NEW YORK (AP) — Maryanne Trump Barry, a retired federal judge and former President Donald Trump ‘s oldest sister, has died at age 86 at her home in New York.

Until her retirement in 2019, Barry was a senior judge on the 3rd U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals, a level below the Supreme Court.

The NYPD confirmed that officers were sent to Barry’s Manhattan home just before 4:30 a.m. and discovered a deceased 86-year-old woman. The cause of death was not immediately clear. Her death was confirmed by a judicial official who spoke on condition of anonymity because the news hadn’t been announced publicly by either the court or Trump’s family.

Trump’s campaign did not immediately respond to a request for comment, but the former president’s eldest son, Donald Trump Jr., spoke briefly about his aunt as he exited a Manhattan courthouse Monday, calling it a “rough day for myself and my family,”

Trump Jr. told reporters after testifying in a civil fraud trial that he had been informed of the news as he pulled up to the courthouse Monday morning.

“I’m very close with her grandson. We hang out all the time. And so it’s obviously a rough day for that,” he said.

Before becoming a judge, Barry became an Assistant U.S. Attorney in 1974. She was nominated to the federal court in New Jersey by President Ronald Reagan. She was later elevated to the U.S. Court of Appeals by President Bill Clinton. She retired in 2019 amid an investigation into her family’s tax practices.

Barry stayed largely out of the spotlight during her brother’s presidency, but drew headlines after her niece, Mary Trump, revealed that she had secretly recorded her aunt while promoting a book that denounced the former president. In the recordings, Barry could be heard sharply criticizing her brother, at one point saying the former president “has no principles” and is “cruel.”

Years before her brother became president, Barry wrote in a 2006 immigration case that judges had too little leeway to evaluate who should get to remain in the U.S. because of rigid laws that force “knee-jerk” decisions.

The case involved a man from Northern Ireland, Malachy McAllister, denied asylum by the 3rd Circuit panel on which she sat. Barry urged the federal government to intervene in the case.

“I refuse to believe that ‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free …’ is now an empty entreaty. But if it is, shame on us,” wrote Barry, who said McAllister’s actions came as the Irish sought to end more than 800 years of British rule.

McAllister, a former member of the paramilitary Irish National Liberation Army, was convicted in the 1981 wounding of a British police officer.

Barry was also known for her wry sense of humor, evident in a 2015 case over fan access to Super Bowl tickets.

When the NFL compared the distribution practice to Catholic parishes that got a bounty of tickets to see the pope in Philadelphia, Barry’s colleagues joked that the pope was skipping New Jersey altogether.

“We’re used to it,” Barry quipped.

Trump, who was one of five children, now has one living sibling, his sister Elizabeth Trump Grau.

The former president’s younger brother, Robert Trump, died in 2020 at 71, and Trump held a service at the White House in his honor. His older brother, Fred Trump Jr., died of a heart attack at 42, which the family blamed on alcoholism.

Donald Trump’s ex-wife Ivana Trump died in 2022 at the age of 73.

The news of Barry’s death was first reported by the Daily Voice in Nassau County.

___ Dale reported from Philadelphia. Associated Press writer Jill Colvin contributed to this report.

Borman died Tuesday in Billings, Montana, according to NASA.

Borman also led troubled Eastern Airlines in the 1970s and early ’80s after leaving the astronaut corps.

But he was best known for his NASA duties. He and his crew, James Lovell and William Anders, were the first Apollo mission to fly to the moon — and to see Earth as a distant sphere in space.

“Today we remember one of NASA’s best. Astronaut Frank Borman was a true American hero,” NASA Administrator Bill Nelson said in a statement Thursday. “His lifelong love for aviation and exploration was only surpassed by his love for his wife Susan.”

Launched from Florida’s Cape Canaveral on Dec. 21, 1968, the Apollo 8 trio spent three days traveling to the moon, and maneuvered into lunar orbit on Christmas Eve. After they circled 10 times on Dec. 24-25, they headed home on Dec. 27.

On Christmas Eve, the astronauts read from the Book of Genesis in a live telecast from the orbiter: “In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.”

Borman ended the broadcast with, “And from the crew of Apollo 8, we close with good night, good luck, a Merry Christmas, and God bless all of you — all of you on the good Earth.”

Lovell and Borman had previously flown together during the two-week Gemini 7 mission, which launched on Dec. 4, 1965 — and, at only 120 feet apart, completed the first space orbital rendezvous with Gemini 6.

“Gemini was a tough go,” Borman told The Associated Press in 1998. “It was smaller than the front seat of a Volkswagen bug. It made Apollo seem like a super-duper, plush touring bus.”

In his book, “Countdown: An Autobiography,” Borman said Apollo 8 was originally supposed to orbit Earth. The success of Apollo 7’s mission in October 1968 to show system reliability on long duration flights made NASA decide it was time to take a shot at flying to the moon.

But Borman said there was another reason NASA changed the plan: the agency wanted to beat the Russians. Borman said he thought on orbit would suffice.

“My main concern in this whole flight was to get there ahead of the Russians and get home. That was a significant achievement in my eyes,” Borman said at a Chicago appearance in 2017.

It was on the crew’s fourth orbit that Anders snapped the iconic “Earthrise” photo showing a blue and white Earth rising above the gray lunar landscape.

Borman wrote about how the Earth looked from afar: “We were the first humans to see the world in its majestic totality, an intensely emotional experience for each of us. We said nothing to each other, but I was sure our thoughts were identical — of our families on that spinning globe. And maybe we shared another thought I had, This must be what God sees.”

Mattingly II died on Tuesday, Oct. 31, according to a press release from NASA.

NASA selected him as an astronaut in 1966.

He served as a support member for astronauts flying Apollo 8 and 11 missions.

Mattingly, a designated command module pilot for Apollo 13, was removed from the flight due to exposure to measles.

Although he couldn’t make the flight, the Chicago-born aviator was vital to “successfully bring[ing] home the wounded spacecraft and the crew of Apollo 13 – NASA astronauts James Lovell, Jack Swigert, and Fred Haise,” according to NASA.

Mattingly said when he was in orbit, he had a “palpable fear that if I saw too much, I couldn’t remember.”

“TK’s contributions have allowed for advancements in our learning beyond that of space,” said a NASA spokesperson. “As a leader in exploratory missions, TK will be remembered for braving the unknown for the sake of our country’s future.”

LOS ANGELES (AP) — Burt Young, the Oscar-nominated actor who played Paulie, the rough-hewn, mumbling-and-grumbling best friend, corner-man and brother-in-law to Sylvester Stallone in the “Rocky” franchise, has died.

Young died Oct. 8 in Los Angeles, his daughter, Anne Morea Steingieser, told the New York Times on Wednesday. No cause was given. He was 83.

Young had roles in acclaimed films and television shows including “Chinatown,” “Once Upon a Time in America” and “The Sopranos.”

But he was always best known for playing Paulie Pennino in six “Rocky” movies. The short, paunchy, balding Young was the sort of actor who always seemed to play middle-aged no matter his age.

When Paulie first appears in 1976’s “Rocky,” he’s an angry, foul-mouthed meat packer who is abusive to his sister Adrian (Talia Shire), with whom he shares a small apartment in Philadelphia. He berates the shy, meek Adrian for refusing at first to go on a Thanksgiving-night date with his buddy and co-worker Rocky Balboa, and destroys a turkey she has in the oven.

The film became a phenomenon, topping the box office for the year and making a star of lead actor and writer Stallone, who paid tribute to Young on Instagram on Wednesday night.

Along with a photo of the two of them on the set of the first film, Stallone wrote “you were an incredible man and artist, I and the World will miss you very much.”

“Rocky” was nominated for 10 Oscars, including best supporting actor for Young. It won three, including best picture. Young and co-star Burgess Meredith, who was also nominated, lost to Jason Robards in “All the President’s Men.”

As the movies went on, Young’s Paulie softened, as the sequels themselves did, and he became their comic relief. In 1985’s “Rocky IV” he reprograms a robot Rocky gives him into a sexy-voiced servant who dotes on him.

Paulie was also an eternal pessimist who was constantly convinced that Rocky was going to get clobbered by his increasingly daunting opponents. His surprise at Rocky’s resilience brought big laughs.

“It was a great ride, and it brought me to the audience in a great way,” Young said in a 2020 interview with Celebrity Parents magazine. “I made him a rough guy with a sensitivity. He’s really a marshmallow even though he yells a lot.”

Born and raised in Queens, New York, Young served in the Marine Corps, fought as a professional boxer and worked as a carpet layer before taking up acting, studying with legendary teacher Lee Strasberg at the Actors Studio.

On stage, in films and on television, he typically played small-time tough guys or down-on-their luck working class men.

In a short-but-memorable scene in 1974’s “Chinatown,” he plays a fisherman who throws a fit when Jack Nicholson’s private detective Jake Gittes shows him pictures proving his wife is cheating on him.

Young also appeared in director Sergio Leone’s 1984 gangster epic “Once Upon a Time in America” with Robert De Niro, the 1986 comedy “Back to School” with Rodney Dangerfield, and the 1989 gritty drama “Last Exit to Brooklyn” with Jennifer Jason Leigh.

In a striking appearance in season three of “The Sopranos” in 2001, he plays Bobby Baccalieri, Sr., an elderly mafioso with lung cancer who pulls off one last hit before a coughing fit leads to him dying in a car accident.

He guest-starred on many other TV series including “M(asterisk)A(asterisk)S(asterisk)H,” “Miami Vice” and “The Equalizer.”

Later in life he focused on roles in the theater and on painting, a lifelong pursuit that led to gallery shows and sales.

His wife of 13 years, Gloria, died in 1974.

Along with his daughter, Young is survived by one grandchild and a brother, Robert.

He died Tuesday in Hingham, Massachusetts, of pulmonary fibrosis, his son told John The New York Times.

Bill Mumy, who played Will Robinson on “Lost In Space,” wrote a tribute to his “beloved friend and brother” for 59 years on Facebook. Mumy said he spoke to Goddard on his birthday in July and realized he’d likely never see or speak to him again.

“Mark was a truly fine actor. Naturally gifted as well as trained. I know he sometimes felt constricted by the campy frame that LIS constrained him within, but he also embraced and loved it,” Mumy wrote. “There’s a part of me that envisions him having a martini in Heaven right now with Jonathan Harris, Kevin Burns, Guy Williams and other comrades who left this world of woe before him.”

In the show, which ran from 1965 to 1968 on CBS, Goddard’s character was the pilot of the Jupiter 2 carrying the Robinson family on a mission to colonize space. He wote a memoir in 2008 memoir called “To Space and Back.”

Goddard was born on July 24, 1936, Charles Harvey Goddard in Lowell, Massachusetts. He left college in his junior year, in 1958, to pursue acting, putting himself through the American Academy of Dramatic Arts by working evenings at Woolworths.

When he made it to Hollywood, he appeared on an episode of “The Rifleman” and in a Dick Powell-directed television movie “Woman on the Run,” starring Joan Crawford. He also had roles on “Johnny Ringo,” “The Detectives” and appeared in “The Beverly Hillbillies” and “Perry Mason.”

He would go on to make a cameo in the 1998 reboot of “Lost In Space,” in which Matt LeBlanc played the role he originated.

Later in life he’d go back to graduate from college and earn a master’s degree in education, serving as a special education teacher in Massachusetts for two decades.

Goddard is survived by his wife Evelyn Pezzulich and children.

Somers died of cancer just one day shy of her 77th birthday, the actor’s spokesperson R. Couri Hay said.

“Suzanne Somers passed away peacefully at home in the early morning hours of Oct. 15. She survived an aggressive form of breast cancer for over 23 years,” Hay said in a statement to People that was shared on behalf of the actor’s family.

“Suzanne was surrounded by her loving husband Alan [Hamel], her son Bruce, and her immediate family,” the statement read. “Her family was gathered to celebrate her 77th birthday on Oct. 16. Instead, they will celebrate her extraordinary life, and want to thank her millions of fans and followers who loved her dearly.”

Somers played Chrissy Snow — the effervescent blond secretary — on “Three’s Company,” alongside John Ritter and Joyce DeWitt from 1977 to 1981. She was dropped during the show’s fifth season after a widely publicized salary dispute, in which she asked to paid as much as her male co-star Ritter.

The actor, who was born in San Bruno, Calif., in 1946, would then go on to star in the ABC sitcom “Step by Step” alongside Patrick Duffy. The show ran from 1991 to 1997.

In the 1990s her career became less about acting and more involved with selling her signature products, including exercise apparatus — most famously, the ThighMaster— jewelry, sugarless chocolates and diet books.

In 2001, Somers revealed that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. In an interview with The Times, she said she had surgery and radiation therapy, but declined to follow medical advice that she also have chemotherapy, electing instead to undergo homeopathic treatments.

©2023 Los Angeles Times. Visit at latimes.com. Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.

NEW YORK (AP) — Nobel laureate Louise Glück, a poet of unblinking candor and perception who wove classical allusions, philosophical reveries, bittersweet memories and humorous asides into indelible portraits of a fallen and heartrending world, has died at 80.

Glück’s death was confirmed Friday by Jonathan Galassi, her editor at Farrar, Straus & Giroux. Additional details were not immediately available.

Over more than 60 years of published work, Glück forged a narrative of trauma, disillusion, stasis and longing, spelled by moments — but only moments — of ecstasy and contentment. In awarding her the literature prize in 2020, the first time an American poet had been honored since T.S. Eliot in 1948, Nobel judges praised “her unmistakable poetic voice that with austere beauty makes individual existence universal.”

Glück’s poems were often brief, a page or less in length, exemplars of her attachment to “the unsaid, to suggestion, to eloquent, deliberate silence.” Influenced by Shakespeare, Greek mythology and Eliot among others, she questioned and at times dismissed outright the bonds of love and sex, what she called the “premise of union” in her most famous poem, “Mock Orange.” In some ways, life for Glück was like a troubled romance — fated for unhappiness, but meaningful because pain was our natural condition — and preferable to what she assumed would follow.

“The advantage of poetry over life is that poetry, if it is sharp enough, may last,” she once wrote.

In her poem “Summer,” the narrator addresses her husband and remembers “the days of our first happiness,” when everything seemed to have “ripened.”

Then the circles closed. Slowly the nights grew cool;

the pendant leaves of the willow

yellowed and fell. And in each of us began

a deep isolation, though we never spoke of this,

of the absence of regret.

We were artists again, my husband.

We could resume the journey.

Tracy K. Smith, the Pulitzer Prize-winning poet, said in a statement Friday that Glück’s poetry had “saved” her many times.

“I think constantly of these lines from ‘The Wild Iris’: ‘At the end of my suffering / there was a door.’ And of these lines from ‘The House on Marshland’: ‘The darkness lifts, imagine, in your lifetime.’ It is as if her spare, patient syntax forms a path into and through the weight of living,” she wrote.

Glück published more than a dozen books of poetry, along with essays and a brief prose fable, “Marigold and Rose.” She drew upon everything from Penelope’s weaving in “The Odyssey” to an unlikely muse, the Meadowlands sports complex, which inspired her to ask: “How could the Giants name/that place the Meadowlands? It has/about as much in common with a pasture/as would the inside of an oven.”

In 1993, she won the Pulitzer Prize for “The Wild Iris,” an exchange in part between a beleaguered gardener and a callous deity. “What is my heart to you/that you must break it over and over,” the gardener wonders. The god answers: “My poor inspired creation … You are/too little like me in the end/to please me.”

Her other books included the collections “The Seven Ages,“ ”The Triumph of Achilles,” “Vita Nova” and a highly acclaimed anthology, “Poems 1962-2012.” Besides winning the Pulitzer, she received the Bollingen Prize in 2001 for lifetime achievement and the National Book Award in 2014 for “Faithful and Virtuous Night.” She was the U.S. poet laureate in 2003-2004 and was awarded a National Humanities Medal in 2015 for her “decades of powerful lyric poetry that defies all attempts to label it definitively.”

Glück was married and divorced twice and had a son, Noah, with her second husband, John Darnow. She taught at several schools, including Stanford University and Yale University, and regarded her experiences in the classroom not as a distraction from her poetry, but as a “prescription for lassitude.” Students would remember her as demanding and inspiring, not above making someone cry, but also valued for guiding young people in search of their own voices.

“You would hand in something and Louise would find the one line that worked,” the poet Claudia Rankine, who studied under Glück at Williams College, told The Associated Press in 2020. “There was no place for the niceties of mediocrity, no false praise. When Louise speaks you believe her because she doesn’t hide inside of civility.”

A native of New York City who grew up on Long Island, New York, she was a descendant of Eastern European Jews and heir to an everyday creation not associated with poetry: Her father helped invent the X-Acto knife. Her mother, Glück would write, was the family’s “maid-of-all-work moral leader,” the one whose assessment of her stories and poems she looked to above all others. Glück was also the middle of three sisters, one of whom died before was she born, a tragedy she seemed to refer to in her poem “Parados.”

Long ago, I was wounded.

I learned

to exist, in reaction,

out of touch

with the world: I’ll tell you

what I meant to be –

a device that listened.

Not inert: still.

A piece of wood. A stone.

Describing herself as born to “bear witness,” Glück felt at home with the written word and regarded the English language as her gift, even her “inheritance.” But as a teenager, she was so intensely ambitious and self-critical that she waged war with her own body. She suffered from anorexia, dropped to 75 pounds (34 kilograms) and was terrorized by her mortality. Her life, creative and otherwise, was saved after she chose to see a psychoanalyst.

“Analysis taught me to think. Taught me to use my tendency to object to articulated ideas about my own ideas, taught me to use doubt, to examine my own own speech for its evasions and excisions,” she recalled during a 1989 lecture at the Guggenheim Museum. “The longer I withheld conclusion, the more I saw. I was learning, I believe, how to write, as well.”

Glück was too frail to become a full-time college student and instead sat in on classes at Sarah Lawrence College and Columbia University, finding mentors in the poets-teachers Leonie Adams and Stanley Kunitz. By her mid-20s, she was publishing poems in The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly and other magazines.

Glück’s debut book, “Firstborn,” was published in 1968, and preceded a long stretch of writer’s block that ended while she was teaching at Goddard College in the early 1970s. She had once believed that poets should avoid academia, but found the engagement with Goddard students so enriching she began writing poetry again, work she regarded as well beyond the “rigid performances” of “Firstborn.” Out of her silence she discovered a new and more dynamic voice.

Her second book, “The House on Marshland,” came out in 1975 and is considered her critical breakthrough. But she continued to suffer years of what she called “brutal punitive blankness,” when she tried everything from gardening to listening to Sam Cooke records to break out. Subsequent books such as “The Wild Iris” and “Ararat” became testaments to personal and creative reinvention, as if her older books had been written by someone else.

“I’ve always had this sort of magical-thinking way of detesting my previous books as a way of pushing myself forward,” she told the Washington Square Review in 2015. “And I realized that I had this feeling of sneaking-up pride in accomplishment. Sometimes I would just stack my books together and think, ‘Wow, you haven’t wasted all your time.’ But then I was very afraid because it was a completely new sensation, that pride, and I thought, ‘Oh, this means really bad things.’

Rudolph Isley, a founding member of the Isley Brothers who helped perform such raw rhythm and blues classics as “Shout” and “Twist and Shout” and the funky hits “That Lady” and “It’s Your Thing,” has died at age 84.

“There are no words to express my feelings and the love I have for my brother. Our family will miss him. But I know he’s in a better place,” Ronald Isley said in a statement released Thursday by an Isley Brothers publicist. Further details were not immediately available.

A Cincinnati native, Rudolph Isley began singing in church with brothers Ronald and O’Kelly (another sibling, Vernon, died at age 13) and was still in his teens when they broke through in the late 1950s with “Shout,” a secularized gospel rave that was later immortalized during the toga party scene in “Animal House.” The Isleys scored again in the early 1960s with the equally spirited “Twist and Shout,” which the Beatles liked so much they used it as the closing song on their debut album and opened with it for their famed 1965 concert at Shea Stadium.

The Isleys’ other hits included “This Old Heart of Mine (Is Weak for You),” later covered by Rod Stewart, and the Grammy-winning “It’s Your Thing.” In the 1970s, after younger brother Ernest and Marvin joined the group, they had even greater success with such singles as “That Lady” and “Fight the Power (Part 1)” and such million-selling albums as “The Heat Is On” and “Go for Your Guns.”

Rudolph Isley left the group in 1989, three years after the sudden death of O’Kelly Isley, to become a Christian minister. He was among the Isleys inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1992.

___

This story’s headline has been corrected to show that Rudolph Isley, not Ronald Isley, died.

Dick Butkus, the player who perhaps best epitomized the tough and determined identity of the Chicago Bears, has died, the Tribune confirmed Thursday. He was 80.

The Butkus family said Thursday he died “peacefully in his sleep overnight at home” in Malibu, California.

A product of Chicago’s working-class South Side and the University of Illinois, Butkus became a fierce Pro Football Hall of Fame linebacker before embarking on a modest but enduring television and acting career in Hollywood.

“After football, it was difficult for me to find what I liked second best,” Butkus once told the Tribune. “Football was always my first love. That certainly didn’t mean I couldn’t find something else. And the proof of the pudding is where I have ended up today.

“I guess I could have been one of those guys who didn’t prepare to quit. But things happened and through hard work I found out that, hey, there are other things besides football.”

In 2019, the Tribune ranked Butkus No. 2 in a list of the 100 greatest Bears.

“Dick was the ultimate Bear, and one of the greatest players in NFL history. He was Chicago’s son,” George McCaskey said in a statement Thursday. “He exuded what our great city is about and, not coincidently, what George Halas looked for in a player: toughness, smarts, instincts, passion and leadership. He refused to accept anything less than the best from himself, or from his teammates. When we dedicated the George Halas statue at our team headquarters, we asked Dick to speak at the ceremony, because we knew he spoke for Papa Bear.

“Dick had a gruff manner, and maybe that kept some people from approaching him, but he actually had a soft touch. His legacy of philanthropy included a mission of ridding performance enhancing drugs from sports and promoting heart health. His contributions to the game he loved will live forever and we are grateful he was able to be at our home opener this year to be celebrated one last time by his many fans.”

Butkus, whose playing career was cut short because of multiple knee injuries, left the Bears with bitter feelings.

In 1974, Butkus filed a lawsuit, asserting that the Bears knowingly encouraged him to keep playing when he should have had surgery on his knees. The litigation caused friction between Butkus and Bears owner George Halas.

The parties eventually reached an out-of-court financial settlement and the relationship between Butkus and the Bears franchise improved over the years.

Born Richard Marvin Butkus on Dec. 9, 1942, he was the youngest of nine children of Lithuanian immigrants. His father, Don, was an electrician. And his mother, Emma, worked in a laundry. Butkus grew up in the Roseland neighborhood and played high school football for coach Bernie O’Brien at Chicago Vocational.

At Illinois, Butkus played center and linebacker (1962-1964) and was a unanimous All-American, in 1963 and 1964. In 1963 Butkus won the Chicago Tribune Silver Football as the Big Ten’s Most Valuable Player. In 1964, he was named the American Football Coaches Association Player of the Year. Butkus finished sixth in Heisman Trophy balloting in 1963 and third in 1964. Butkus wound up his college career with 374 tackles.

He was a first-round draft pick (No. 3 overall) of the Bears in 1965. Another future Hall of Famer, Gale Sayers, also was selected in that first round by the Bears, making it one of the most productive drafts by one team in NFL history.

The Denver Broncos of the then-fledgling American Football League, also drafted Butkus in the first round in 1965.

Butkus’ status as one of the greatest of all time is remarkable considering he never made the playoffs and enjoyed just two winning seasons in his nine-year career.

He was just that good — and ferocious.

Butkus’ highlight reels still are shocking for their violence, tapping into a part of himself that even the most hardened football players find difficult to reach. He simply had no regard for his opponents.

Rams defensive end Deacon Jones, a Hall of Famer and one of the most feared defensive players ever, once said: “I called him a maniac. A stone maniac. He was a well-conditioned animal, and every time he hit you, he tried to put you in the cemetery, not the hospital.”

But Butkus was more than just a hard-hitting linebacker. He also was deftly skilled in pass covering, racking in 22 interceptions.

Butkus started all 119 games he played. He was named first-team All-Pro five times and second-team once and he was voted to the Pro Bowl after his first eight seasons. He’s the Bears’ all-time leader with 27 fumble recoveries.

Butkus was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1979 and the College Football Hall of Fame in 1978. In 1994, the jersey numbers of Butkus (51) and Sayers (40) were retired by the Bears during a stormy halftime ceremony at Soldier Field.

The Butkus Foundation was formed to focus on his charitable endeavors. His most passionate initiative was the “I Play Clean” campaign, which concentrates on educating young athletes about the dangers of using steroids.

The Butkus Award was established in 1985 to recognize the top linebackers in high school, college and the NFL each year. The award also uses service to the community as part of its criteria.

Fred Mitchell is a former Chicago Tribune sports writer. Will Larkin, also formerly of the Tribune, contributed.

In its gilded frame, it was not unlike the portraits on the Capitol building’s walls of House speakers that had come before — many of whom Morgan herself faced as a Capitol reporter of about 20 years — but Morgan’s portrait stood alone as the only woman.

Morgan was a woman in a male-dominated world who held power to account, who had a nose for corruption, who took other women under her wing and who relished in being underestimated, her friends and family said of her at her memorial ceremony Friday in the Florida House of Representatives, a rare honor.

Morgan died at 82 years old last week from complications from a fall she sustained in May. Morgan was the Tallahassee bureau chief of the then-St. Petersburg Times from 1985 to 2005 and chased stories even after her first official retirement. In 1985, she won a Pulitzer prize, which stood next to her portrait during the memorial.

Kathy Bauerlin, Morgan’s daughter, said her mother would be ecstatic about being honored with a memorial service in Florida’s Capitol.

Bauerlin remembers being a teenager, coming with her mom to the Capitol and hardly being able to make it through one end of a hall to another without being stopped by people who wanted to speak with Morgan. She said her mom wouldn’t take no for an answer, but she also was open to people and their stories.

“We can’t forget her love because she spread it all over,” Bauerlin said.

Guests attending the memorial signed their names on a yellow legal pad — Morgan’s trademark — nestled between old St. Petersburg Times newspapers with Morgan’s articles.

Paul Tash, the former chairman of the Tampa Bay Times and Morgan’s former editor, called Morgan “indomitable.”

“Her reporting still makes a difference for many who may never know her name,” Tash said.

Along with her family, some of “Lucy’s disciples” spoke about how she taught them to be braver, bolder journalists, and how she was the “machete” that cleared the path for them to be successful female journalists in Florida.

Jennifer Liberto, the economics editor of The Washington Post, said she was “plucked out of obscurity” by Morgan, who by that point in Morgan’s long career was already a journalism giant.

But her mentorship extended far beyond Tallahassee’s press gallery. Liberto and other women call themselves Morgan’s “wayward girls” and often gathered at Morgan’s North Carolina home to talk about love, loss, career changes, motherhood and other things they knew Morgan could guide them through.

She told them to always speak their minds, encouraged them to be bold, cooked them meals, took them dancing, knitted their children Christmas stockings.

“She lived in our heads, and she still does to this day,” Liberto said.