Steven P. Newman

Steven Patrick Newman Devoted father of Kaitlin E. Newman and Allison M. Newman. Beloved brother of Donald J. Newman, Jr., Lisa A. Baker-Newman, David M. Newman and Mark R. Newman. Also survived by many other loving relatives and friends and his beloved cate Cassyus, Family invite friends to call at the Charles L. Stevens Funeral Home, Inc. 1501 E. Fort Avenue, Locust Point MD 21230 on Saturday, August 11, 2018 from 2pm tp 9pm. A memorial service will be held at the conclusion of the visitation at the funeral home at 7:30pm. Interment will be private. Additional information and Tribute site may be viewed at www.charleslstevensfuneralhome.com “I sit down to write this obituary, estuary of words The sting from the slap of a sudden death Makes me catch my breath Just like you did Going up the steps To bed I have to catch mine too Whenever I see something That reminds me of you” My dad, Steven Patrick Newman, passed away from brain cancer on July 29. He was fifty-two years old. I never would have imagined that at twenty-eight years old I’d be writing his obituary, yet here I am. The two months and several days from his diagnosis to his death was both the longest and fastest time of my life. The days dragged on but I blinked and he was gone. “Life is so crazy!” my dad would always say. Yeah, dad, you weren’t kidding. A South Baltimore legend, Steve knew everyone and everyone knew him. He knew your brother, sister, father, mother, aunt, uncle, cousins and probably even your fifth cousin twice removed. His name was synonymous with a Yamaha motorcycle then a green mustang, which would later be a black mustang turned into a white mustang. He was a demon on wheels at Skateland. Steve loved speed and thrills. I’m pretty sure if you look up “the nineteen-eighties” in the dictionary, Steve’s photo would be there, Styx concert tee and all. WICKED1, his mustang license plate, summarized it all pretty well. In actuality though, wicked was the furthest thing from who my dad truly was. He’d do anything for anyone, whenever and wherever. Since his passing I have had more people than I can count message, call, and text me all of the nice things my dad did for them. Steve was an Ironworker of Local 16 in his youth until a work accident retired him. He always spoke of those days fondly and he was so proud of all of the things he had accomplished. “I installed the glass in that building,” or “I helped erect that high-rise,” he’d tell me, as we drove through downtown Baltimore twenty-eight years later. He’d also tell me that “I have a rod, eight screws, two rods and plate in my back,” whenever he ended his ironworker stories. Yes, in that exact order. He kept his gold ironworker ring and his ironworker statue with champagne glasses proudly displayed on the wall next to his achievement certificates. Along with being a thrill seeker and an ironworker, Steve was also a dad. He was a wonderful dad. My sister and I never went without. He sent us to private school and volunteered there frequently, teaching us and my friends how to paint and always crafting cool trinkets for our teachers and friends. He came on every field trip, every outing. He always skated with us at the ice rink at Rash Field before it was turned into a beach. He would come up to my college dorm every single week and take me grocery shopping and give me money to “have fun with.” He got me all of the things that I “needed” as a teenager without even hesitating. Allison and I never wondered if we were good enough or if he was proud of us because he told us every single day. We were lucky that way, to not only have a dad that loved us so much but to have one that made it so clearly known all of the time. One time several years ago I came home and the hallways were lined with framed newspaper cutouts of my photo work. “Dad! Come on, this is so awkward,” I said, cringing at how silly it was to have all of my newspaper work on the wall. “No it’s not! It’s cool! I like looking at them,” he’d say and smile at me. “They’re staying up!” That’s just who my dad was; proud, positive, and full of so much love for everyone. Steve loved his reality shows. He loved American Pickers, Parking Wars, and shows that dealt with cars, antiques and refurbishing homes. He fancied himself an interior decorator, a home artist. Judging by the house he built and designed, I’d have to agree. He loved thrift store shopping and I’d joke that he was an organized hoarder. We’d go to Savers and pick through vintage tee-shirts, the more worn the better. He owned over two-hundred tee shirts. Lastly, Steve loved my cat Cassyus. “She’s my buddy, my best friend,” he’d always say. He adored her. When he passed, I looked in his phone for photos and guess what? Ninety percent of them were of Cassyus, so I am positive I know who his favorite (fur)child was. Steve was a beautiful person and left behind a legacy of love. I couldn’t ask for anyone better to be my dad and I’ll miss him always. My best friend, my favorite roommate, my dad, I love you.

Steven P. Newman

March 25, 1966 - July 29, 2018