Remembering Dick Owen

To the Editor:
Summer is here, but someone is missing. Our dear friend — owner of Tiffany’s ice cream parlor, baker of hot cakes and cookies, leader of Empire Days and whatever else needed to be done, resident curmudgeon, and most generous of spirits underneath that tough shell — Dick (aka Rich) Owen is gone. Dick died last fall after a long struggle with illness, and we miss him.

Dick was the guy who made sure that the [Anchor Day] parade was up-to-snuf and that it went the town around twice. One year he even tried to surprise everyone with a high school marching band, but they’re hard to find in the summer. It was often Dick who made sure that the dance on the beach was well-chaperoned so everyone could enjoy it, and that there was plenty of ice cream at Tiffany’s to last the weekend.
One cold, gray winter, he and his friends founded the Green Flash Society. Dick had the National Geographic Society photo to prove that there was such a thing. Plus the t-shirts for anyone who wanted to believe it, even though they might not have seen it.
He was the one who found an upright piano and offered Tiffany’s as a hang out for the high school crowd in the winter when the nights were long and the weather was too cold for the beach.
And he was the one with the sense of humor that was way ahead of most of us. Remember some of the signs in Tiffany’s — “if we’re closed, just shove your money under the door” was among my favorites. Or the one about unaccompanied kids will be sold as slaves.
Dick was very special to our family. My mom and dad started renting at Glen Lake in 1975 (my mom, now in her 80s, still goes to Dunn’s Farm every summer where she plays tennis and finds a golf partner several days a week). Empire was one of my parents’ favorite haunts ¬— the library, the Secret Garden, the Friendly, the town beach and Tiffany’s. Every now and then, my dad would have a milkshake and mom a sugar cone, but mostly they loved Dick’s fresh hot cakes. They got to be such good customers that they would call in the morning, let the phone ring three times and then hang up. Dick then knew to save “two powder, one sugar” until they arrived.
One fall when I was up north from Ann Arbor visiting, I went in to see Dick and mentioned that my dad’s birthday was coming up. He decided that we should Fed-Ex the standing doughnut order to him as a birthday present, and we did! We were so proud of ourselves, and my dad loved the package almost as much as when the Fed-Ex truck pulled up in front of his cottage with an order of See’s candies from San Francisco.
Dick was a character with few equals. Remember the town coffee klatch at Tiffany’s that decided each morning when to turn the CLOSED sign to OPEN? One story goes that the restaurant inspector came one day and asked who owned the coffee cups hanging on the rack behind the counter. Dick said, “Heck if I know.” The cups stayed.
My favorite story about Dick also involves coffee — but not the coffee-pot kind. When my husband and I decided to buy land in Empire and build a house, I told Dick that I couldn’t live there without being able to walk over to Tiffany’s for my latte in the morning. I also told him I thought it would be a great idea for him to offer coffee drinks as part of his menu. He vehemently protested that it would ruin his reputation, and I left it at that. But one fall a note from Dick arrived saying, “Coke machine gone; ball is in your court.” He was ready. It took a while to find a tiffany blue cappucino machine, but a year later in the fall I sent him a note saying, “It’s on its way.” I ordered ground espresso beans from Leelanau Coffee Company, even though the woman asked “What would that old grouch want with espresso beans?”
When I got to Tiffany’s the next summer, there “IT” was with a name plaque of the same. When I asked if I could have a latte, he said, “Sure, if you know how to make one. We had a contest here over the winter to see who could make the best cappucino and Phil (Deering) won, but I’m afraid he’s not here to make one for you since he has a grocery store to run.” So off to Deering’s, my daughter and I went to buy milk, took out the espresso package sitting under the counter, and we spent the afternoon making drinks for ourselves and anyone who happened in. Dick sat at the counter drinking his normal coffee, smoking a cigarette, and smiling more than I ever saw him do before or after. We tried to train his employees, but they never quite got the hang of it, and that was the end of lattes at Tiffany’s, though the machine remained.
We would have done it again, but he died too soon. Too soon for the town, too soon for his friends, too soon for all of us.
I loved that guy, and I hope that someday they’ll bring back the one-pin bowling tournament that he and his friends invented to go down Front Street in the gray of spring after the snow melted. Dick got the idea when he looked out one sodden spring day and said, “This place is so quiet you could roll a bowling bowl all the way down Front Street and no one would notice.” Bringing back the event and naming it for Dick is the least we could do for the guy whose spirit helped make Empire the place we love — and still does.
Kathleen Crispell, via email