Steve Newman died on August 21, 2025 at the age of 82. He died at his home in McKinleyville, where he’d lived the previous 48 years. He died peacefully, in his sleep, near Carol, his wife of 44 years.

Steve was born in Evansville, Indiana on November 13, 1942. Son of Morton, a lawyer and later judge, and Babette, whose family lived across the Ohio River in Henderson, Kentucky, Steve would spend his life near rivers, oceans, creeks and other bodies of water, often most content simply sitting near them. He and his sister Nancy (“the only person I’ve known my entire life”) had, in many ways, a typical 1950s midwestern childhood, but they would each find their way out of Indiana, separately moving around the country and world, but were never far from one another, both eventually landing in California in the 1970s and remaining a major part of each other’s lives till the end. A lifelong science enthusiast, Steve often joked that as a kid he dreamed of becoming a nuclear physicist, but because of pronunciation issues due to a lisp, he decided to pursue a career in law like his father instead.

Graduating high school in 1960, Steve then attended Indiana University. In Bloomington, Indiana in the early ’60s, he found a countercultural scene that included many friends that he would remain close to for the rest of his life. He discovered much of the music and literature that he was so passionate about during these years. Still, he graduated with a degree in economics and left for Cornell to attend law school.

It turned out, the law wasn’t his thing. After a couple attempts at law school, he spent much of the 1960s trying to figure out what was. He moved to Washington D.C. and got a job in the Labor Department. He went back to Indiana and got his master’s degree in media studies, a relatively new field. (He would claim his thesis on Marshall McCluhan was the shortest in university history, a legacy of brevity and mystery of which he was very proud.) He worked at ABC news in New York during the moon landing, taking a weekend off to attend Woodstock, which he left after a few hours. He never liked crowds.

In the early 1970s he found his way to California, attending UCLA in pursuit of a Ph.D and joining the Coast Guard. After his honorable discharge from the Coast Guard he traveled up the coast for a summer to escape the crowds of LA and visit a friend from his Bloomington days who was now a professor at Humboldt State University. He never left. Finding a small house on the Pacific Ocean in the town of Trinidad (“An incredible beach, a real dream spot… 55 dollars a month!” he’d write to his parents), he got a job at HSU in the media department. He remained in the department for more than 30 years. In the media department he found his thing: he loved being a detached observer behind the lens of the camera and the editing process, during which one’s choices of inclusion and omission are vital in telling the larger story. In Humboldt is also where the long story of his early life ends and the simple, more important one begins.

In 1977, at a university function, he met Carol Bany, who’d attended college at HSU. They began dating. She knew it was serious when he took her to look at a house he was thinking of buying. He bought it. On Bartow Road in McKinleyville, it would be the house he remained in for the rest of his life. He and Carol were married under the apple tree in that backyard in 1981. In 1985 their son Nick, now a chef in New Orleans, was born. In 1987, they had a daughter, Tara, a special education consultant in Sonoma. He was an excellent husband and father. Carol and his kids (and later grandkids) were everything to him. The ‘80s were spent picking apples and blackberries in the backyard, playing catch with the kids, collecting rocks and feathers on the beach, and writing little poems and songs for his family (although he could never carry a tune or play an instrument, he never let it stop him.) Train trips back to Evansville to visit his mother (his father passed away just before he became a father himself) were another highlight, Babette remained a very important part of his and his family’s life until she too passed in 2011. He would videotape every trip, holiday, or school function and edit them with as much care (and more love) as any professional project he was working on.

In 1995 he was diagnosed with cancer. He only hoped to live long enough to see his kids graduate from high school. He did, and then lived more than 20 years longer. In 2004, he retired from HSU, as the head of the media department. In retirement he got to spend a couple quality years with Tara, who was still in high school. Their lunches of clam chowder at the Marina or breakfast at the Seascape formed a bond that carried over to a game of words with friends that lasted the rest of his life. He remained a constant presence in both of his kids’ lives till the very end. He also got to spend quality time in his beloved backyard with his dog Stewie, who, like Brownie in Evansville, Mutlett in Trinidad, and Molly before him, was a major part of his life.

But, most importantly, he got to spend his later years with Carol, who also retired from her career as a nurse. They would walk around McKinleyville hand-in-hand. They took trips to Ireland, to visit her family’s roots, and often spent Christmas with Nick in New Orleans. They were inseparable. By far, the highlight of these twilight years were visits with the grandkids. Tara and her husband Justin had Grace in 2017, and Jack in 2018. His third act as PopPop may have been his favorite one of all.

After 2020, he spent much of his last five years at home. In (mostly) good health and (always) good spirits, he spent much of these years in the backyard, photographing the birds and deer who would wander in. He continued to edit short videos (his “video doodles”) that he would share with friends and family till the day before he died. Although most of his time was spent at home, he remained very social till the end, with each day of the week devoted to a Zoom call with people from different phases of his life, from high school in Evansville, to college in Bloomington, to friends from the late ’60s and early ’70s, to his son and grandkids. He would regularly meet with friends from HSU, and occasionally host a Friday beer group in the backyard.

Writing home in 1971, he told his parents: “Nancy says you’re kinda worried and I should tell you more things. I really can’t though because I’m pretty much just taking things as they come. I’m happier and more relaxed than I have been in years, tho which is something.”

He would have been proud of what followed. Steve died quietly at home, having lived a full life.