The Memorial Wall

Bill Pinella, a guiding force behind The Press Democrat’s sports section for nearly two decades and a beloved editor over his 45-year career in newsrooms, where close friends called him “Sweet,” died November 15, 2023.

He was 76 and had lived for years with Parkinson’s disease.

At The Press Democrat, as assistant sports editor from 1994 until his retirement in 2012, Pinella was chief among the PD’s many unsung heroes. He was the brace behind writers — and at times the brains — but was content to remain in the background.

He stayed late on Thanksgiving night to read copy about night games, and he helped lay out the sports pages because daily newspapers don’t take a day off for holidays. He worked New Year’s Eve because someone had to be in charge. He was honored to do it.

“For many years Bill and I worked in a tiny office, face-to-face with our desks jammed together,” said former Press Democrat sports editor George Manes. “You learn a lot about a person that way and I learned to admire his humor, calm demeanor and steady commitment to our work. He was a whiz on deadline, corralling recalcitrant, and sometimes ornery, reporters, banging out headlines, editing copy and transforming the often-chaotic mess of daily journalism into a coherent, respected seven-day-a-week sports section.”

He was “a man of soft edges” in a profession where elbows and egos can dominate, said retired PD columnist Chris Smith. He was a salve and support, especially, for his reporters.

“One thing people need to understand about writers and reporters: We tend to get stressed out,” said Press Democrat staff writer and former sports columnist Phil Barber. “Managing workload is hard. Interviews can be hard. Deadlines are VERY hard. If you sense that your editor is wound up about a story, it adds to the anxiety. Bill was the opposite. I never saw him stressed on the job. If something was amiss, he’d tell you, but he always lowered the emotional temperature. That unflappability was confidence inspiring.”

His tenure at the PD came with numerous national awards for sports coverage, and he helped elevate the careers and work of many journalists, among them football writers Matt Maiocco (now with NBC Sports Bay Area) and Eric Branch (now with the San Francisco Chronicle), baseball writer Jeff Fletcher (now with the Orange County Register), Brian Murphy (now with KNBR radio), longtime PD columnist Bob Padecky — and the writer of this story.

He was a fount of story ideas and had a sharp eye for sports trends, spotting them before almost anyone.

When the Oakland Athletics, among the cheapest teams in the big leagues, played a postseason series against the New York Yankees with a gigantic payroll, he ran a chart showing the salaries of all nine starters for each team. The A’s came across like a minor-league outfit and the innovative and humorous chart was a favorite among readers.

In 1996, he suggested to the writer of this story that something strange was going on in baseball. Batters were hitting tons of home runs, and no one could explain why. Bill assigned this writer to investigate the balls. Were they juiced — hopped up?

The search for an answer led to UC Berkeley, where a famous physics professor dropped an old-style ball and a so-called new, juiced-up ball off the Campanile. Luckily no one got beaned. The juiced ball — wound more tightly to fly farther off bats, we would later learn — bounced higher after hitting the ground. (The resulting article won The Associated Press’ award for best sports story in California that year.)

Years later, Bill and the whole world learned it wasn’t only the balls that were juiced. It was almost certainly the players, too, some notoriously taking performance-enhancing drugs. Bill, taking in that controversy, offered his wonderful laugh — which meant life plays tricks on all of us and that’s part of the glorious spectacle.

William Pinella was born March 16, 1947, in Clarksburg, West Virginia. He spoke often and fondly of his upbringing there with his dear sister, Claudia, and he loved to tell stories of their close-knit Italian community.

After graduating from West Virginia University, where he studied journalism, Bill began his 45-year career as a sports journalist, including as sports editor of what was then the San Diego Evening Tribune, where he worked for about a decade, starting in 1983.

In 1982 he met the love of his life, Judy Tuttle. They married in 1984 and raised three children.

His close friends called him Sweet, and that requires an explanation. Between 1986 and 2010 one of the most famous major-league baseball managers was Lou Piniella. People called him Sweet Lou. Although his name is spelled differently from Bill Pinella’s both names are pronounced the same — Pin-nel-la.

Hence, Bill became Sweet.

“Sweet was the best sports editor I ever worked for. His nickname was perfect. He was one of the sweetest men I ever met,” said baseball journalist and senior Sportico writer Barry Bloom, who worked with him in San Diego from 1984 to 1992. “We had a great staff at the Tribune from top to bottom. His job was putting people in the right place and utilizing us. He did that with great calm and tremendous humor. I’ll never forget it. Those days were an incredible foundation for my career. I wouldn’t be where I am today without that experience and without Bill.”

He had a nose for good stories.

“In fact, he suggested two of the most satisfying pieces I ever wrote for our sports section,” said Barber. “One was about the time Rocky Marciano trained for a heavyweight title fight in Calistoga. The other was along the lines of ‘Who was Ernie Nevers and why is a Santa Rosa athletic field named after him?’ They were stories some editors would have seen as old news, or not splashy enough. Bill encouraged his writers to pursue the unexpected.”

He had special affection for the accomplishments of local high school athletes whose efforts often go unrecognized. He spent hours organizing and staging The Press Democrat’s annual high school student-athlete award ceremonies. His love for that work and the job shone through.

“We’re sure not doing this for the money,” he’d say.

Former Press Democrat sports editor Jim Barger, who grew up near Pittsburgh, recalled Pinella grew up a Yankees fan.

“The first time I met him, I’m emptying my stuff to put in the office, and I have a Bill Mazeroski bobblehead,” Barger said. (Mazeroski had ended the 1960 World Series with a game 7, walk-off home run that gave his Pittsburgh Pirates the victory over the Yankees, one of the most famous homers in baseball history.)

“Bill goes, ‘Oh my God!’ He was horrified. But we got over that,” Barger said.

“I counted on him so much. He made out the schedules, a thankless job. He did the night hours. He was a prince,” he added. “A few Christmases ago he sent me a T-shirt for the Grafton Bears — Grafton is a town in West Virginia (population 4,651) and I had covered those guys. I still wear that shirt. God, he was such a good guy.”

He was a devout Catholic and felt great pride in never missing Mass. He was a parishioner at Holy Spirit Catholic Church in Santa Rosa.

As the limits imposed by Parkinson’s disease weighed on his later life, he remained active, walking miles a day, still maintaining his warm disposition, friends said.

“Before I moved out of Sonoma County in 2021, we’d meet for lunch,” said retired Press Democrat copy editor Robert Rubino. “He never wanted to dwell on his illness. We talked about our shared nostalgia for sports and about how rewarding it had been to work at The Press Democrat in the 1990s when newspaper journalism still thrived. In the last two years, we’d talk by phone. Bill was always positive, always receptive to humor, even with his health failing. He set such a dignified example of how to deal with illness.”

He is survived by his wife Judy Pinella of Santa Rosa, their sons Willie of South Lake Tahoe and Timothy of Santa Rosa, daughter Christine Pinella of Santa Rosa, grandson Billee, sister Claudia Randolph of Clarksburg, West Virginia, and by nephew Christopher Edwards of Morgantown, West Virginia, niece Caryl Banks of Bowie, Maryland, grandnephews Chase and Dominic, and grandniece, Lizzy.

Jean Shepard was a trailblazer for women in country music, who rose to fame in the 1950s with her honky-tonk style and frank lyrics. She was a member of the Grand Ole Opry for 60 years and a Country Music Hall of Fame inductee. But behind her success and popularity, she also faced personal tragedies and health challenges that eventually led to her death in 2016.

Jean Shepard was born Ollie Imogene Shepard on November 21, 1933, in Pauls Valley, Oklahoma. She grew up in a poor sharecropper’s family that moved to California during the Great Depression. She developed a passion for country music at an early age, listening to the Grand Ole Opry on the radio and forming an all-female band called the Melody Ranch Girls. She was discovered by Hank Thompson, who helped her sign with Capitol Records in 1952.

Shepard’s breakthrough came in 1953, when she recorded a duet with Ferlin Husky called “A Dear John Letter”. The song was a half-spoken letter from a woman to her soldier husband, telling him that she had found another love. The song resonated with the audiences during the Korean War and became a huge hit, reaching number one on the country charts and number four on the pop charts. It was also the first post-World War II record by a female country artist to sell more than a million copies.

Shepard followed up with more hits, such as “A Satisfied Mind”, “Beautiful Lies”, and “Second Fiddle (To an Old Guitar)”. She also joined the cast of the Ozark Jubilee television show and the Grand Ole Opry in 1955. She was one of the few female stars on the Opry at the time, along with Kitty Wells and Minnie Pearl.

In 1960, Shepard married fellow Opry star Hawkshaw Hawkins, who was known for his good looks and rich baritone voice. They had a son, Don Robin, in 1961, and were expecting another one in 1963. However, their happiness was cut short when Hawkins died in a plane crash on March 5, 1963, along with Patsy Cline, Cowboy Copas, and Randy Hughes. Shepard was eight months pregnant at the time and gave birth to Harold Franklin Hawkins II on April 1.

Shepard was devastated by the loss of her husband, but she returned to work soon after giving birth. She continued to record and perform, releasing more singles and albums throughout the 1960s and 1970s. She also remarried in 1968, to musician Benny Birchfield, with whom she had two more sons, Corey and Jesse.

In later years, Shepard developed Parkinson’s disease, a degenerative disorder that affects the nervous system and causes tremors, stiffness, and difficulty with movement and balance. According to DrMirkin.com, Parkinson’s disease can also affect the heart and cause irregular heartbeats, low blood pressure, and heart failure.

Shepard struggled with her condition for several years, but she did not let it stop her from performing. She remained active on the Opry stage until 2015, when she announced her retirement after celebrating her 60th anniversary as a member. She was also honored by the Country Music Hall of Fame in 2011, becoming one of only three female solo artists to be inducted at that time.

Shepard died on September 25, 2016, at the age of 82. According to Wikipedia, she died of Parkinson’s disease at her home in Hendersonville, Tennessee. She was survived by her husband Benny Birchfield and her five children.

Jean Shepard was a pioneer for women in country music, who sang about love and life from a woman’s perspective. She influenced many other female artists who followed her footsteps, such as Loretta Lynn, Dolly Parton, Tammy Wynette, Reba McEntire, and Miranda Lambert. She was also admired for her honesty and courage in facing her personal challenges and health issues.

Shepard once said: “I’ve always tried to be honest with my fans. I think they deserve that.” She also said: “I don’t want people feeling sorry for me because I have Parkinson’s disease. I’m not going to let it get me down.”

Beverly Willis, FAIA, an American architect renowned for her commitment to elevating female design professionals, has died at the age of 95 in Branford, Conn., following complications from Parkinson’s disease. Throughout a career spanning 65 years, Willis's achievements included several notable projects and leadership positions, but her labor went beyond shaping America's built environment. Disturbed by female invisibility in architectural history, Willis also helped mold professional architecture practice in the United States by highlighting accomplishments of, and advocating for, women in the building industry.

When asked why we should talk about the role of women in the architecture profession, Willis told ARCHITECT that "cutting-edge form and large projects have a place in architecture, but I believe most women are more concerned about society as a whole. Thousands of small interventions can make our cities a better place to live, while an occasional iconic, monumental structure does not. And then on the business level, there are more women executives today than ever before. These women are in the position to commission large projects, [and] I don't believe a single-sex team will make the grade."

Born on Feb. 17, 1928, in Tulsa, Okla., Willis was one of 200 women attending the University of Southern California in 1945. Shortly after, Willis studied aeronautical engineering at Oregon State University and, in 1955, she earned a B.A. in art from the University of Hawaii. After working as an independent artist for a decade, Willis founded her own San Francisco–based architectural firm in 1966 highlighting the potential of adaptive reuse throughout her practice and completing one of her best-known designs—the San Francisco Ballet Building—in 1983. In 1971, Willis also pioneered computer programming in firms with Computerized Approach to Residential Land Analysis, aka CARLA, a software developed in-house. Today, 13 of Willis's architectural designs are in the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C., and her full archive of drawings resides in the Virginia Tech libraries.

In 2002, after 36 years of leading her eponymous firm, Willis noticed that architectural historians and textbooks often overlooked trailblazing female practitioners. "I looked back and realized that the arbiters of architecture culture had systemically overlooked some of the great women architects of my mid–20th century era," Willis told ARCHITECT in 2007. Aiming to correct this glaring omission, Willis founded the Beverly Willis Architecture Foundation, initially a database aimed at honoring the contributions of female design professionals.

"Recovering the stories of women architects is a greater gift to future generations than the singular preservation of my own legacy," Willis explained to ARCHITECT. "It's a living legacy, if you will."

Willis hoped that the foundation would emphasize why the building industry needed a multitude of perspectives to build "a better environment for everyone," she said. "If we incorporate the ideas of the many over the visions of the few, we will create, in my opinion, a much more equitable and humanistic environment for everyone. And, really, shouldn't that be the profession's larger ethical goal?"

In the years since its founding, BWAF has expanded its reach, advocating for and fostering female contributions to the built environment.

Willis also advocated for the rights of women in the building industry, penning an opinion piece with Julia Donoho, AIA, for ARCHITECT in 2018 after multiple women accused the Pritzker Prize laureate Richard Meier, FAIA member emeritus, of sexual harassment.

"I became interested in the topic of sexual misconduct when I was trying to understand why many women were dropping out of the design field within their first 10 years of practice," Willis wrote with Donoho. "These were young and talented women who had excelled in architecture school. They were also vulnerable. Recent headlines have made it clear how prevalent sexual misconduct can be when powerful men hold the keys to a person’s career and advancement. There have been too few consequences and too much looking away."

In addition to many professional accolades—Willis was elected the first female president of the California Chapter of The American Institute of Architects in 1979 and received the chapter's Lifetime Achievement Award in 2017—Willis also co-founded the National Building Museum in Washington, D.C., in 1980.

Willis is survived by her spouse, Wanda Bubrisk. Willis's work is also highlighted in Emerging Ecologies: Architecture and the Rise of Environmentalism, an exhibition on view at the Museum of Modern Art in New York.

Yacov Sharir, who blazed trails for Austin modern dance and inspired University of Texas students for decades, died from complications related to Parkinson's disease. He was 83.

“Yacov Sharir has left an indelible mark on the cultural landscape of this country and certainly in Austin," Charles Santos, director of Dallas-based Titas/Dance Unbound, said. "He guided, trained, inspired more than one generation of movement artists studying at UT to go into the world and find their own creative paths.

"He was a mentor, a friend and a guidepost for me throughout my entire career," Santos continued. "His drive, his creativity and his humanity are permanent lessons I was lucky enough to glean from Yacov. He will be missed, but not forgotten.”

Sharir is credited with helping to put the UT dance program on the national map. In 1982, he founded a key Austin troupe in residence at UT, Sharir Dance Company. The troupe was rebranded in 1997 as Sharir + Bustamante Danceworks, when Sharir shared artistic leadership with fellow dancer and dance-maker José Bustamante.

Together, they brought some of the biggest names in modern dance — Bill T. Jones, Arnie Zane, Trisha Brown, Margaret Jenkins, Bella Lewitzky, Rina Schenfeld — to the city to work with local artists before the company shut down in 2007.

Born August 22, 1940, in Casablanca, Morocco, Sharir moved to Israel in 1948 at the nation's birth. He studied sculpture and ceramics at the Bezalel Academy of Arts and Design. Sharir danced with the Batsheva Dance Company School, Stuttgart Ballet and the Ballet Theatre Contemporain in Paris. As a performer, he worked under dance legends such as Martha Graham, Jerome Robbins and José Limón.

Early on, Sharir was asked to lead classes for the Batsheva troupe.

“I don’t know why they turned to me because there were other company members who had teaching experience," Sharir later said. "I started teaching that class and have never stopped.”

Fluent in French, Hebrew and English, Sharir became a dual citizen of Israel and the United States. In 1978, he arrived in Austin to create the American Deaf Dance Company.

One day after he arrived, Sharir was invited to teach at UT. "There is a fortune in being a teacher in terms of what you give and what you get," Sharir once said. "To see the transformation in students’ lives is unbelievable. You’re not only teaching dance. You’re teaching your life experience and you’re sharing with them very precious moments. That’s a treasure.”

"Yacov changed my life," said Andrea Beckham, one of the city's leading dance-makers and teachers. "First as a student — I was a sociology major, pre-law, taking his modern dance class — then as a longtime company member of Sharir Dance Company, and later as a colleague in the department of theater and dance for almost 30 years. He mentored me and informed me of my way to move through the world of dance, of choreography, of academia and of life, as a citizen of the world."

In 1989, Sharir secured backing for a 10-year project shared with the legendary Merce Cunningham Dance Company. UT's College of Fine Arts provided the space for Cunningham’s rehearsals and, in exchange, students worked alongside artists of the first rank. This project led to three world premieres.

"Yacov Sharir was a true dance visionary," said Carol Adams, former executive director of Sharir Dance Company. "He collaborated with composers, musicians and visual artists to develop new work. This unique approach to producing and presenting dance afforded Austin audiences ongoing opportunities to see a wide variety of cutting-edge dance and performance. As a colleague, he was inspirational and nurturing, always striving for excellence on and off the stage. As a friend, he was always there for me, and I will treasure our decades of experiences and friendship."

Late in his career as a dance-maker, Sharir pioneered virtual reality, intelligent fabrics and interactive systems in performance. These experiments earned him fellowships from the Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity and the National Endowment for the Arts.

"Yacov Sharir was one of the most extraordinary faculty members I knew in my four decades at UT," said Charles Roeckle, retired deputy to the university's president. "His acclaimed accomplishments for the art of dance in the classroom, in performance and in research are a testament to his unparalleled knowledge and vision, as well as his indefatigable hard work and dedication.  But beyond what he accomplished were the personal qualities that made Yacov so special — his boundless enthusiasm and his buoyant optimism."

Sharir's wife, Pat Clubb, who retired as UT's vice president of operations in 2016, said plans for a memorial on campus are underway.

"He was very much a fighter," Clubb said. "He never gave up. He just did it. He had an enormous amount of energy. It was hard to keep up with him. In public, he was charismatic but reserved. Very genuine, gracious, very stubborn. He was determined to do the right thing."

Sharir leaves behind a daughter as well as Clubb's two sons. "We have six grandsons between us," Clubb said.

"He had a pair of phrases that came to shape my life," Beckham said, "and the lives of our shared students: 'This too shall pass,' and if that wasn’t happening, 'You will prevail.'" 

Dr. Ross Sugar, a loving husband, dedicated father, fantastic friend and accomplished physician, passed away in Baltimore on September 18, 2023, at home, surrounded by his family. He leaves behind a legacy of love, laughter, and a life enthusiastically lived.

Born on February 8, 1960, at Sinai Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland, Ross was the beloved son of Jack and Judy Sugar. He grew up in Garrett Park, Maryland, surrounded by sisters who adored him and a broader family who cherished him dearly. During his youth, he displayed a natural aptitude for math and science, and a love for athletics, excelling in tennis, golf, and running.

Ross had a lifelong bond with tight-knit groups of friends from high school and college. His friends appreciated his humor, kindness, sense of adventure, and enthusiasm for life. He was there to support and help any friend, anytime, anywhere, for whatever they needed. His friendships endured throughout the years, until the very end.

Ross attended Charles W. Woodward High School in Rockville and Duke University, where he earned a degree in mathematics. His passion for learning led him to a career in programming, where he met his future wife, Julie, who worked on his software development team. Their love story began at JPL (Jet Propulsion Laboratory) in California, where they shared a passion for travel, humor, and calculus, and embarked on a journey that would define their lives.

They married in 1990 in Baltimore, surrounded by family and friends. Throughout their marriage, Ross and Julie supported each other professionally, challenged each other intellectually, and never stopped making each other laugh. They enjoyed traveling the world together and shared a passion for restoring old houses, renovating 8 of the 9 homes they owned together. Julie’s pragmatic nature complemented Ross’s visionary outlook, and she excelled at turning Ross’s ideas into reality. Everyone who knew them was aware of their deep respect, reverence, and love for each other.

During his first career, Ross had the privilege of working on many exciting projects, including some at NASA, where he contributed to cutting-edge scientific endeavors. However, he felt a calling for a new adventure and craved to follow closer in his physicist father's footsteps. At the age of 34, he embarked on a second career by enrolling in medical school.

His dedication and brilliance were evident as he achieved the highest grade in the country on his subspecialty boards, winning him the Elkin’s award. As a pain management doctor and exceptional diagnostician, Ross was known for his analytical mind. His scientific approach to medicine enabled him to unravel complex medical mysteries. In his residency, after lamenting the lack of quick-reference books for PM&R (Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation) residents, he co-authored one using his own personal notes and drawings. Called the “PM&R Pocketpedia,” it is used by medical residents across the country.

His patients admired and adored him, recognizing his caring and compassionate nature. He had a “no shortcuts” approach to patient care and pain management that resulted in him being voted Baltimore’s Top Doctor many times. His professional journey took him all over the country, including to Los Angeles, Atlanta, Richmond, and Baltimore.

Ross first became a father while in medical school, and was incredibly proud of his children, Kirsten and Nevin, whom he cherished above all else. Parenthood was a central part of his life and he believed it was the most important thing he would do. He coached his son’s sports teams and participated in his daughter’s nightly piano practices, never missing a night. He was their emotional mentor, confidante, and biggest supporter, never missing a single game, show, or event and always answering every phone call.

Dr. Ross Sugar had a lifelong thirst for mastery and knowledge. He played the guitar and violin, enjoyed golfing, tennis, running, skiing, and hiking, and had a diverse set of ever rotating hobbies and pursuits. His retirement allowed him to explore these interests fully and start up new ones. He took up drumming, drawing, and songwriting. He and his sister Erica took boxing lessons together. He edited scientific papers and even wrote a horror screenplay in his later years.

Even after his Parkinson’s diagnosis at 54, he was obsessed with pushing his body and his endurance to their limits. He cycled (he preferred the hills), continued to ski (the steepest black diamonds), climbed mountains (at the age of 53, he and three friends climbed part of Mt. Ranier), and undertook long distance hiking (he walked 500 miles on foot from New York City to Toronto over the course of months in early retirement to raise money for Parkinson’s research). He was fascinated with achieving peak physical fitness and was constantly reading books and researching in pursuit of this goal.

Music was an equally integral part of his life. He was a true aficionado of classic rock and classical music. His ability to identify songs and artists was unmatched and he wasn’t afraid to shed a tear over a powerful chord or a moving lyric.

He had a satirical, self-deprecating sense of humor, and a glimmer in his eye that always made you feel in on the joke (he was a master joke teller, often in character). He had a talent for giving moving toasts and telling engaging stories.

Ross was a dreamer, always brimming with new ideas that he eagerly shared with those around him. He also had a knack for explaining complex things in understandable terms. He was a charming and gentle soul, who had a talent for making others feel like they were the most interesting person in the room. He was open-minded and had an insatiable curiosity, always eager to learn new things.

Dr. Ross Sugar's legacy will live on in the hearts of his family, friends, and the countless lives he touched through his medical practice. His unconditional love, boundless humor, and infectious excitement for life will be remembered with reverence and gratitude.

He leaves behind his wife Julie, his children Kirsten and Nevin (and wife Hilal), his sisters Eve Clancy (and husband Tom) and Erica Sugar (and husband Bobby), his nephew Sam, his uncle Don Blumberg, his aunt Judy Brodsky, his cousins Karen Sledge and Rich Belzer, his sisters-in-law Georgia VanBeck, Linda Kacur (and husband John), and brother-in-law Bob Rappold (and wife Barbara). Ross is also survived by many loving nieces and nephews and countless dear friends.