In Memoriam 2023: Media & Entertainment | Cover Story

Frank Ritter

Tennessean op/ed editor, writer, reader advocate

Upon learning of Frank Ritter’s death, one phrase undoubtedly arose in the minds of former Tennessean reporters: “Pity the Poor Reader.”

It was his mantra. Ritter — editor, reporter, columnist and occasional pain in the butt — loved the phrase so much that he hung a “Pity the Poor Reader” banner on the newsroom wall. The phrase captures the simple essence of a complex man. Ritter was a straightforward master craftsman. For years as city editor and deputy managing editor, he mentored new reporters and interns — some with familiar names, like Neuharth, Gore and Sirica. They all got the same advice: Keep it simple. Tell the whole story. Write, then rewrite.

Reporters heeded his criticism and lived for his praise.

That’s not to say everyone loved Frank every day. As Reader Advocate, he could infuriate co-workers with his questions. Still, Frank gave the newsroom a sense of purpose and a spirit of joy. He knew how lucky we were.

In addition to journalism, Frank loved Robert Burns, Princess Di and boxing. He loved his kids and grandkids — and of course, his wife, Virginia.

In 2009, I spent an afternoon with Frank at his daughter’s house. He and Virginia lived in Kentucky, but they were in Nashville so Virginia could attend the trial of the man ultimately convicted of killing her daughter, Marcia Trimble. At that point, Frank had profound hearing loss, so we communicated by passing a notebook back and forth. I wrote about old Tennessean pals; he wrote how proud he was of Virginia.

I didn’t mind the notes. He was a great writer. —Sandra Roberts

Mark Mays

Music writer, former Scene contributor, early podcaster

I’ve started and restarted this memorial at least 30 times. How do you encompass all the facets of a truly interesting life — one that includes lawyering at the state legislature, writing here at the Scene, and being on the frontline of the podcasting revolution?

When Mark Mays started Dork Nation in the long, long ago, podcasting was in that stage before it became the new hotness, and you just had to trust his peerless instincts about a whole new way of getting information and power to the people. Mark had a gift for feeling where the culture was shaking out, and when I first got to know him during the ancient days of the Belcourt Film Committee, he helped a lot of us understand that film is an inherently political art form. He had a gracious spirit and a deft sense of humor, and whatever he was doing professionally, he was always trying to help out the community.

Cancer is an all-too-modern affliction; rampant, purposeless growth that can’t help but destroy. So I’ll keep my memory of the last time I saw him, when he was rallying, with Naoko and the kids seeing Inu-Oh at the Belcourt. He always had good taste. He’d always spread the word. —Jason Shawhan

Sheila Lee Green

Set designer, prop master, Queen of Fun

No matter the occasion — or no occasion — Sheila Green brought the fun. She also brought the snacks, drinks, gifts, hats, music, costumes, props and party favors. A hybrid of Glinda the Good Witch sprinkling fairy dust and Mary Poppins with her bottomless carpetbag, Green was the epitome of never met a stranger, happy to share her opinion, advice, the shirt off her back, a ride in her car or a seat at her table. She could effortlessly carry on a 20-minute conversation with a telemarketer or a high-powered client of Green Enterprises. SuperMom to daughters Audrey and Natalie, she adopted every friend they brought into their home.

Raised in Goodlettsville, she moved to Nashville as soon as she graduated high school to pursue the music business. The stars aligned when she met Sherbe, and together they built the company that rented, designed and built sets for Nashville’s major awards shows, events, parties and four Ernest movies. Whatever was needed for a production — from Corinthian columns to giant cactus — it was somewhere in their warehouse.

Sheila was loyal to Nashville institutions like Brown’s Diner, the Station Inn and Douglas Corner, and musicians like Dave Olney and Pat McLaughlin, stalwarts of the old live music clubs. The day before Sheila passed away, McLaughlin brought his guitar to her bedside to “play her out” as Sherbe, Audrey and Natalie held tight their Queen of Fun. —Kay West 

Kirk Loggins

Tennessean courthouse reporter

In the latter part of the 20th century, local newspapers covered the courts of Davidson County like a blanket. At the forefront of that effort was a Dickson County native named Kirk Loggins who wrote for The Tennessean.

Educated at Vanderbilt and diligent to a fault, Loggins came to the courthouse in 1976, and except for a brief internship and a special assignment covering the KKK, he reported on every major case (and many small ones) for 26 years. Trial lawyers knew that when they saw Kirk ease into a wooden pew at the rear of the courtroom, the next day there would be an article in the morning paper about their case. And the good news was that the coverage would be accurate, fair and well-written.

Kirk was the kind of reporter who worked to get a story right, and he was not bashful about calling attorneys at home at night if that’s what it took. He was intelligent, witty and thorough — qualities his readers came to appreciate. Not only did Kirk’s work benefit his paper’s readers — his precise reporting on legal matters had a way of making judges and litigants more careful in their rulings and comments. In short, his coverage made them better.

Kirk Loggins died on March 16. His legacy of excellent and exacting reporting of legal news will live on in the hearts of those fortunate enough to have called him friend. —Ed Yarbrough 

Joe Edwards

Country music journalist

When Joe Edwards started his Nashville-based journalism career in the 1970s, it was in smoke-filled newsrooms; a pen, notebook, typewriter, landline telephone and dogged pursuit of a good story were the tools.

The AP bureau was at 1100 Broadway (as were UPI’s bureau, The Tennessean and the Nashville Banner), but Edwards’ reporting took him to Music Row, where he covered a timeline of stars from Loretta Lynn to Taylor Swift; baseball fields and basketball courts; the Hee Haw television studio, the state Capitol and the Jack Daniel Distillery; and to Memphis to cover Elvis Presley’s death and funeral. A story he wrote about Felice and Boudleaux Bryant’s song “Rocky Top” started the ball rolling on its path to being immortalized as the state song. In the early ’70s, he spearheaded the effort to include girls’ high school basketball scores on the AP wire.

Personally, one of his proudest achievements was serving as a past president of Nashville’s So What Club, which he once described as “a group of men who get together once a month and do absolutely nothing.” —Kay West 

Cecil D. Jones Jr.

Educator, actor, director, loyal friend

There are so many ways to remember Cecil D. Jones Jr., who died on March 18 at age 92. He was a gifted actor and director, and a Vanderbilt University professor emeritus. But for those who knew him best, Jones will simply be remembered as a loyal friend and colleague.

The Nashville native completed his undergraduate education at Vanderbilt, receiving a bachelor of arts in 1951. After earning a master’s degree from Northwestern University and a Ph.D. from the University of Illinois, Jones returned to Vanderbilt as a teacher in 1965. Over the next 29 years, Jones inspired countless students; he and his wife Jane often welcomed students into their home for cast parties and sing-alongs. A driving force on campus, Jones was instrumental in converting Neely Auditorium from its original design as a chapel to the flexible black-box theater we know today — a rather cutting-edge concept for the mid-1970s.

A big man with a big voice, Jones graced the stages of many local theaters — from Nashville Repertory Theatre (formerly Tennessee Rep) to Studio Tenn Theatre Company and more. And fellow actors remember Jones’ kindness, professionalism and commanding stage presence. “He was a generous, focused scene partner onstage,” says Nashville stage veteran Matthew Carlton. “But the greatest part he played in life was the genuine friendship he shared with those lucky enough to know him.” —Amy Stumpfl 

Findrix A. Bowers Jr.

‘Camera Man’

Findrix A. Bowers Jr. had a keen eye for style and a good photograph. The first was developed in his time working at the Arcade’s National Shirt Shops — a manufacturer of men’s shirts that expanded to storefronts specializing in menswear.  He favored bold colors, fashionable suits with matching shoes and a brimmed hat. 

His most prominent accessory was the camera in hand wherever he went, which earned him the nickname “Camera Man.” He shot street scenes downtown, where he spent more than 30 years working for the state of Tennessee. One of his favorites he titled “Reflection,”capturing the Tennessee State Capitol in a puddle after a heavy rain. If there was an R&B show at Municipal Auditorium, Camera Man was there, dressed to the nines, focusing his lens on The Isley Brothers, Luther Vandross, Brian McKnight and more. Daughter Cassandra — one of his three children — says she still runs into people who tell her that her father took their parents’ wedding photos. Because he shot on film, he was a constant presence at Wolf Camera. “He didn’t leave home without his camera or a hat,” son Jim Harlan Bowers recalls. —Kay West

Charlie Appleton

Journalist, old friend, reporter extraordinaire

Charlie Appleton, the dean of the press corps for a generation of Nashville Banner journalists, was the type of reporter who editors liked to keep handy. Chief among the reasons was this: Charlie knew people … everywhere. If a story broke in Hohenwald, or Gruetli-Laager or Santa Fe (pronounced “Santa Fee,” he reminded newbies), editors knew Charlie was good for a crackerjack quote for the afternoon newspaper. Because of printing deadlines, this meant he’d be making those calls at the crack of dawn.

Charlie worked his magic, excavating details of prison escapes, fiery automobile accidents or the rescue of a treebound feral cat by a firefighter. Most people were not annoyed to have their slumber disrupted, because Charlie made people feel like he was an old friend. So disarming was Charlie’s phone presence, I’m sure he could have made a great salesman. But all Charlie wanted was for someone to tell their story so he could write the first draft of history.

On the day the Banner ceased publication — Feb. 20, 1998 — Charlie worked the phones as usual. Turning to a fresh page in a legal-sized, blue-lined writing tablet, he began calling law enforcement across Middle Tennessee. He knew dispatchers by name. Of the longtimers, he knew to ask about their kid’s Little League team and how the summer tomatoes were faring. Several hours after Charlie made his cop calls on that day in 1998, he packed personal items in a cardboard box and departed 1100 Broadway to applause from colleagues. 

Left behind was the writing tablet where Charlie had listed each county, from Bedford to Wilson. The most newsworthy nuggets were marked by a hand-drawn five-pointed star. 

I cannot lie: The writing tablet came home with me. Over the years Charlie’s final cop-calls sheet became an artifact from a long-gone era of newspapers. Now it’s a remembrance of a man, loved by many, a reporter extraordinaire. —Leon Alligood

Carol Goss Daniels

Businesswoman, philanthropist, friend

Carol Goss Daniels died April 8 after an eight-year battle with colon cancer.

When she moved to Nashville in 2007 from her native Canada, Carol had to wait for her work visa, so she began volunteering for Nashville nonprofits like Belle Meade Plantation, Andrew Jackson Foundation, the Nashville Symphony and others. She got her visa and went to work for Gannett, eventually becoming general manager of The Leaf-Chronicle in Clarksville, but she continued her work with the organizations that welcomed her to Tennessee. In 2013, she was recognized with the Association of Fundraising Professionals’ Volunteer of the Year Award.

When she moved to Clarksville, she immersed herself in that city’s nonprofits too, serving on the boards of directors of Gateway and Customs House, the Clarksville-Montgomery County Convention and Visitors Bureau and the Montgomery County United Way.

“She was a courageous, determined, creative and caring person,” said Howard Kittell, who led Andrew Jackson’s Hermitage. “She lived in the land of possibility and worked to make the possible a reality.”

In 2017, she became executive vice president of the Tennessee Press Service and executive director of the Tennessee Press Association, the organizations that serve 130 newspapers across the state. The organizations were struggling. “Carol quickly got things turned around, leading by example and building an outstanding team,” said Dave Gould, owner of Main Street Media of Tennessee and president of the Tennessee Press Service. “Today the association is on sound footing.”

“She led the organization through challenging times and developed creative solutions to help members navigate the headwinds our industry has faced,” TPA president Chris Vass said of Carol. “She was simultaneously relentless and compassionate, always willing to listen.”

Carol came to Tennessee and made it her home. —Frank Daniels III 

Sarah Young

Author, Christian, missionary

Sarah Young was a superstar author whose life outside the page was nearly invisible. She did almost no interviews or media appearances and spent most of her time at her Nashville home, dealing with chronic illness that affected her for decades. 

“Though my name may be well-known, my face is not,” Young, who died in late August at age 77, once put it. 

Yet for 20 years, her work dominated Christian publishing, selling more than 40 million copies. Her best-known work, Jesus Calling, helped millions of readers listen for the voice of God and find a bit of calm in the hectic pace of modern life.

Her success was unlikely. Young, a graduate of Wellesley and Tufts, was serving as an overseas missionary when she began writing a series of prayers in the 1990s, composing each one as if Jesus were speaking directly to her. 

Those prayers eventually made their way to Christian publishing giant Thomas Nelson, which took a chance on the book. Jesus Calling was released in 2004, when Young was in her 50s, and after a modest initial release, it took off like a rocket and remained a bestseller for years.

Early on, Young worried that the publisher would lose money on the book. Her fears, it turned out, were unfounded. —Bob Smietana

Franne Lee

Plowhaus founder, Belmont and Watkins professor, SNL and Broadway costume designer

Born in the Bronx on Dec. 30, 1941, Franne Lee was a Tony-winning costume and set designer who created the looks for some of Saturday Night Live’s most iconic characters, including the Coneheads, Roseanne Roseannadanna and the Blues Brothers. If that wasn’t enough to cement her status as legendary, she also made the official banners that flew at Woodstock — which were stolen immediately after being hung.

But for Nashvillians, she may be best remembered for something else entirely — she was one of the founders of the influential Plowhaus Gallery and Artists’ Cooperative, which opened in East Nashville in 2001. The artists-run space quickly became the place to be on opening nights, and helped solidify East Nashville as a creative community with its own identity. Lee worked as a costume designer throughout her life, but she was also a painter, often utilizing wooden remnants of barn siding or old cabinets with a style the Scene’s Jack Silverman once praised for striking “that often-elusive balance between arty and aesthetically pleasing.” 

In addition to founding one of Nashville’s original galleries, Lee was an adjunct professor in Belmont’s theater department for 10 years, and she taught film design at Watkins for eight years. She also designed the costumes for Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet for the Nashville Shakespeare Festival. 

She is survived by her daughter, Stacy Sandler; sons Geoffrey Sandler and Willie Lee; a brother, Bill Newman; six grandchildren; and a great-granddaughter. —Laura Hutson Hunter 

Kerry Woo

Photographer, Lego master, grandparent

Kerry Woo had a creative streak that served him well in a diverse array of jobs, from setting up award-winning display stands at music stores to merchandising to the world of architectural photography in Nashville.

His love of architecture wasn’t limited to photos — it even inspired his work with Legos, the ever-popular brand of building blocks. In 2019 he leapt into the hobby and quickly racked up accolades for his Lego cityscapes. Some of his works included re-creations of buildings he photographed. He met other Tennessee-based Lego enthusiasts and teamed up with one of them, Patrick Durham of Knoxville, for Season 3 of the Fox show Lego Masters. The Grandpappies — as the duo called themselves — lasted only three episodes, but they are fondly remembered by fans of the show.

Woo died in June at age 69. — Alejandro Ramirez

Pope.L

Artist, provocateur

Pope.L, the artist who called himself both “the friendliest Black artist in America” and “a fisherman of social absurdity,” died just two days before Christmas 2023. He was 68.

Born William Pope on June 28, 1955, in Newark, N.J., the artist took on the name “Pope.L.” in the mid-1980s — a portmanteau of his surname and an initial representing his mother’s maiden name, Lancaster. In 2019, a joint retrospective titled member: Pope.L, 1978-2001 was exhibited concurrently at MoMA, the Whitney and Public Art Fund. His best-known work was a performance piece he called “crawls,” in which he would literally crawl on his stomach — first through Times Square in 1978, and again decades later up the length of Broadway, from New York Harbor to the Bronx. 

In 2009, Pope.L launched a project in Nashville called “Reenactor” under the stewardship of artist (and sometime Scene contributor) Jodi Hays, who was then the gallery director at TSU. “Being in a position to ask an artist like Pope.L to do anything and have him sayyes was absolutely intimidating — and a dream come true,” says Hays. “It still is.”

For “Reenactor,” Pope.L organized local volunteers to go about mundane tasks while dressed as Robert E. Lee. “The idea was to make our history visible,” Hays says. “But it was done in a silly way — the beards were so fake, the uniforms didn’t look authentic at all.” The resulting piece was what Pope.L called an endurance documentary — its running time is 72 hours, and it was meant to be watched in full. “All his work has been about discomfort.” 

He is survived by his partner, Mami Takahashi; an older brother, Eugene Pope; and a son, Desmond Tarkowski-Pope.L. —Laura Hutson Hunter 

Bobby Wyckoff

Beloved stage actor

Nashville’s theater community suffered a devastating loss when Bobby Wyckoff — one of the city’s most respected and beloved actors — died Dec. 18 after a brief battle with cancer. 

Originally from Nitro, W.V., Wyckoff graduated from Marshall University in 1986 with a degree in theater. He worked in regional and dinner theaters throughout the country before settling in Nashville in 1993. From the beginning, he demonstrated a rare gift for character development and comedic timing, although his dramatic work was quite polished as well. Over the next 30 years, he would turn in unforgettable performances at Nashville Children’s Theatre, Nashville Rep, Nashville Shakespeare Festival and Chaffin’s Barn Dinner Theatre, among others. 

NCT audiences will recall Wyckoff’s ability to breathe life into iconic roles like Lyle the Crocodile, Willie Wonka, Bunny (from Goodnight Moon) and Ratty (The Wind in the Willows). He also played Blue-Beard Giant in NCT’s original musical Jack’s Tale: A Mythic Mountain Musical Adventure, which premiered at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in 2015. (His hearty salute to “Taters and Maters” was pure joy.)

Balancing a kind heart and a wicked sense of humor, Wyckoff had an ability to crack up his castmates — especially those struggling to keep a straight face in the middle of a scene. Those fortunate enough to receive one of his meticulously costumed custom Barbies or paper dolls can attest to his generous spirit and boundless talents. —Amy Stumpfl