Obituary of Richard E. Pyle, Sr.

November 11, 1939 – October 28, 2025

Richard E. Pyle, Sr. Age 85 of Taylor.

Beloved husband of Delores. Loving father of Lisa Hurst (Claudia Bonar), Richard (Tracey) Pyle, Jr., and Andrea Tetreault. Dearest grandfather of Gage Tetreault, Kyla Tetreault, Audrey Pyle, Cade Tetreault, Nicholas (Skylar) Pyle, and Chaz Tetreault.

Memorial contributions are appreciated to St. Paul Lutheran Church or the Wounded Warrior Project.

~ Family Tribute ~ 
Our dad, Richard E. Pyle, was one of those people who left an impression wherever he went. Not because he was loud or demanding attention, but because you could feel his presence. He carried himself with quiet confidence, a sharp wit, and a deep sense of purpose that came from truly caring about people.

He was born and raised in Wyandotte, Michigan, and graduated from Wyandotte High School in 1959. Before joining the Air Force, he played baseball for the Detroit Tigers’ minor league team—and for a time, we were told he was the youngest player ever to do so. But Dad was never one to stay still for long. He decided to make a change, and that decision led him to a new kind of team — the United States Air Force.

While serving, he was injured during a conflict in the Taiwan Straits, a moment that changed the course of his life. It was through that difficult time that he found the greatest blessing of all: my mom, Delores (or Sandy, as most people know her). They met after he returned to Selfridge Air Force Base on a blind date, and they went on to share 63 years together. Their love wasn’t perfect, but it was real — built on loyalty, humor, and the unspoken promise that they’d always have each other’s backs.

When Dad transitioned into civilian life, he brought that same sense of discipline and pride into his work. He took on leadership roles in the auto supply industry and eventually retired as a Quality Control Manager. He liked things done right — not because he wanted authority, but because he took pride in doing a job well. He believed that if your name was on something, it should mean something.

But if there was one role that defined my dad, it was coach. Coaching was where he came alive. He coached baseball, softball, football, and golf — but what he really coached was character. He had this gift for knowing exactly what to say when you were frustrated or losing focus. He’d find a way to calm you down, bring you back to the game, and remind you that one mistake didn’t define you. His players learned more than the rules of a sport — they learned resilience, respect, and teamwork.

Even when he wasn’t officially coaching, he couldn’t help himself. He’d wander down to the ballpark at the end of our street, ready to lend a hand or offer advice, whether you knew him or not. That was Dad — never a stranger for long. He could talk to anyone, and if you stood still long enough, you’d likely end up in a full conversation filled with laughter and at least one terrible dad joke.

He loved sports, westerns, and music — especially Buddy Holly. He could sing, dance, and tell stories for hours. He was also artistic, crafting beautiful crosses out of plexiglass that people cherished. And yes, he was a collector — of coins, of keepsakes, and, as my mom would say, probably everything else he could get his hands on.
 

But the heart of my dad’s story was always family. His kids and grandkids were his pride and joy. He loved nothing more than when we were all together, and he never missed a chance to remind us that family was what mattered most.

Dad’s life was full — of love, of laughter, of lessons that will outlive him. He taught us to show up for others, to stay calm when life gets tough, and to find humor even in hard times. He lived a life worth remembering, not because of what he did, but because of who he was — a husband, a father, a grandfather, a coach, and a man whose heart was big enough for everyone he met.