A lot of recent Oregonians know the name “Winningstad” mainly because of the Dolores Winningstad Theatre, the little red jewel box in the Portland Center for the Performing Arts. Those who’ve been around longer vividly remember Dolores’s husband, Norm, the high-flying tech pioneer and philanthropist who represented the sort of freewheeling Western spirit that seems to have been largely swallowed up by the grayness of the new international corporatism. Norm never had an opinion he didn’t like to share, and in retirement he spread his views freely and frequently in venues such as the letters column of The Oregonian. After Norm took his life on November 24 at age 85, The Oregonian ran this obituary, this analysis of his business impact, and this editorial tribute. Norm was in considerable pain from severe health problems, and it’s good to think that he chose his exit with the same courage and flamboyance with which he lived his life. Friend of Scatter John Foyston was a longtime friend of the family, and he was on hand for yesterday’s memorial service. He files this report.
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By John Foyston
Yesterday, I was one of the 500 or so people who attended the memorial for Norm Winningstad, the brilliant high-tech entrepreneur and philanthropist. I’ve been lucky enough to know the family since 1963, when Dick and I became friends in the eighth grade.
Norm was the smartest man I’ve ever known — scary brilliant — and he did not suffer fools. But he was also incredibly warm, generous and funny. He was a true mensch, and Oregon is a better place because of him.
The memorial was pitch-perfect for Norm, held in a huge hangar at Global Aviation with bizjets, a jet helicopter and a Ferarri at one end. There was a simple stage with a large-screen slide show of Norm’s life: his days in the World War II Navy as a radar technician; with his wife Dolores and their family; in the office at Tektronix, Floating Point Systems and Lattice; with his beloved bulldogs; and at the controls of his helicopters, airplanes and fast cars — and his 1953 MG-TD, which was not so fast, but which he also loved.
Son Dennis delivered a remembrance that must’ve made Norm grin in pride, and Harry Merlo also spoke about his old friend. At the end, the hangar door slowly cranked back and a military honor guard fired a rifle salute and a bugler played Taps. It was a fitting sendoff for a man the likes of whom we won’t soon see again …
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Norm Winningstad: bigger than life. Photo: John Foyston