C. Richard Cryer, 90

The most glass-half-full guy we’ve ever known died peacefully, from a confluence of health issues that he never once complained about. He adored his wife of more than 60 years, Libby, and was unwavering in his celebration of his daughters Suzanne and Shelly.

Dick grew up outside of Philadelphia with four brothers. He was a builder, fixer, and question-asker from the youngest age. He went to Penn Charter, MIT, and later an executive degree program at Harvard (primarily to access the NYC Harvard Club’s excellent sushi).

He worked at Hughes Aircraft, Xerox, Scholastic Magazines, and Gartner Group. The highlight for his daughters was his time at Scholastic, when Friday night brought him home with an armful of their newest books.

Dick flew airplanes, was a college diver, a lumberjack, and even taught Arthur Murray dance classes. He pulled pranks, loved concrete, ice water, his used diesel Mercedes, trees, asking questions, dogs, chocolate, cutting bull vines, stream of consciousness conversation, sea urchin, and Ali MacGraw. But he loved none of those things as much as his family.

He was an extraordinary father. He modeled curiosity. He taught the value of saying a real “thank you.” He was on the floor playing games, creating magic, building science projects, and showing new ways to solve a math problem. He would pull off the road to ask a farmer a question. He could fix or build absolutely anything, often better than the pros, and worked tirelessly on his home and property.

He thought his wife Libby was the perfect mother, gardener, and professional, and an unrivaled cook. With no guile, every night he’d exclaim, “This is the best dinner I’ve ever had.” Dick loved food and wine. He delighted over his membership with the Confrerie des Chevaliers du Tastevin. He appreciated a fine burgundy as much as a great deal on a decent pinot noir. His wine cellar (which he built himself) was a spectacular place to visit.

Dick pivoted mid-life to become a beloved, local restaurant critic for the Gannett Fairpress. How an MIT grad who “weighed numbers” and (self-admittedly) didn’t have much of a palate ever fast-talked his way into the position remains a mystery to his family. The tolerant, but nervous, editors urged him to, “Please review local hotspots!” But Dick’s passion was for cuisine as a bridge for cultural understanding. He made it his project to find affordable and overlooked restaurants, spots run by local families offering traditional foods prepared authentically. His columns were as much celebrations of food quality as lessons in geography and history. He hoped more than anything that his reviews might lead Greenwich diners to flock to a small Port Chester mom-and-pop spot serving traditional Argentinian dishes.

His treasured partnership and friendship with NY restaurant critic Bob Lape allowed him to merge his understanding of market research with food reviewing. Together they published Bob Lape’s Dining Guide which was a savvy precursor to Zagat and Yelp. After his success as a reviewer, he even had a stint on a radio show for WGCH where he answered dining questions with patience and delight.

Following a major stroke at age of 54, Dick found esoteric hobbies to pursue: color theory, picture framing, photographic etching, surveying, genealogy and his distant Mennonite heritage. He continued to work outside as long as his body allowed, pulling weeds, building paths, tending to the property and house with skill and love.  And even when his speech all but left him, he still always said a clear, “I love you” and a chipper, “Thank you!” for even the smallest of gestures.

Dick is survived by his wife Libby; daughter Suzanne, her husband Greg, and their children Charles, Daisy, and Guthrie; daughter Shelly, and her daughters Hannon and Nora; his brothers Don (Renee) and David (Linda); and his nieces Debbie and Cici. He was predeceased by his brothers Bob and Stanley.

The best way to honor Dick’s life is to take a moment to ask a question when you see someone doing something interesting: building a wall, repairing a broken machine, clearing a path, or planting a tree.