Father’s Day

By Shawn Dewees

Dear Readers,

Next year Frederick Magazine will celebrate 40 years, but for my family it will be a bittersweet commemoration without our father, Charles Richard “Rich” Dewees, who passed away on April 15—Tax Day, something that would have made Dad laugh.

Dad was not an active participant at the magazine; in the past few years it was impossible for him to even climb the three flights of stairs to visit our offices, but without him, I would probably not be owner and publisher, duties I share with Joe Silovich.

When I told Dad I was buying the magazine, he just said, “Oh, OK, I know you’ll make the right decisions.” It was not the business he would have chosen for himself. Dad’s talents instead were in the heating oil business that he ran in Thurmont for 53 years, starting out with beat-up trucks and a couple of customers. But he always kept his eye on the magazine, the latest copy on the table next to his lounge chair where he settled in for Wheel of Fortune. When I dropped by, he always said, “Good magazine this month, Shawn.”

Dad instilled in me a strong work ethic, something he learned early on. He came from a poor family that was large and lived in a house in Franklinville that was small. You have to work hard when you’re born with nothing. 

He did odd jobs at an early age and even as he threw himself into it, he still appreciated life’s joys, especially baseball. I’m told he would show up for his Little League games with hands that were stained from picking berries earlier at a local orchard.

His work ethic was something seen by myself, my brother, Scott, sister, Stephanie, and our mom, Judy. He put his family first. Most of the time he worked two jobs, but still played baseball with me and coached our teams. He had to be God-awful tired, but he still did it. And when the grandkids came along, he went to all their games. I would love to have just one more catch with him.

Everybody knew my dad. He took care of a lot of people. If there was a kid who needed a ride to practice, he’d pick them up. Sometimes he would get paid for fixing a furnace with a pie or cookies, but it was OK. He knew how it was to be poor.

Dad loved cars and always had a motorcycle. He was constantly washing and waxing them in the driveway with a radio tuned to country music. He lived for meals with the family, not just on holidays, but anytime, especially if ribs were involved.

He was not perfect, everybody has flaws, but he did the best he could. Thank you, Dad, for all that you did in my life, for getting me here. I’ll take it the rest of the way.