Remembering Bill Helfrick on Father's Day: Reflections on the legacy he created for his family
By Robb Helfrick
To anyone who knew Bill Helfrick, he seemed blessed with limitless energy and vitality. Until age 90, he was regularly seen around Waynesboro, volunteering for civic organizations, working on personal projects, or spending time with friends.
On January 13, 2024, Bill died suddenly at age 93. The fact that this came as a shock to his family and friends is a testament to his active lifestyle and zest for living.
Throughout his lifetime, Bill’s seven children had celebrated his paternal love every Father’s Day. Each of us, his three daughters and four sons, had a unique personal connection to him, yet our feelings and actions for the holiday were the same. We wanted to show Dad how much we loved and respected him, and how much we cherished his role in our lives.
When Father’s Day 2024 came around, five months after Dad’s death, we were still mourning. At the time, it was easy to assume that the holiday had lost its luster. While Dad was alive, Father’s Day was centered on hugs, gifts, Red Lobster dinners, long-distance phone calls, chocolate, and living in the moment with him by sharing stories.
Wise people warned us that the first birthday or major holiday after a loved one’s death would be difficult. For our family, suffering the first loss of a parent, Father’s Day arrived first and validated that theory. After Dad died, it felt as if the holiday had been snatched away forever. I can’t speak for my siblings, but I was relieved when Father’s Day 2024 was in the rear-view mirror. In 2025, I felt similarly numb since the joy of spending earthly time with Dad had ended.
One thing I miss most is Dad’s stories. He believed in the power of storytelling and had a repertoire of a few dozen tales crafted from personal experiences. Although he repeated them often, I never tired of hearing them. Some centered on the greatest adventure of his life outside of his hometown, his Air Force service.
Dad trained and served in Texas, Mississippi, and Nevada during his four-year stint in the Korean War era. While he enjoyed his time away from home, he always felt nostalgic for Waynesboro.
One of his stories recalled meeting a fellow service member who asked where he was born. “A little town in Pennsylvania, you’ve probably never heard of it,” was Dad’s reply as he told him it was Waynesboro. The man then surprised Dad by asking: “Is Aunt Kate’s Hole still there?” That was a local swimming spot at Antietam Creek that Dad knew well.
In another tale, Dad told us how he couldn’t wait to come home for Christmas, and so he arranged leave from the Air Force. Skipping a boring bus trip, he hitchhiked from Nevada to Waynesboro in five rides. One western stretch was particularly harrowing when Dad took the wheel of a stranger’s car and piloted it over the Rocky Mountains during a snowstorm.
Once back home in Waynesboro, Dad married Margaret Brezler and raised a family. After a short stint in the aviation industry at Fairchild, he began a successful career at Landis Machine Company.
While Bill’s title was Advertising Manager, he was also an editor, overseeing the company newsletter “The Landis Line” for three decades. The stories told on its pages were as much about the people and culture of Landis Machine as about its products.
Dad always stressed the importance of hard work. He never asked us to do anything he wasn’t willing to do himself. Our Father also inspired us with his ability to set and achieve personal goals. He had three projects on his bucket list: build a home, build a car, and build an airplane.
Bill achieved his biggest goal in 1973. He expertly interpreted an architectural blueprint and built our family a new home in Reservoir Heights. With help from his brother-in-law, Bob Brezler, and a carpentry friend, Dad built a barn-shaped, hilltop house from the ground up. Relaxing on the back deck, we enjoyed panoramic western views of the Cumberland Valley. That home is still in our family 53 years later.
Dad finished the second project in that home’s basement- designing a “car” that originated from a VW Beetle chassis. The completed silvery contraption looked like a mix between a DeLorean and a dune buggy. Our Mom was ultra-patient with this multi-year project, which shared the same space as the laundry room.
Dad never got around to building the airplane, mostly because he was busy being a great father, husband, businessperson, friend, and community leader.
After Bill retired, his civic involvement went into overdrive. He organized reunions for the WASHS Class of 1948, managed blood drives and voting precincts, and volunteered to serve meals at the Lunch Place. Dad was a founding member of the Waynesboro Industrial Museum. He also helped restore the cupola from the old East Junior High School, which now sits preserved in a local park.
After living such a big life, Dad’s passing was profoundly felt. Many people in the community offered their condolences and shared personal stories about Bill. But as Father’s Day approached in 2026, the sting of his loss had been softened by time. Our family can no longer be with him on that special day, but the holiday can be experienced anew. We cannot receive Dad’s love directly, but we can still receive his spirit. He left so many memories that resonate with his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
Another newfound aspect of Father’s Day is honoring Bill Helfrick’s legacy. Are we, his children and his friends, measuring up to the example he set in the community? He passed that torch to our generation, and it is our civic duty to keep it alight during our lifetimes.
Father’s Day in our family is no longer a celebration in the present, but a fond remembrance of Dad’s life. Recalling the lessons that he taught us, re-reading the words he wrote, sharing his stories and accomplishments, and seeing evidence of his life’s work all over Waynesboro, these are the lasting chapters in the living will he wrote for us.
From now onward, Father’s Day is a day to receive gifts, not give them. It is a place reserved in our hearts and minds where Dad still lives every day of the year.
