sheer volume," said actor-director Bill Helder. "They were doing a new show every week."

BoarsHead survived, Peakes said, because of the skill of their then-wives (Barbara Thomsen and Connie Peakes) and because of cutting back.

"If there was any money left, we'd divvy it up according to whose kids needed shoes," Peakes recalled. "We were nearly a commune."

Gradually, BoarsHead grew. It tried winter shows in 1970 and moved into its current Lansing spot in 1975. Its budget went from $14,000 to $1 million.

Thomsen directed, acted, even did some writing. "He was such a Renaissance man," actress Carmen Decker said.

And both men charmed. "When you have the cult of personality, which they did, it helps," Beachler said.

Both personalities were strong, but in different ways.

"John's much more gregarious than I am, much more open," Thomsen once said. "He's just a warmer person ... I tend to be more skeptical."

Thomsen left BoarsHead in 1984 (after 18 years) for a chance to run a new off-Broadway theater. The first show he directed drew a scathing New York Times review.

He soon found a less-pressured life. He and George met in 1988, began dating later and married in 2001. He visited his children (Kira and Anders) and granddaughter.

Thomsen did small roles in two Broadway shows and many TV ones, including four "Law & Order" episodes. He also returned two years ago, to direct Decker at BoarsHead.

"I'd forgotten what a chatterer he was," she recalled. "Just because you started a rehearsal didn't mean you wouldn't stop several times to hear a story."

Even this year, George said, he did a stage role and an upcoming "Rescue Me" episode.

"He wouldn't let you call him 'semi-retired.' He said, 'Actors; are always semi-retired.' "

Contact Mike Hughes at 377-1156 or mhughes@lsj.com.