The Memorial Wall

Don Dietrich, a former Brandon Wheat Kings defenceman and longtime supporter of the game in his hometown of Deloraine, has died.

He was 59.

Dietrich, who played 28 games in the National Hockey League, battled Parkinson’s disease and cancer.

On his Facebook tribute page, which was active in the weeks before his death, his son Tristan posted the news on Tuesday morning.

"We are sad to announce that Don, Dad, Dins, Beaker passed away this morning peacefully," Tristan wrote. "He fought hard till the end. The ‘I can’ in him stayed true right till the end."

Don’s immediate family also includes his wife Nadine and sons Jacob and Nick.

Dietrich, who was profiled in the Brandon Sun’s Wheat Kings alumni series in 2016, said at the time that hockey played an instrumental role in his ability to fight the health issues that plagued him in his later years.

"The game is the main reason I’m here today for sure," Dietrich said. "If I could give back a tenth of what the game’s given me … I don’t think I’ve done that. There’s a saying that you’re only as good as your last shift and a lot of those things I take with me in life. And a lot of them I learned right here in Brandon."

He skated with the Wheat Kings for three seasons from 1978 to 1981 before embarking on a 10-year pro career that included stints with the Chicago Black Hawks and New Jersey Devils.

He retired after the 1990-91 season, and the family moved back to Deloraine in 1994. He was diagnosed with Parkinson’s a year later.

His health took another turn for the worse in 1999 when doctors found an aggressive type of cancer called leiomyosarcoma. He was given six months to live, but took an experimental drug for six months and then returned to work with Canada Customs.

Two years later the cancer was back, this time in his liver, but again an experimental treatment worked.

Despite his health issues, he never stopped giving back to the game of hockey.

He worked with the Deloraine Royals senior team and the Southwest Midget AAA Cougars. And as a member of Canada’s national coach mentorship program, he developed a breakfast club that allowed young players to come out twice a week to work on skill development.

He was elected to the Manitoba Hockey Hall of Fame with the 1978-79 Wheat Kings in 2007, and Dietrich was inducted in the builders’ category in 2011.

His story was told in a 2007 book called No Guarantees, a collection of Dietrich’s memories assembled by Nadine and freelance writer Brad Bird.

Dietrich said he made $365,000 in 10 pro seasons, but the experiences his time in the game provided are priceless.

"I made a living at it, I didn’t make a fortune," Dietrich said. "But I wouldn’t change that for anything. That’s part of looking at that man in the mirror. Are you satisfied with him? Can you honestly look at him and say you did your best?

"I’d say I did."

Donald Arthur Brown, known by all as Don, died following a long battle with Parkinson's Disease on December 13, 2023.

The youngest of three, Mr. Brown's father Samuel was one of the ten 'California Brothers' who were renowned for their exploits in the booming herring trade and for taking part in the Dunkirk evacuation.

After finishing school, Mr. Brown briefly followed his father by spending time at sea.

As a teenager, Mr. Brown was taught the skill of butchery at Hunns in Caister. After carrying out National Service, Mr. Brown returned to butchery, working for David Greggs and eventually becoming a manager at a shop on Bells Road, Gorleston.

While he was in his 40s, Mr. Brown became his own boss, establishing Don's Family Butchers on Church Lane, Gorleston, which he ran until his retirement.

A Norwich City Football Club season ticket holder, Mr. Brown loved the beautiful game.

Closer to home, he was known as a great supporter of Gorleston Football Club, sponsoring the team during the 1980s and providing players with a free pound of sausages and a steak for every goal they scored and making it on the pitch.

Mr. Brown also loved the great outdoors and was a keen gardener, with his sizeable rose collection being among his greatest prized possessions.

He served in most officer positions, including chairman for many years, and assisted the annual November poppy collection in Caister, often seen rattling a collection box in local supermarkets, and helped raise thousands of pounds for the charity.

Mr. Brown was also the legion standard bearer, attending the funerals of many ex-servicemen in the area, and flying the standard on behalf of the legion at many grand occasions.

He also took the Caister standard to Ypres and participated in a remembrance service at the Menin gate.

His final deed for the legion, before he could no longer actively participate, was closing the local branch and working with the parish council to return the standard from the legion and rest in its rightful place in Caister church.

Mr. Brown's first love was his wife of 67 years, Iris, whom he met when aged 17 at a dance held at the Britannia Pier. Mr and Mrs Brown had two boys, Michael and Ian, four grandsons and four great-grandchildren.

Mr. Brown is remembered as a true gentleman and a well-loved member of the local community, whose motto was “It is easier to please than to tease”.

James A. Wilding, an airport executive who helped push for the transfer of Washington’s two major airports from federal control to an independent authority in the 1980s and was instrumental in their expansion to meet increased passenger demand as leader of that new body, died Feb. 24 at a rehabilitation center in Cary, N.C. He was 85.

The cause was complications from Parkinson’s disease and hip surgery, said his daughter Patricia Wilding.

Trained in college as a civil engineer, Mr. Wilding was hired by the Federal Aviation Administration in 1959 and participated in the planning and development of Washington Dulles International Airport. He later became chief of the engineering staff at Dulles and National (later Reagan National) airports.

In 1979, he was named director of the FAA-owned and -operated authority overseeing Dulles and National, which were the only commercial airports in the country then owned and operated by the federal government. That meant the airports were susceptible to the cutback whims of legislators overseeing the federal budget, and investment in the two airports was much smaller than most others of comparable size.

Even the simplest of requests required going hat in hand to Capitol Hill. “Take something as simple as buying a new truck,” Mr. Wilding told The Washington Post at the time. “If the fire station at National needs a truck, we have to go to Congress to get the money.”

In 1984, with strong backing by Transportation Secretary Elizabeth Dole, a federal advisory commission she had appointed recommended the government renounce ownership and control of the two airports and hand it over to an independent public authority. According to the commission, the changeover would allow the airports, estimated to need nearly $200 million to finance new terminal and runway construction, to issue revenue bonds to fund improvements.

Some members of Congress reportedly were loath to give up control for fear of losing privileged access to National Airport, where they were guaranteed a parking spot after making the 15-minute drive from Capitol Hill.

Many airline industry officials marveled at Mr. Wilding’s self-effacing and even-temper in the most difficult of circumstances. The Post once called him a “quiet manager, a detail man who some employees say appears to feel more comfortable with computer printouts than with his colleagues.”

After the new Washington Metropolitan Airports Authority was formed in 1987, Mr. Wilding guided the organization through a multibillion-dollar capital development program that helped modernize the two airports, including a new terminal and an expanded runway at Reagan.

At Dulles, he led terminal and concourse expansions — helping, he said, transform the airport from “just a handful of overseas flights to London and Paris and little else to rank as a major gateway.” (The international arrivals hall, completed in 2011, was named in his honor.)

By the time he retired in 2003 as president and chief executive of the Washington Metropolitan Airports Authority, he had led the two airports through the implementation of post-Sept. 11, 2001, security measures as well as bankruptcy filings by major carriers, an economic disruption that can have an impact on vital fees to the airports.

“Jim was savvy,” Edward Faggen, the airports authority’s former general counsel, wrote in an email. “Parking for members of Congress was preserved. Congressional skepticism stemmed as much from fear of local control, people who wanted to limit or close National Airport due to noise complaints. Congress needed much assurance to make sure that would not happen.

“Jim was instrumental in reaching compromises with the Congress and the community," Faggen added.

James Anthony Wilding was born in Washington on Dec. 22, 1937 . His father was chief of the supply division at the Smithsonian Institution, and his mother was a homemaker. He graduated in 1955 from the Priory School (now St. Anselm’s Abbey School) in the District and in 1959 from Catholic University.

He was a member of the federal Senior Executive Service and was an officer in professional and regional development groups. A longtime resident of Silver Spring, Md., where he was a member of St. Andrew the Apostle Catholic Church, he relocated to Cary eight years ago.

In 1961, he married Marcella Gibbons. In addition to his wife, of Cary, N.C., and daughter, of Greensboro, N.C., survivors include three other children, Matthew Wilding of Arlington, Va., William Wilding of Evansville, Ind., and Marci Wilding of Cary; a brother; eight grandchildren; and a great-grandson.

In interviews, Mr. Wilding recounted the most dramatic moments of his career.

The worst day, he said, was the January 1982 Air Florida crash, which occurred moments after takeoff at National, when the plane — because of improper de-icing and other problems — could not gain enough height, clipped cars after it hit the 14th Street Bridge, and plunged into the Potomac River. Seventy-eight people died, including four motorists.

In large part motivated by that disaster, Mr. Wilding said, he successfully pushed to lengthen the overrun, an extension of the runway used to provide a safety margin in case an aircraft has to abort take off and needs more distance to stop.

Three years after the Air Florida disaster, an Eastern Shuttle jet ferrying 177 people rejected takeoff at National and came to rest, Mr. Wilding said, “at the very end of the extra 750 feet.”

As he recalled to The Post, he and one of the staff engineers, Frank Conlon, “just stood there looking at the plane, and I said, ‘Frank, I don’t know what would have happened to those people if the overrun hadn’t been there, but it wouldn’t have been good.’ That’s probably the most satisfied I’ve ever felt.”

Terrence B. “Terry” Byrne, 79, passed away on July 13, 2023; beloved husband for 48 years to Kathy Byrne (nee Perret); loving father of Jennifer Byrne Zaher, Michael Patrick Byrne and his wife Laura; dear brother of Dennis B. Byrne, Virginia “Gin” Hines and the late Michael B. and Kevin K. Byrne; adoring grandfather of Laila Zaher, Corbin, Nolan and Cooper Byrne.

Born in Scottdale, Pennsylvania, he was the son of Frank Byrne, an industrialist, and Helen Brennen, a homemaker.

He was a 1962 graduate of the old Immaculate Conception High School in Connellsville, Pennsylvania. He earned a degree at West Virginia University and, after moving to Baltimore, was a graduate of the University of Baltimore School of Law.

He joined the Liberty Mutual Insurance Co. as an insurance adjuster and later became a loan officer at the old Commercial Credit Corp.

He met his future wife, Kathlyne “Kathy” Perret, while she was working at Commercial Credit as a summer replacement secretary. Their first date was to the Wishing Well Lounge in Parkville and later they went to a steak and egg restaurant.

“We talked until four in the morning,” his wife said. “He was bright and kind and most known for his sense of humor.”

They married on August 11, 1974 at her home parish, the Church of the Nativity in Timonium. They settled in Rodgers Forge.

Mr. Byrne started his law career with attorney Ron Levasseur in Towson. He then joined John Dilli and Seymour R. Goldstein’s firm in Mount Vernon, which became Goldstein and Byrne.

In 2001, he established the law office of Terrence B. Byrne on Chesapeake Avenue in Towson, specializing in workers’ compensation and personal injury. In 2019 he became of counsel to the law offices of William O’Brien Finch Jr.

“He was a dedicated and zealous advocate for his clients and had an unmatched work ethic,” said his son, Michael Bryne. “I don’t know where he got the energy.”

As a child he spent summers at Chautauqua Institution, a resort in New York, and sailed on his father’s classic Chris-Craft, the Tingy Pete on Chautauqua Lake.

“His childhood years created an impression on him and he loved being on a boat,” said his wife.

In 1997 he bought a home at Sherwood Forest Club on the Severn River.

“He loved operating a ski boat, the Irish Wake,” said his wife. “Then came Hurricane Isabel [in 2003]. He had pulled the boat out of the water and put it on land only to have a tree fall on it. He was devastated.”

He later bought a Cobalt boat for trips in the Severn River, but never named it.

He and his family traveled to Arizona, New Mexico and later expanded their destinations to Europe, Argentina and Uruguay.

Mr. Byrne cultivated a wide social circle in and around Towson. He and his friends gathered for dinners and planned trips together. They began with cruises and created their own excursions to China, Scandinavia and along the Rhine River.

Mr. Byrne owned a series of classic cars: a Mustang, Jaguar XKE, Austin Healy and a Crossfire.

His Austin Healy became his personal restoration project.

“He had the energy to work on it — he took it apart and put it back together. And after all that labor, he did not drive it much,” said his son, Michael. “He also decided to put central air conditioning in the house. He went to the supply house and loaded a station wagon with ductwork. His system worked and took a few months to install.

“A legal client helped him with that job. Terry developed strong friends among his clients,” said his son.

When he lived in Rodgers Forge before moving to Stoneleigh, he built bookcases, a sectional sofa, fences and decks. They later settled in Stevenson Mews.

“We learned together, building things,” said his wife.

Mr. Byrne also enjoyed reading works of history, newspapers and following world issues.

A celebration of life will be held at 11 a.m. on Friday at the Lemmon Funeral Home of Dulaney Valley, 10 West Padonia Road.

Survivors include his wife of nearly 49 years, Kathlyne “Kathy” Perret Byrne, a Good Shepherd School preschool teacher and Annie E. Casey Foundation library consultant; a son, Michael P. Byrne of Chagrin Falls, Ohio; a daughter, Jennifer Byrne Zaher of Loch Raven Village; a sister, Virginia “Gin” Hines of Dumfries, Virginia; a brother, Dennis B. Byrne of Camp Hill, Pennsylvania; and four grandchildren.

David Richards, a theater critic whose lively and accessible prose style made him a Pulitzer Prize finalist at The Washington Post and who had a brief stint as the New York Times’s chief drama critic, died June 24 at a hospital in Warrenton, Va. He was 82.

The cause was complications from Parkinson’s disease, said his husband, theater director Leonard Foglia.

As a child growing up in a stoic New England family in the postwar years, Mr. Richards often said the rule at home was to cloak all emotion and “never make a scene.” His eventual introduction to community theater in his teens was a revelation — people making scenes for a living, eight times a week. “I was hooked,” he liked to say. “I learned about life from the theater.”

After a varied early career, including a stint as a Peace Corps volunteer in Africa, as a French instructor at Howard University and as a writer for the Voice of America, Mr. Richards worked as drama critic at the Washington Star for a decade until the newspaper folded in 1981.

Mr. Richards spent the next nine years at The Post and was disinclined to stay within strict boundaries as a theater critic. He covered cultural news stories and profiled stage luminaries such as director Jose Quintero, playwright Edward Albee and actors Julie Harris and Carol Channing. Some of them may not have relished his revealing dive into their off-the-clock personalities.

“Channing does not indulge in introspection eagerly,” he observed in a 1984 article. “She would clearly prefer to dwell in the shallows of her show business anecdotes. … If you try to get behind them, you encounter stiff resistance. She has always given every bit of herself on a stage, and any implication that there is, perhaps, another Channing, a private Channing, under the feathery eyelashes and extravagant wigs and generous dollops of rouge, makes her profoundly uneasy.”

With some “raw-nerve” touched by his line of questions, Mr. Richards reported, Channing began a sour but telling soliloquy: “Nobody likes to take himself dead-on seriously, like we’re doing now, laboring over my innermost thoughts. I can be as funny as a crutch, and we could laugh and have a good time. But if you don’t want me to be lighthearted and amusing, fine!”

Mr. Richards was a Pulitzer finalist in 1989 and was lured the next year to the Times as Sunday drama critic. He relished the position, which allowed him the freedom to write at length about whatever play appealed to him. The Sunday job was also considered a rejoinder at times to views expressed by the show-making/show-breaking chief theater critic Frank Rich, especially when the latter was displeased with a production.

Where Rich torpedoed “The Will Rogers Follies” in 1991 as “the most disjointed musical of this or any other season,” Mr. Richards praised the “sumptuous production numbers, exquisite chorus girls, phosphorescent rope tricks in black light, a dog act, songs you actually want to hum, a stairway to paradise (or somewhere thereabouts), close harmony, shapely legs in kaleidoscopic patterns, and a thoroughly engaging star performance by Keith Carradine, as the laconic cowboy-philosopher from Oklahoma.”

“The Will Rogers Follies,” an audience hit, ran for two years. In 1993, Mr. Richards replaced Rich, who left his longtime perch covering theater to become an op-ed columnist at the Times. Foglia said his husband felt he could not refuse the offer to take over the main position, but it was an ill-suited fit almost from the start.

Mr. Richards quit after a year. There were varying reports about the circumstances of his leaving, all of which amounted to his general unhappiness in the job in which he suddenly was the most influential theater critic in the country and had significantly less autonomy in the shows he could choose to spotlight.

“It struck me as a very isolating job,” he told The Post at the time. “It’s one of those jobs that look enviable from the outside, less enviable from the inside. People resent the Times’ theatrical power and therefore resent the person who wields it.”

He noted that he had seen 5,000 plays during his career and was tired of the overwhelming amount of mediocrity. “You end up having to write about nebulous, gray, shapeless, formless plays,” he said, “and it’s a hard thing to do and be interesting about it.”

Of solitary disposition to start with, he found himself increasingly wary of invitations from boldfaced figures in New York journalism and society. As Foglia recalled, “He used to say, ‘They don't want me. They want the critic of the New York Times to fill up the spot on the table.’”

Friends in Washington encouraged him to return to The Post, which he did for two years as a national cultural affairs writer before leaving journalism.

David Bryant Richards was born in Concord, Mass., on Oct. 1, 1940, and spent his early years in Lexington, Mass. He was 9 years old when his father, a home builder, died. His mother, an interior decorator and real estate agent, remarried and settled with David and his younger brother in Scottsdale, Ariz.

In Arizona, his mother took him every week to the local playhouse, and Mr. Richards soon found himself entranced. “Good theater stretches our notions of people and events,” he once observed. “And a stretched mind never returns exactly to its original shape.”

He graduated in 1962 from Occidental College in Los Angeles with a bachelor’s degree in French, followed by a master’s degree in French from Middlebury College in Vermont in 1963.

In addition to study at the Sorbonne in Paris, he spent two years in the Ivory Coast with the Peace Corps, where he taught French. He completed a master’s degree in speech and drama from Catholic University in 1969 and acted with the university’s touring theater group.

Mr. Richards had published articles in Arizona newspapers starting at 17 and had long considered a career in journalism before his interest in drama led him to the critic’s seat at the Star.

In 1981, he published “Played Out,” a biography about the troubled movie star Jean Seberg, who had been targeted by the FBI for her support of the Black Panther Party and died by suicide two years earlier.

Mr. Richards and Foglia became a couple soon after meeting in 1993. They married in 2014, when same-sex marriage became legal in Virginia. They co-wrote suspense novels and lived many years in Mexico, where Mr. Richards received a master’s degree in art history from the Universidad Autónoma de Queretaro.

In addition to his husband, survivors include a brother. In 2010, Mr. Richards and Foglia settled on a 21-acre property in rural Washington, Va., near Shenandoah National Park, and he grew tomatoes. His visits to the theater became infrequent as his physical condition worsened.

“The theater allows us to encounter a far greater tangle of human behavior than we ever do in the course of daily living,” he once wrote of his driving motivation as a critic. “It is a celebration of our multiple possibilities as human beings. At its best, theater leaves us with one sure thought: There but for the whimsies of fate, go I.”

By Adam Bernstein