Richard "Dick" Sypher's Obituary
If you’re reading this, I’m having a bad day. Or a great one. It depends on how you look at it.
Regardless, I am now officially gone (unanimated, if you will), which is a shame because I never completed everything on my bucket list. Number 1 on that list: Going camping in Canada and actually catching just one of the great trout they are so famous for up there. I was zero for six.
While among you, I did my best to be the best I could be. I fell short of course; we all do. Given another shot, I would make many improvements in just about every area of my life. I would start with early 1966, the year I gave up a promising romance and enlisted in the Army during the Vietnam debacle after receiving my draft notice from LBJ, a truly awful president. Few men had a choice about military service back then. If our hearts were beating, we joined up. I was a UW student at the time and wouldn’t be back there for three years. Still, I grew as a person during my service time; I’m grateful for that. In 1968, I was sent overseas to a desolate outpost in far-eastern Europe just south of the Black Sea and remained there for a year. Although I used the word “desolate” here, it doesn’t begin to describe this location. If the earth needed an enema, this is where they would stick the tube. Since then, I’ve come to believe that some form of compulsory service to the country should be required of every U.S. resident – the Peace Corps, AmeriCorps, the military – something. The gravy train for deadbeats needs an overhaul.
After working over fifty years – more than forty of them using typewriters and computers to tell my stories – I can say that I’m now permanently “offline.” No more emails are likely to reach me. I also take this opportunity to say that none of the Kardashians (or any other Hollywood yokels whose life stories regularly defile the internet) are related to me in any way.
I sprang from good stock. My parents were Depression-era folks who knew the value of a dollar, the value of education, and the value of one’s word, all of which they instilled in me. They worked hard to put food on the table and money in the bank. In 1939, they bought a medium-size ranch southeast of Tacoma, where they grew apples, plums, pears and peaches and prepared a huge, plowed garden every year. Everything grew in that rich soil; name it, we grew it. We also raised chickens and sold the eggs to local markets. My early memories are of that peaceful farm and include riding our horses, selecting Christmas trees in our “back forty” and enjoying our big garden pool in the summertime. We moved into Tacoma in 1952, but my fondest memories are of that beautiful and tranquil ranch. Cutting through it was the Naches Branch of the Oregon Trail, which ended in Steilacoom. A stone monument is located a short distance from our ranch site.
My father died unexpectedly in July 1960 when I was 15, altering my life dramatically. I worked for The Tacoma Daily Index legal newspaper throughout my Wilson High School years (Class of ’63) and, after completing my military service in 1969 and earning my BA from the UW in 1971, I joined The Tacoma News Tribune, where I reported on a wide range of topics over the years.
Later, I worked for the state, including the departments of Corrections, Agriculture, and Social and Health Services. I also extensively researched (in Asia and Washington, D.C.) and wrote a non-fiction book, “Death of Flight 007,” which was published in 2002 and became the definitive account of the Soviet Union’s downing of a Korean Air Lines 747 over the Sea of Japan in 1983. It was a work of scholarship of which I’m proud.
My greatest joys in life were my daughters, Cailin and Kelli Sypher, two very sharp and talented young women who are doing well in their own careers. I love them very much. They have produced my four grandsons – ages 10 years to seven months. Dustin (Dusty) Rhoades leads the pack, assisted by six-year-old Brayden Adams and four-year-old Paxton Adams. Trailing the field is nine-month-old Silas Adams, who has some catching-up to do. Together, the boys are my “Little Cannonballs” for their boundless energy in exploring my house and property at warp speed each time they visit.
I’ve had good fortune in accomplishing things that once seemed out of my range. College seemed unlikely when dad died, but I worked my way through the UW, assisted during my last two years by the GI bill. Joining the TNT two days after my college graduation was just what I wanted at just the right time. The people I was privileged to work with there were first rate. The Tribune was solid in the ‘70s and ‘80s, but after being sold out from under its news staff to the McClatchy Corp. of Sacramento in 1986, it went straight downhill to where it is today – a birdcage liner. I’m also a proud member of Chapel Hill Presbyterian Church in Gig Harbor, which has lighted the way for me since 1999. I believe I’m now in a very peaceful and loving place, where there is no infirmity, death or disease to spoil the richness of each day.
I’m ending this with an abbreviated quote from veteran reporter Stanley Walker about news careers. It seems apropos:
“What makes a good newspaperman? The answer is easy. He knows everything. He’s aware not only of what goes on in the world today, but his brain is a repository for the accumulated wisdom of the ages. He’s not only handsome, but he has the physical strength to perform great feats of energy. He can go for nights on end without sleep. He dresses well and speaks with charm. Men admire him; tycoons and statesmen are willing to share their secrets with him.
“He is loyal to his newspaper and to what he looks upon as his profession; whether it is a profession or merely a craft, he resents attempts to debase it.
“When he dies, a lot of people are sorry, and some of them remember him for several days.” --Dick Sypher
What’s your fondest memory of Richard?
What’s a lesson you learned from Richard?
Share a story where Richard's kindness touched your heart.
Describe a day with Richard you’ll never forget.
How did Richard make you smile?
