The Memorial Wall

David P. Shannon, whose life was defined by four careers as a Calvert Hall College High School educator, football coach, actor and antiques dealer, died Monday, August 29, 2022, from complications of Parkinson’s disease at Gilchrist Center in Towson. The Parkville resident was 87.

Dave was born in Washington, D.C. to the late John R. Shannon and Marguerite Cahill Shannon. He was a devoted husband of 62 years to his wife Judith Marie Shannon (nee Van Fossen); loving father to his daughters, Donna Shannon Kable and her husband Greg, Marguerite Willbanks and her husband Jeff, and Mary Beth Stapleton and her husband Gary, Sr.; doting grandfather of Gary Stapleton, Jr and his wife Erin, David Stapleton and his wife Gen, Daniel Stapleton, and Shannon Stapleton; and adoring great-grandfather to Marcus and Anna Stapleton. Dave was also a loving brother to Jack Shannon and his wife Ruth Ann, and beloved uncle of David, Christie, and Katie; and dearly loved brother-in-law of Mary Ann Van Fossen, and her wife Sheila.

Dave was a fixture at Calvert Hall College High School from 1966-2003. A true Renaissance man, Dave taught Social Studies and served as Defensive Coordinator for the Varsity Football team for 17 years. For many years, he served as the school’s graduation cantor at the Cathedral of Mary Our Queen.

He was widely known for his beautiful Baritone singing voice, gracing stages all over the Baltimore area for decades in a wide variety of roles and productions. Dave loved traveling with his wife Judith, never driving past an historical marker without stopping to learn more and enjoyed classical music. His wonderful sense of humor brought immense joy to all who knew him.

Michael E. Hickey of Columbia, Maryland, died on August 28, 2022, at age 84.  Born 1938 in Iron Mountain, Michigan, his family moved to Walla Walla, Washington, in 1942 where he grew up.  He was an Eagle Scout who joined the Marines following high school graduation. Following his honorable discharge from the Corps he completed his undergraduate degree at the University of Washington, taught high school English for two years and then returned to the U of W, completing his master’s and then Ph.D. with highest honors in 1969. He was then recruited to work as the Special Assistant to the Superintendent of Seattle Public Schools where he led the team that successfully desegregated the schools voluntarily and, at the age of 34, he was named the system’s Deputy Superintendent.

He served as Superintendent of St. Louis Park Schools in Minnesota from 1976 to 1984, leaving that position to become Superintendent of the Howard County Public School System in Maryland where he served for 16 years until June 30, 2000.  His career in education took a new course when he retired from the county position and joined the faculty of Towson University the very next day as a Professor and Director of the Center for Leadership in Education until his retirement in 2018.  He was considered one of the foremost national authorities in public education leadership, and he devoted many years to helping to improve underserved populations and inner-city school systems.

Michael was an avid bicyclist, who enjoyed traveling with his beloved wife of 38 years, Nichole Hickey.  For many years he volunteered at the Columbia Festival of the Arts, where Nichole was the Executive Director.  He also loved Washington Husky football, Walla Walla wines, spending time with his grandsons, and outdoor grilling on the weekends with Nichole on their deck overlooking the pond in their backyard.

He is survived by Nichole, his three children Michael E. Hickey Jr. (Denney), Kevin P. Hickey (Jodi), and Sean T. Hickey, and three grandsons, Kellen R. Hickey (Lindsay), Jack P. Hickey and Luke J. Hickey.  He is also survived by his brother Patrick Hickey (Francis) and sister Mary Hunt.  Predeceased in death by his son, Timothy F. Hickey and sister, Kathleen Hickey.

“You Gotta Stay Tough in this Business”

A Eulogy for Frank “Bud” Rogers

May 14, 1937 – August 26, 2022

(As shared at his memorial service by his son, Frank Jr.)

I knew early on that I would be asked to sum up what our dad meant to us in the immediate family and to distill the legacy that he left with each one of us. So I began asking each person what memories they most cherished, what stories they would most remember that captures who he was to us. And in nearly every conversation, one story would rise to the surface that was so quintessentially Dad. 

As he told it to us, it happened on his first date with the woman that he was courting to become his life-long partner—or at least the first time that he picked her up from her work for them to go out together. He was coming home from work himself—some construction job—when he drops by the hospital where Dona was working. He walks her to his car with great charm and chivalry, and holds and closes the door as she settles in. He saunters around to the driver’s side and gets in himself, the car door window rolled down so he can lay his arm on it and drive one-handed. With vintage Paul Newman cool, he places his hand on top of the door jamb and pulls his door closed—slamming the door right onto his thumb. His thumb is stuck so bad, he can’t pull it out. But he keeps his Cool Hand Luke composure and, with his grin still in place, he casually reaches across with his other hand, opens the door, frees his thumb, closes the door, and calmly drives the few blocks to his mom’s house where he was living at the time. He leaves Dona to visit with Grandma while he goes to clean up from work. He retreats to the back of the house, closes every door, turns the radio on as loud as he can without being conspicuous, turns on all the faucets, climbs into the shower, hides himself in the waterflow, then lets out a scream, “Oh my God!!! It hurts so bad!”

And we would exclaim, “Dad. Didn’t it hurt the whole way home?”

“Of course,” he would say. “I slammed a car door on my thumb.” And then he would add, banging his fist on the table with a sly smile, “But you know what. You gotta be tough in this business.”

To us who knew him well, this was Dad’s signature saying. In fact, it’s become something of the Rogers Family motto. If you hammer your thumb while nailing some joists, or you need to pour concrete all night before the school opens in the morning, or you have to ride four hours to the annual family reunion—ten of you in a beat-up laundry truck with neither windows nor air conditioning—the refrain would echo, “Well, you gotta be tough in this business.”

So I have been pondering: what is it about this family motto that so captures Dad’s impact on us and encapsulates the legacy that each of us will hold onto from him?

At first glance, the saying seems off the mark—a bit out of character for the man that we knew. I mean, it’s not that he wasn’t tough. He toiled long hours and in extreme conditions as a carpenter for over fifty years. He didn’t retire from that exhausting work until he was 73. And then he fought Parkinson’s Disease for eight years. When he was told that he couldn’t walk on his own anymore, he shuffled himself across the room anyway to eat a maple bar or a bowl of ice cream. When he was forced to use a walker, he scooted across the floor as fast as he could move it. When he couldn’t foot the hundred yards down the driveway to fetch the mail, he bought himself a mini-bike. 82 years old with Parkinson’s and he’s kickstarting a mini-bike and high-tailing it down the driveway. Of course, he couldn’t keep it balanced when turning it around and ended up with a couple of broken ribs, but there is no question about it—he was tough. 

And yet, Dad was hardly a stern, unfeeling man—so hard-edged that he was incapable of experiencing human emotion. Dad was light-hearted, and loved to hang out and have fun. 

Most of our fondest memories of him are the innumerable times he kicked back and played around. We all cherish the countless camping trips—to Memorial Park, Brannan Island, or Lake Lopez for the annual family reunion—and the fishing trips to the Sacramento River Delta or the lake at Rancho Seco. He entertained us with cannonballs off the side of the dock and playing keep away in the pond or a pool. He loved to show off waterskiing—slaloming on a single ski—then captaining the boat to let us take our turn. He loved to play pool and pull off his best impersonation of Fast Eddie Felson with a shot from behind the back—then nod at one of us to pick up the cue ball from up off the floor. He took the grandkids on go-cart rides, driving with no hands, or let us as kids sit in his lap as he drove so we could pretend to drive the car ourselves. 

When it was bedtime, he didn’t scold us to go down for the night—he gave us the choice: being slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, piggyback ride, or the wheelbarrow where he held our feet high while we wobbled down the hall on our hands. When my brother Jim and I were little, he would pull us out of bed to watch the Red Skelton Show with him—of course, he would have to hide us behind the couch so our mom didn’t catch us, but it was just too funny to watch alone. He loved to play cards, the family game Bull, and would dramatically reveal his hand to himself one card at a time as if he had just drawn the highest hand possible: 4 Aces and a King kicker. And then one time he did! “Four Aces and a King Kicker!” he would exclaim every time that we played from then on. “Remember the time I got 4 Aces and a King Kicker?” How could we forget? He hid the five cards in a box of See’s candy for us to discover when we opened the treat then pinned them to the wall beside the pool table. 

He could be downright silly at times. Any child under five saw him perform his magic trick of sliding his thumb across his hand or easing a pencil into one ear and pulling it out of the other. 

And he loved to tell the stories that amused him to no end. Like the time one of us was lost in the woods and calling out as a child. Dad yelled, “Where are you?” and the boy yelled back, “I’m by the tree.” Or the time another one of us called him for advice about why the clothes dryer wasn’t working. “Did you clean the lint tray recently?” he asked. “What lint tray?” was the answer. As it turned out, the one that was so packed with lint it could hardly be pried open. That son had a Ph.D.! 

Or just get him talking about the ill-fated fishing trip he took with Uncle Bob Cavalli and his brother Uncle Tom—one that started with them accidentally dropping the motor to the bottom of the lake and ending with a Good Samaritan giving then a tow and slicing his own rowboat clear in half “like a knife through warm butter.” Dad would laugh so hard he couldn’t get the story out, banging the table as he tried to catch his breath. 

Our dad loved to have a good time, to goof around, to play games, to tell silly jokes, and oh how he loved to laugh. He was Butch Cassidy not the Sundance Kid—always concealing a smirk that was eager to break out into a grin. 

So how is his legacy distilled into the Rogers Family mantra, “You gotta be tough in this business,” tough enough to shake off getting your thumb caught in a car door?

I think it becomes clear when we remember what business he was talking about. 

To be sure, Dad was a carpenter through and through—proud to build things with his own hands. And that is a business that one has to be tough in. He routinely regaled us with stories of almost falling asleep at the wheel driving home after a twelve-hour workday; or of nail-gunning his shoe to the floor; or drilling his hand to the top of a chimney; or dropping a ladder and being stuck on the roof of a two-story house for four hours; or the time he had a double-load of lumber on his truck racks and he had to slam on his brakes when a car pulled out in front him—lumber smashing through the windshield and wedging both doors of the truck cab closed. It was work filled with physical challenges—work that calloused your hands and blistered your feet. It was a profession that demanded toughness without a doubt and Dad gave himself to it with heroic resilience. 

But as true as that is, I don’t think that it gets to the heart of the matter. 

When Dad caught his thumb in the car door, the business that demanded his toughness was not carpentry; it was the business of courting his would-be wife and solidifying the foundations of his family. 

The business closest to Dad’s heart was not constructing houses; it was constructing a home—building a loving and stable marriage, providing for his family, and raising eight children to be people of strength and character. 

And Dad gave himself to that business with an undeterred determination. 

He worked long hours in extreme conditions to make sure that we had food on our table and clothes on our back—even building with his own hands the house that would become the family homestead for holidays and family meetings. He drove two hours one way, sometimes three, to get to where the work was when providing for us, and he always came home at night, refusing to stay in any company paid hotel so he could steal at least a few minutes with his wife and children. He insured that each one of us was schooled and trained in the professions that were right for us. He did not hesitate for a second to adopt our beloved Lori and was proud to call her his daughter. When Richard came running up the hill as kids, when Linda and Lori were drowning in the river, nothing could stop Dad from racing down, jumping in, clothes and all, and saving both of their lives. 

He taught us to stand strong in our convictions even when it is not popular, just as he stood rooted in his faith to the point of leaving his job and putting his pension at risk to build radio towers across the world for the gospel he believed in. “After all,” he would say, “It’s only money. You can’t take it with you. Easy come, easy go.”

And he taught us strength of character by modeling it every day. He taught us that our word is our bond, and he refused to lie even when it was uncomfortable. He taught us how to shake hands—with a firm grip and a look in the eye—because a strong character is neither weak nor evasive. He taught us that a job worth doing is a job worth doing right, even when nobody is watching. He taught us that if you get paid for eight hours, you work for eight hours—you don’t slack off or leave early even if you can get away with it. He taught us to finish the job that we give ourselves to—no matter how long it takes or how hard it gets. 

In the business of providing for a family, living with conviction, and instilling character, he was tough—he had a backbone of steel that absolutely walked his talk. 

But in the business of constructing a family, Dad was not only tough and undeterred; he was tender as well. His fierce dedication to caring for his family came from a heart that was soft and warm. Dad provided for us; he persevered for us; he prepared us for the world—because he loved us. 

One of the most tender gifts that Dad gave me was when I went away to college. Dad knew that I wanted to study theology and spirituality, and for him that meant studying the Bible. He gave me a Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance—a huge book that referenced all the verses for every single word in the Bible. The gift itself was meaningful, but its real impact was what he wrote inside the front cover. All it said was, 

“For Frank. Mark 1:11. Dad.” 

I found a Bible and looked up the scripture verse. It is a reference to when Jesus was baptized. When Jesus came up out of the waters, he heard a voice from the heavens, that of his divine father, the God that Jesus knew so intimately he called that God, Abba—which is to say Dad, or even Papa. That fatherly voice gazed upon Jesus and spoke the words in Mark 1:11: 

“You are my son. You are my beloved. And in you, I take great delight.”

Here’s the thing. He did not always express it verbally, but Dad etched those words into each and every one of our hearts. He beheld us; he saw us as beloved; and he delighted in us.

He communicated this to us in countless acts of tender care. He loved spending all day in the kitchen making pasties for us on our birthdays and holidays—making sure that we each had our own bottle of ketchup, Heinz 57. He got up before sunrise to make corn fritters for breakfast, and sent us home with leftovers. While we slept in at Lake Lopez, he had greased up the griddle and had hotcakes—all we can eat—already waiting for us. 

He was so proud that three of us followed in his footsteps and became carpenters—getting us into the union and hiring us for our first jobs. He taught Jimmy how to dirty up his tool bag so he wouldn’t show up the first day with brand new gear and never hear the end of it. And he was equally proud of those of us who followed other professions—speculating about real estate with us, celebrating our degrees, and reading our published work—knowing that he had launched us into the world in our own unique ways. 

He relished in our particular joys. He loved to read the Bible and pray each day with his beloved wife, Dona—the two of them so yoked they became one name: Budona. He beamed when he watched Richard sing at his high school graduation. He was the proud papa when he took Lori to buy her first high heels as she was growing up and becoming a woman. He was radiant in his brand new suit walking Linda down the aisle to marry Kyle. He savored every second of building his dream house with his three young apprentices—John, David and Daniel. 

And he embodied it in ways of which we might not be fully aware. 

If we were coming over to watch football, or to take in a Giants game, or simply to visit for a spell, he would get up hours before we came, get himself all ready, and sit in his chair counting the minutes he was so excited that we were coming to be with him. He saved every one of the birthday cards and letters that we gave to him through the years, collecting them in a box and rereading them for comfort. He had a folder for each one of us in his filing cabinet in which he saved mementos unique to each of us—pictures we had drawn in grade school, union cards, certificates we had earned, jokes we had sent him, in Lori’s file an “Application for Dating My Daughter”—a battery of tests and questions that a saint would not be able to pass. Every night before bed, he prayed for each of us by name, pausing to hold us in the loving delight of the Heavenly Father that he had come to know as his own. He donated his brain to Parkinson’s research, not to further science necessarily, but because he was worried about us, and he wanted to do everything that he could to keep his children and his grandchildren from suffering the disease that he suffered. 

He loved us—each one—with a tender heart. And his heart was so tender, he let in the pain.

He took the time to scream in the shower at how sometimes it can hurt so bad. 

When anyone in his family was suffering—he felt it. If we were ill and in the hospital; if we were flat on the floor with our back out and unable to get ourselves up; if we were stranded in a blizzard on the freeway through Mt. Shasta; if our marriage was coming apart and we found ourselves in court fighting to see our children; if a relative was dying and loved ones were grieving; if addictions were assailing us; if depression was crushing us; if our pain drove us to the edge of suicide; if our pain drove us to suicide—Dad was the first one to drop everything and, in as long as it took to pack what he needed, he was in the car driving to Eureka, to Claremont, to Antioch, to Vegas, to Oregon, to Lakewood, to Lincoln, to wherever his family was hurting. And he would sit with us with a tireless resilience and a love that would not stop for anything in this world. 

In the business of crafting a home for his family and doing all that he could to see that we thrived—Dad was as tough as it gets. 

But here’s the secret to his toughness. It was rooted in his tenderness. 

He gave himself tirelessly to caring for his loved ones because he beheld us with love. He took the time to gaze upon each one of us, and from the depths of his heart, say to us in turn, “You are my son; you are my daughter; you are my grandchild; my cousin; my aunt; my uncle; my niece; my nephew; my brother; you are my wife and my life-long partner. You are my beloved. And in you, I take great delight.”

With the tenderness that he gave to us each one, we can be tough through any business that occupies us. 

That is a legacy. That is a remembrance worth taking with us wherever we may go. 

For such a priceless gift, how can we ever express our thanks to you, Dad? 

Except to say this. 

“We love you too. You are our beloved. And in you, for all of time, we take great delight.” 

Obituary for Frank (Bud) Rogers

Frank “Bud” Rogers passed away on August 26, 2022. Bud was born in Santa Barbara, California on May 14, 1937. His mom, Angelina Cavalli, soon moved to San Francisco and married Thomas Rogers Jr. Bud followed when he was four and soon had a kid brother, Thomas Rogers III. The four of them lived in the Mission District of San Francisco where Bud graduated from Mission High School in 1954. He soon enlisted in the army and served two years in Korea rising to the rank of Sergeant. 

Bud cherished spending time with his beloved aunt and uncle, Marie and Clayton Horne. Clayton passed on a love for building things and, once out of the army, Bud started his life-long vocation as a carpenter. While staying with Marie and Clayton one holiday, his cousin Diane introduced Bud to her best friend, Barbara Winter. A year later, Bud and Barbara were married and proceeded to have four children together—Frank Jr., Jim, Rich, and Linda. 

Bud and Barbara split up in 1972. During those days of crisis, Bud had a conversion experience and became a Christian. He started attending Hillside Church of God where he was soon baptized. For the rest of Bud’s days, faith was at the center of every dimension of his life. Hillside Church offered Bud another life-long gift as well. A fellow parishioner introduced Bud to Dona Guidry. The same afternoon that Dona was baptized, Bud took her, and her daughter Lori, to the San Francisco Aquarium with Bud’s other children. Love took root and in October of 1973, Bud and Dona were married—a union that they would enjoy together for over 48 years. Lori was immediately adopted and she was cherished alongside the other children. Bud and Dona would then have three more children, John, David, and Daniel. Throughout the years, Bud was a steadfast provider and heroic father to all eight of his children. Each one of them was well-loved. 

Bud would go on to become a grandfather and a great-grandfather. Fifteen grandchildren—Justin, Michael, Sammy, Erika, Brittany, Kristina, Lauren, Matthew, Logan, K.J., Dona, D.J., Scarlett, Jolina, and Grace, along with six great-grandchildren—Kailey, Nathan, Brody, Tommy, Lucas, and Olivia—knew his love and will always carry memories of fishing with him, playing cards, and eating Grandpa’s famous pasties and corn fritters. 

In 1990, Bud and Dona bought a five-acre lot in Wilton, California, about twenty miles south of Sacramento. Through the following years, Bud realized one of his dreams—to design and construct his own house. Bud did it all. He drew up the blueprints, excavated the lot, laid the foundation, and built a 3500 square foot house from floor to ceiling. As he had dreamed, this house became the site of family gatherings for birthdays and holidays for years on end. Also as Bud would have it, he spent his last days there, dying peacefully in the comfort of the home he had built after an eight-year bout with Parkinson’s Disease. 

Bud lived an active and full life. He loved working on projects, camping at Memorial Park and Brannan Island, waterskiing in the Delta, sailing in the lagoons, flipping pancakes and playing horseshoes at the annual family reunion, faithfully watching 49ers football and Giants baseball, reading his Bible daily, listening to Family Radio, playing Bull, shooting pool and spending time with family. We are ever so grateful for the abundance of memories. And we will miss him and love him forever. 

Marlan was born on December 2, 1940 to Emil & Lillian (Ludvicek) Rohlena in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

In eighth grade, the one room schoolhouse he attended consolidated to a community school district. This is where he first met Barbara Koutny. They both graduated from Prairie High School in Cedar Rapids and the University of Iowa. He and Barb married in 1962 and embarked on a nearly 60 year life together.

In 1967, with his draft number about to be called, Marlan enlisted in the Air Force. After 2 years at McGuire AFB in New Jersey, he served in Vietnam at Cam Ranh Bay AB as an Air Transportation Supervisor. Following his service in Vietnam, he was stationed in Germany for several years. Marlan & Barb welcomed daughter Sarah in June 1971 in Wiesbaden, Germany. Rumor has always been she was born 9 months + 1 day after Marlan’s return from Vietnam.

After Marlan’s honorable discharge from the Air Force, a serviceman he’d met from Salem said they should consider moving to Oregon. Marlan headed west from Iowa in their VW Beetle looking for his post-service career and a new home for his family. He ended up in the Gresham, Oregon area and immediately loved the green trees, rivers, mountains, and milder climate. He had 2 interviews – Sporting Goods Manager at Kmart, and a position at School Bus Services, a school bus contractor. Luckily he accepted the latter offer and began his almost 50 years in the school bus business. After a few years in the contracting business, he took on the sales responsibility for Western Bus Sales, the Blue Bird school bus dealer in Oregon.

Daughter Mollie was born in February 1977, and not long after, they moved to a rural area east of Gresham, where they would live until 2012. The 3+ acre property offered him opportunities to destress, such as raising farm animals, mowing grass, and tinkering around in the barn that was likely not wired to updated electrical code.

In 1988, and with financial support from his dad Emil and her mom Lenora, Marlan & Barbara Rohlena purchased Western Bus Sales (WBS) and moved the company to Clackamas. At that time, there were just 3 employees. Through hard work, determination, mistakes, and sometimes pure luck, the company eventually outgrew that facility and moved to the current location in Boring, Oregon. Daughter Sarah got her Masters Degree in teaching, joined the company as a temp in 1995, and today is the Director of Sales. Daughter Mollie never wanted to work at WBS, but changed her mind in 1997 and after college joined the team; today she is the President. Son-in-law Colby started in the shop in 1995 which is when he met Mollie. Colby went on to work through the Service Department ranks with a passion to grow the operations side of the company. They’ve been married for 21 years and he is Director of Operations. It remains a true family owned and run business.

Marlan retired from WBS in 2008 but never lost the passion and interest in the customers and the school bus business. He gained many of his greatest friends and life experiences from his nearly 5 decades in the industry.

Marlan and Barb loved to travel, both as a couple and with family and friends. They were able to take some incredible trips to Italy, the Republic of Georgia (that’s a bus sales story for another day), Alaska, Spain, France, Germany, Austria, Hawaii, Mexico, Peru, and across the United States.

Marlan loved camping & fishing and he had a real passion for deep sea fishing in the Pacific Ocean. These were hobbies he shared with Sarah and her husband Chad, granddaughter Kaycee and grandson Caleb. They spent many memorable camping & fishing trips together.

More than 15 years ago, Marlan was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. He found great support in his community through Parkinson’s Resources of Oregon with their exercise classes, as well as caregiver support programs. More recently, he became very involved in fundraising for their annual Sole Support event. It certainly scratched the itch of his competitive nature for a cause close to his heart.

Marlan was exceptionally proud of and loved his children, their husbands, his three grandchildren, and most recently, his three great grandchildren. Before moving off their rural property, the grandkids got to ride and then learn to drive his John Deere tractor. He relished every opportunity to watch the grandkids play their sports, something he missed greatly when his mobility diminished due to Parkinson’s.

In 2021, Marlan & Barb moved to Assisted Living at Bonaventure of Gresham for additional care giving support. The last year at Bonaventure provided fun activities for Marlan such as playing pool, bingo, bus outings, card games, and most recently, competitive cornhole.

Marlan is survived by his wife of nearly 60 years and steadfast caregiver, Barbara; his daughter Sarah Jones (Chad) and granddaughter Kaycee Honey (Casey) and great grandchildren Tristan, Lyncoln and Collins, and grandson Caleb; his daughter Mollie Blagg (Colby) and granddaughter Norah; his brother Larry (Barb); his brother Ron (Robbie); and all his nieces, nephews, extended family, and friends from every walk of his life.

He is predeceased by his parents, Emil & Lillian Rohlena, and his sister Sandra.

Bryce Nelson, a former Los Angeles Times reporter and a longtime professor at USC’s journalism school, where he served as director in the 1980s, died Saturday of complications from Parkinson’s disease, his family said. He was 84.

After stints at the Washington Post, where he reported on Congress and foreign affairs, and Science magazine, Nelson joined the Los Angeles Times in 1969. Over the next 13 years, he served as a Washington correspondent and as Midwest bureau chief, covering the nuclear disaster at Three Mile Island, the Attica prison riot and the uprising at Wounded Knee, among other stories. He then joined the science staff of the New York Times, reporting on human behavior.

A long academic career followed. He was director of USC’s School of Journalism from 1984 to 1988, served as chair of the school’s graduate studies from 1993 to 1997 and remained a professor there until his retirement in 2014.

“Bryce had a very strong moral center,” said Joe Saltzman, a USC journalism professor and former colleague. “He wasn’t swayed by trends. He wasn’t swayed by what’s popular today.” He described Nelson as a champion of “old-fashioned values of accuracy, fairness and transparency.”

Nelson was known to students for giving generously of his time.

“You give me a list of professors who are fantastic with students, he’d be on that list,” Saltzman said. “He never said, ‘I’m busy.’ He said, ‘Come on in, let’s talk.’ He would spend literally hours with his students, where few of his colleagues would.”

Nelson was born Dec. 16, 1937, in Reno, Nev., to Herman and Jennie Nelson. He graduated from Harvard, where he was president of the student newspaper, the Harvard Crimson, and later earned a master of philosophy degree in politics from Oxford as a Rhodes scholar. For years, he encouraged USC students to apply to the scholarship program.

Nelson served as senior advisor for press information for the Christopher Commission, which investigated the Los Angeles Police Department after the beating of Rodney King.

When the commission issued its report in 1991, Nelson had copies distributed to journalists with the proviso that they wait two hours to share it with the public — a method known as an “embargo.”

“He trusted that everybody would abide by it, and we all did, except for one TV reporter,” said Judy Muller, a former ABC news correspondent and later one of Nelson’s colleagues at USC.

“I remember he was so appalled that somebody would do that after he’d worked so hard to get an agreement that was fair to everybody,” she said. “Bryce just looked crestfallen. It was the only time I’d ever seen him express anger about something.”

She said Nelson was a print journalist through and through, coming of age in the decades before student reporters were learning to tweet in the field.

“He was definitely from another era,” she said. “He had this really high sense of the integrity of the profession that had to be adhered to, whether you were tweeting or writing a long piece in the New York Times. That was the bottom line for him.”

After he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s, which curtailed his mobility, he came by Muller’s office at USC and asked her when she planned to retire.

“He said, ‘Don’t wait too long, because I thought I’d have all this time to travel and do all the things I wanted to do, and now I can’t,’” Muller said.

Nelson was a go-to source when reporters wanted a quote on journalistic ethics or the state of the news industry.

In 1995, Nelson blasted CBS News for being on a “quest for gossipy journalism” after interviewer Connie Chung coaxed Newt Gingrich’s mother into a nasty remark about Hillary Clinton.

In a 1996 Tampa Tribune story about Time magazine’s Most Influential People list, Nelson lamented the rise of “sales-oriented journalism” that crowded out “more important, serious journalism.”

In a 2005 Daily Trojan story about left-leaning political bias among college journalism teachers, Nelson said ideology was irrelevant in his classroom, and he taught students to keep their personal feelings out of their reportage.

“Journalists try to view things as dispassionately and nonpartisan as possible,” he said. “Journalism professors follow a professional model. People aren’t closely identified with a political party, and if they are, as journalists, they tend to be suspect.”

Nelson rarely turned away interview requests, and his years as a reporter gave him a sense of what journalists needed.

“He wouldn’t give flip, quick answers just to get a journalist off the phone,” Saltzman said. “He didn’t mind silence. So if a reporter asked him a question, there might be a long pause on the other end. He would very carefully give a measured, thoughtful answer, which is rare.”

Nelson was married to Martha Streiff Nelson, a children’s therapist, for 41 years before her death in 2002. His daughter, Kristin Nelson Winton, died in 2015.

“Bryce was a beautiful man,” said his second wife, Mary Shipp Bartlett, of Pasadena. “He did everything with grace, even his exit from the world.”

Nelson is survived by Bartlett; his son, Matthew Nelson, of Richardson, Texas; granddaughter Anneka Winton of Bend, Ore.; and two brothers.

East Devon Scout leader Mike Hales has died at the age of 78 after a long battle with Parkinson’s Disease. Mike, who was born in Hammersmith, London, dedicated 63 years to the Scouting movement, having first joined as a cub in the 3rd Chiswick Scout Group in 1951.

When he moved to Exmouth in 1984, Mike worked at the former Sharp’s timber yard and later with Jewson’s in Fore Street, Exmouth, from where he retired. However, he continued his Scouting until his illness forced him to stand down in 2014.

Mike initially worked with the 3rd Exmouth and later became treasurer and chairman of the 1st Withycombe Cub Scouts. He was then persuaded to help relaunch the 1st Lympstone Scout Group where he became Group Scout Leader in the early 1990s.

The troop was suspended in 2009 but came back stronger in 2011 with the addition of a Beaver Colony and Cub Pack. His sister Sue Solomon recalled that, at the time of his links to the 18th Chiswick group, Mike and his Scouts assisted with the 1966 World Cup final at Wembley where the boys were kept busy as runners ferrying rolls of film to cameramen sitting behind the goals. Mike had the best view in the stadium for the “They think it’s all over…;” moment as England beat Germany.

A two-year trip travelling through South Africa, Rhodesia (modern day Zimbabwe and Zambia), Botswana and Mozambique, saw him working for a time with a Scout troop in Boksburg.

Said Sue: “Mike inspired hundreds of boys and girls across the country and abroad to do their best. His sense of fun, lifelong love of the Scouting movement and love of the outdoors, will live on in all the children who have been lucky enough to call him ’Skip’”.

Mike died on August 12 at the Old Rectory Nursing Home in Exeter and a private family cremation was held last week.

Nicholas (Nick) Philip Jones of Summerland BC died on August 11, 2022, battling Parkinson’s disease.
Nick was born May 6, 1944, in Harrogate, England

Nick is survived by his loving wife of 40 years Marina (Calangis-Jones), brothers and sisters Paul Jones (Deep River, Ont.), Mark Jones (Annapolis MD), Fenella Bramwell (Manchester, England), Clare Haire (Belfast NI) Roland Jones (Dubai UAE), many nieces and nephews, in-laws, and close family like friends.
He is predeceased by his parents Joyce (Bird) and William Jones and brother Julian.

Nick immigrated alone to Canada from the UK in 1962 as an 18-year-old boy to work in the high Arctic for the Hudson Bay Company (HBC) settlement stores trading goods and furs. He thrived in the Canadian northern environment and found his true life there. He was posted in what was then Spence Bay, Cambridge Bay, Gjoa Haven, Belcher Islands and then also after leaving HBC worked in Paulatuk and Bathurst Inlet.

Nick did many jobs after moving “south” to Yellowknife NWT in the late 1960s. His passion was the ice roads which he worked building, driving and maintaining. He was an avid adventurer, snowmobiling, fishing summer and winter, bush whacking and being with friends, many who are still life long. He worked as a fishing guide on Great Slave Lake and had jobs over the years too many to name. His career included being a firefighter with the Yellowknife Fire Department and his final work in the NWT was back on the ice roads.

Moving to Summerland, BC with his wife Marina in 1988, Nick settled into Okanagan life, establishing his own business and taking up golf, always continuing to fish, trap shoot, fossil hunt, geocache, bird watch. He loved all things that took him outdoors. When he became more home bound, he loved the hummingbirds and always was in search of the perfect photo.

Life slowed Nick down with health issues including a final diagnosis of Parkinson’s Disease less than one year ago. It took him down quickly, but he was brave in his diagnosis and decline. Nick passed away with dignity and grace with Marina and family like friend at his side.

Former British Columbia New Democratic Party leader Bob Skelly has died at the age of 79. 

Skelly served five terms in the B.C. Legislature representing the Vancouver Island riding of Alberni from 1972 until 1987.

He then ran successfully for the New Democrats in the newly created federal riding of Comox-Alberni, serving for one term from 1988 to 1993.

His wife, Sonia Alex Skelly, says Bob was very active until his death on Aug. 6, in Colwood near Victoria. He died of Parkinson's disease.

In an interview with CBC News, Alex Skelly says away from the political spotlight, her husband was a warm and friendly person who liked to talk to people about their interests, and he himself had many hobbies.

She recalls her husband became involved in politics through the school board when he was a teacher on Vancouver Island.

"We had a hobby farm … and when [New Democratic Party leader] Tommy Douglas came to our farm, he spoke to Robert and told him he'd be a really good candidate for the NDP and convinced him to run as a candidate … and from there he got elected in 1972 when Dave Barrett had his big sweep."

Even though he retired from public life, Skelly says her husband kept busy.

He returned to Vancouver Island and did many things, including tribunal work, was a justice of the peace, and worked with Indigenous groups on land claims.

"He was interested in the environment, in Indigenous affairs. His very first speech in the legislature was recognizing native land claims before anyone else mentioned it," she said.

Bob Skelly was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease in 1998, but kept up with his numerous interests, such as poetry, gardens, anthropology, playing the bagpipes, and had a private pilot's license.

"Right until the last month he was determined to learn Spanish, he was trying to walk, he wanted to learn guitar, so he had all these how-to books sitting around, so he never gave up thinking he was going to do more," Alex Skelly said.

Bob Skelly is also survived by his two children and several grandchildren.

Herma Altshule was born Herma Cecile Goldstein to Sylvia and Gustave Goldstein, on November 22nd, 1939. Herma grew up in Cheviot Hills and was a lifelong LA resident.

Her contributions and accomplishments run the gamut. An avid lover of the arts, she was a founding member at MOCA and remained involved in its Projects Council through the years. She was a docent at the Museum of Science & Industry and a patron of the theater, the opera, and the LA Philharmonic. Besides running an interior design business with one of her best friends, she loved playing bridge and became a Bronze Life Master, and she remained a competitive tennis player until late in her life. Nothing, however, was more important to her than her people.

She met the love of her life Joel Altshule when she was an Alpha Epsilon Phi at UCLA, shortly after she graduated from Los Angeles High School, where she was a Dante. They married nine months later at Brentwood Country Club and got busy starting their family, which halted her studies. She finished her degree at UCLA in 1984, overlapping her time there with her daughter Julie-they each received a bachelor's in sociology. Not many mothers could have their children excited to join them at college and share that experience. Herma had an incredible social ability; she was the spark plug and glue between multiple friend groups, always affectionate and open with the people she loved. "She was a force of nature," her son Andrew recalls, "she instilled in me that a mediocre life wasn't worth living. She always fought tooth and nail for me, for everyone she loved, and took things to the limit in the most loving, positive way. My passion for life is a testament to her."

Herma is survived by her loving family who were always the priority in her life; her devoted husband of 63 years Joel, her children Andrew Altshule (Joli), Julie Schoenfeld (Jeff), and Mark Altshule. She adored her grandchildren, Liv and Winston Altshule and Kate and Max Schoenfeld. She will be greatly missed by her sister Carole Sukman (Richard) of Palm Springs, California, and her brother Robert Goldstein (Claudie) of Ketchum, Idaho, and the numerous nieces and nephews she had special connections with. Many have helped care for her, most notably Ricky Go through these last few difficult years.

Herma well exceeded her life expectancy once diagnosed with PSP, an atypical form of Parkinson's-her loved ones believe it was her sheer will to live and her love for her husband that kept her alive nearly double of what was expected. Up through the end, she never discussed the pain she was in. Every day she said she was doing great and asked for a milkshake. She felt blessed to be next to her husband and surrounded by loved ones. Her verve for life remains unmatched.

From excelling in Spanish enough to teach teenagers to earning another college degree late in life, Kathy Niezurawski was known as a lifelong learner.

“She was just thirsting for knowledge all the time,” said Marcy Anderson, a friend for more than 50 years. “She just soaked it up.”

Miss Niezurawski, a former copy editor at The Detroit News, died Thursday, Aug. 4, 2022, in Bay City after a battle with Parkinson’s disease, relatives said. She was 72.

In more than 13 years at the paper, the Michigan native honed her linguistic skills to leave a mark on the scores of articles she revised.

“Kathy was about as much a copy editor as a copy editor can get. She had grammar and style in her DNA and was a frequent resource for anyone on the desk,” said Andreas Supanich, news editor at The News. “... She didn’t take any shortcuts; even if deadline was 30 seconds away, she would take the time to do the job the right way. And in the end, the copy would be much clearer.”

Whether filling in on holidays or working late on election nights, Miss Niezurawski deftly trimmed and connected sentences, double-checked titles of sources and authored headlines for the mass of items that would reach readers online and in print.

Honors included a first-place finish in the headline writing category in the Society of Professional Journalists’ Detroit chapter annual awards ceremony.

“I remember her as the go-to person for grammar questions, like when to use lay or laid in a sentence,” said Steve Wilkinson, her longtime colleague on the copy desk.

Miss Niezurawski honed those skills working at publications including the San Diego Union-Tribune and Los Angeles Times, among others, said her cousin, Amy Glaza.

She primarily edited newspapers, which seemed a perfect fit.

“She loved the ability of a newspaper to really inform and educate the community on important issues,” Glaza said. “She really felt it was vital for our country to have an educated and well-informed community.”

Miss Niezurawski’s quest for education started as a youth in Bay City.

While attending Central High School, she joined the yearbook and school newspaper club. Though some classmates viewed the role as an easy way to avoid an English class, Miss Niezurawski relished it, said Anderson, who met her there. “She loved developing stories and coming up with good headlines. That just excited her. She truly loved it.”

After studying history and Spanish at Central Michigan University, she earned a teaching degree from Michigan State University, her family said.

Miss Niezurawski briefly taught in the Thumb region before returning to her love of journalism and taking a job in St. Louis. She later worked for newspapers in Arizona and California, relatives and friends said.

Her western stints were eventful.

“My favorite anecdote of hers was from her time there, when she crossed paths with a young Arnold Schwarzenegger at some kind of media event,” Supanich said. “It was crowded enough that they brushed against each other and that giant of a man ended up stepping on her foot. Instead of apologizing, he just looked at her and said, “Ouch!” in that Schwarzenegger accent.”

During those years, Miss Niezurawski found other pursuits, including serving as a tour guide and taking groups of students to Mexico as well as absorbing the culture in other countries, associates said.

Long active with the Sierra Club, she also loved bird-watching, hiking and camping — sometimes trekking solo, Glaza said. “She was incredibly adventurous and independent. It just astounded me. She was a real inspiration as a single woman forging her way. She just seemed to be fearless.”

Another passion was animals — donating to welfare groups or raising rescues as pets, Anderson said. “They were literally her babies.”

Miss Niezurawski eventually returned to Michigan to care for her mother, Leona, who died in 2003, said her brother, Michael.

While working at The News, she impressed others with her knowledge about far-ranging topics.

Her adoration of the Pittsburgh Steelers “was impossible to avoid,” Supanich said. “She was as well-versed in the ins and outs of football as anyone I’ve met. While the rest of us were suffering through losing Lions season after losing Lions season, Kathy could hold her head high.”

Michael Niezurawski always marveled at the seemingly endless array of facts honed from constant reading, which made his sister a formidable force in trivia games.

“She knew your answers and everyone else’s,” he said. "She was a learner."

To further her interests, Miss Niezurawski earned a degree in library science from Wayne State University before leaving The News in 2016, her brother said.

That led to a part-time library job, where she served as a resource person, Anderson said. “She loved that. That was the teacher in her coming out.”

Besides her brother, survivors include another sibling, David Niezurawski, as well as many nieces, nephews and friends.