Pete Snyder

We lost my dad, Fred Snyder, early Saturday morning.

At 91 years old, he was warm, gregarious, and always interested in others. He was also fiercely head-strong, bold, and like so many of us, complicated.

Dad was born in a Reading, Pennsylvania, farmhouse that didn’t have indoor plumbing, as was often the case back in 1932. From the time he was six years old until he was in his twenties, he worked alongside his older brother nearly every single day on the family farm.

He came from a family of proud and talented Pennsylvania Dutch craftsmen and builders. He was an entrepreneur, both a dreamer and a doer, and a true maverick. Dad proudly served our country in the United States Air Force during the Korean War.

He didn’t have more than a Muhlenberg High School diploma, but he was blessed with being whip and street smart and routinely would outmaneuver Ivy League MBAs in business deals. And man, did Dad ever take pride in that.

He was ox-strong, but outside of a few games of racquetball in the ‘70’s I don’t think he ever worked out a day in his life. He didn’t need to. He remained mentally sharp and physically strong until his very last few days with us. At his birthday dinner back in March, our waiter guessed he was turning 72. Burson and I would often joke, but we also truly believed, he’d outlive both of us. The guy was a Sherman Tank who even kicked Covid’s ass a few weeks back.

He had an anti-establishment streak a mile wide and was a risk-taker’s risk taker.

A textbook old school Birds fan, Dad had a passion for relentlessly complaining about the Eagles. True Philly fans will appreciate this: watching games with him as a kid was quite an experience - he’d make a game out of trying to predict the next interception thrown by Jaworski, Pisarcik, or Cunningham. He never was able to get quite comfortable with all the winning that came in the past two decades.

Dad loved creating at his drafting table, cooking up his latest deals or inventions (yesterday I discovered a pile of professional-grade designs drawn in meticulous detail and assorted patent applications that he engineered just a few months ago), meeting new people, ice cream (and if there’s orange sherbet available, even better), frying himself in the sun (he’d never heard of or would ever consider sunblock), a red hot (or any) blackjack table, and certainly, my Mom.

His presence and larger than life personality quickly filled every room he entered. As those in his orbit know, when he was on and focused, there were few things that felt as good as having his sunshine on your face.

I learned so much from him. From the things he did and from the things he didn’t do. I wouldn’t have the work ethic I do if he hadn’t taught me what it truly means to work and how to plow through at an early age. I’d never have been an entrepreneur or a risk taker if it weren’t for Dad. I’d also hope that I’m a better father to Bee and husband to Burson because of him.

I’m pretty sure Dad secretly believed Paul Anka had him in mind (versus Frank Sinatra) when he penned The Chairman’s most memorable anthem, “My Way.” At least Dad lived every step of his life as if that were the case.

There were times, as many of us knew, when he bit off more than he could chew. But through it all when there was doubt, that tough-as-nails Dutchman ate it up and spat it out.

Fred Snyder faced it all, and he stood tall and absolutely did it HIS WAY…

Love you, Dad.

(A memorial service followed by a celebration of his life is being planned for later this Fall in Berks County, Pennsylvania. Please reach out to me if you are interested in attending and we will provide details as we move closer to the date.

Special thanks to all of those who cared for him over the years: my sister Michelle and her entire family, Burson and Bee, Jeff and Helen Camp and their family, Al, Sue and Allen Murray and the rest of their clan, Pat Waburn and the kind and tireless Sandra Goding.)