A week ago, my wife and I had the opportunity to enjoy a Major League Baseball game in Camden Yards, where my favorite team, the Kansas City Royals, were in town for the second game of a three-game series. As it turned out, it was the middle game of an Orioles sweep, much to my chagrin.
I wasn't totally devastated, but before the game began, there was a moment of silence for a Royals great, pitcher Paul Splittorff, who died earlier that day from a form of cancer.
Unaware of that news, the game took on a slightly lesser meaning.
Some 15 or so hours later I learned of another loss, but this one hit a little closer to my home and heart.
The next morning, as I sat in my chair at 139 N. Main St., I heard some conversation among co-workers outside my office door.
When I heard them say "he came over from The Record," meaning back in 1989, I had to investigate.
What I learned was, friend and former co-worker Dave Brown had died the night before in his home in Elkton.
It was one of those moments that I felt sick and useless at the same time.
Brown's only child, his daughter Chele, still works with us, although she made the move to The Sun in Baltimore with a few of our other employees.
For those who knew Dave Brown, they knew of his fun, laughter, friendship, generosity and many other fine qualities.
Dave was the guy who bounced into the small pressroom we had at The Record in Havre de Grace on that September day in 1982. It was my first day and his, too.
Dave was also the guy who got two of his fingers stuck in the press that very first day. Off to the hospital he went, but do you think he took the rest of the day off? No, he came back stitched and wrapped and right back to work.
Dave was the guy who turned me on to the club sub from the old Apothecary Shop across from the hospital emergency room.
Dave was the guy who gave a young, struggling, but honest boy a head start on life.
When we started at The Record, we had never met before, but we created a nice friendship that was out of the workplace as well as within.
I had no car to drive and no license either. Soon I got my license, but no car.
That's where Dave stepped in. He loaned me the money to buy a VW Bug with the deal that I would give back $50 per pay until it was paid off.
Here's a guy who hadn't known me but for a short while and he loans me money.
What a gesture for an 18-year-old boy to receive from a new friend. I haven't forgotten that in 29 years and I never will.
Dave was the guy who invited me to Elkton to see Chele and her Elkton Little League teammates in action. Chele was the left-handed pitcher.
Dave was the guy who got tickets for me and my brother, Greg, to see King Eddie Feigner and his Court up in Elkton.
Dave was the guy whose sneeze could be heard over a running press, often scaring the unsuspecting workers near him.
Dave was the guy who had to console his only child when grandson, Matthew Rutherford, was killed from injuries sustained in a car accident.
Dave was the guy who always seemed to have a smile on his face.
Dave is the guy, that for everyone who knew him, know that we lost a good father and friend. We will surely miss him.
