Stephen Matthew Berg, 67, was born Nov. 3rd, 1958, in Minneapolis, MN, to Robert Mark Berg and Marilyn Rae (Sudmeier) Berg, the eldest of three. He died on Monday, Nov. 10, at his home in Milltown, WI, a stone’s throw from his hometown of Luck. As twilight descended, it seemed he had a foot in both worlds. The sky grew darker, the wind came up, and away he went, surrounded by the tremendous power of love – that of his gathered family, and, most importantly, that of God Almighty.

It was cold – but he was warm – and he knew the way.

Stephen was preceded in death by his parents and grandparents - and a long line of stalwart Scandinavians. Also, Uncle Paul and Auntie Helen Sudmeier; and Aunt Dorothy (Berg) Jacobsen, and cousin Mark Riley. A true friend of the four-leggeds, some of the special dogs in his life included Leo, his first, a black Afghan hound, Sparky, a rescued Collie/Shepherd, who’d had a really tough go of it, and finally two dogs that he purposefully chose and loved to distraction, Sapphire and Topaz, Australian Shepherds.

Stephen is survived by his progeny, Chase Joseph Berg; sister Lynda Christine (Berg) (Dick) Olds and her son Winston James Cluett and sister Susan Elizabeth Berg and her son Matthew and daughter Alida; The rest of the family includes uncle James (Gillian) Sudmeier, cousins Lady Jake (Elise/Lisa) Jacobsen, Jocelyn Riley-Steele, Karen Sudmeier-Rieux, John Sudmeier, Laura Sudmeier, Ryan Sudmeier and Jeffrey (JD) Sudmeier. Steve is also survived by ex-wife Melody (Nowakowski) Berg, girlfriend Jari Livingston, a few loyal friends and many more whom he left an indelible impact upon…plus the West Coast Ward contingent (second, but close) cousins, Brock, Cathy, Scott and Peggy.

Though his birth took place in “The Cities,” parents Bob and Marilyn Berg had taken up residence in Luck on a gorgeous wooded 40 across from the golf course on the 7th hole, which is how Marilyn and Bob came up with “Circle 7 Ranch,” the ranch part being a bit of a stretch. It was to this home each infant arrived. Their parents had a dream of an idyllic life in the country, where Marilyn’s ancestors had settled, just down the road where the Chippewa Trail begins. Steve attended Luck School for the first grade – achieving some small notoriety for having walked home at recess on the first day of school. It was unclear if he thought school was over for the day – or just wanted to go home.

Economic tides turned in the Village of Luck, the “Yo-Yo Capital of the World,” when the Duncan Yo-Yo Factory went out of business due to a long and costly trademark battle, as other manufacturers wanted a piece of the yo-yo action. Donald Duncan, the original Good Humor Ice Cream man, lost the ‘war’ in 1965 when the Federal Court of Appeals ruled Duncan’s trademark for the word “yo-yo” was no longer valid! The once-thriving industry, that had cranked out 3,600 yo-yos per hour, using millions of board feet of the area’s abundant hard maples, and in fact had sold a record 45 million yo-yos by 1962, was well and truly doomed and had to file bankruptcy in 1968. This little history lesson is included because it changed the course of Steve and his family’s future. Life in the country had lasted just seven years, which still left a permanent place in the hearts of the Bergs. Circle 7 was sold for a song and the young family of five, now with two daughters in tow, moved back to South Minneapolis, where they stayed for the majority of their schooling - Steve and Lynda graduating from Roosevelt High School and Suzy later from Hill Murray. Dad went “on the road” and mom was flipping houses, while keeping her kids in the same school district. And the Bergs still spent their weekends and much, if not most of the summer at “The Farm.” And at least one, if not two of the kids were allowed to bring a friend almost all of the time. Many of Stephen’s and his sister’s friends have great memories of their time spent in Luck – it was always great to get out of the city.

Kids are resilient and Stephen was especially delighted to have the toy store “Jollys” nearby. He spent countless hours - and all of his allowance – on model airplanes, crafting them with precision, and painstakingly painting them to replicate famous WW II fighter planes, like the B52 Bomber, P-51 Mustang and P-40 Warhawk, he strategically hung them from his ceiling and narrated great battles like he was there. Steve was nine when “Snoopy VS the Red Barron” topped the charts in 1967, and suddenly his hobby seemed a bit less off the beaten path. He honed his artistic talent with colored pencils and re-created detailed scenes of the legendary WW II Flying Tigers on yards and yards of freezer paper. “Those Bergs sure go through a lot of freezer paper, I wonder what they are wrapping?” This from the local grocer who knew everybody’s business.

Years later, Stephen would wax poetic and say the only people he truly respected were “fighter pilots and flight medics.” He was fascinated with aircraft of all kinds, and flight itself. He was always testing boundaries, including the law of gravity. He once persuaded the neighborhood gang to climb “Old Sam,” a landmark tree, and leap out of it with an umbrella on a very windy day – to see how far one could fly. There were more than a few sprained ankles, but no compound fractures. A tad on the accident-prone side himself, Stephen had a goodly amount of experience with first aid, long before he ever enlisted. One summer in Luck, Great Grandma Ingeborg, who didn’t “suffer a fool,” adeptly showed him how to fashion a sling –out of a dishcloth - for his sister, whose arm he had broken by jumping out of a tree onto one end of a free standing hammock, where she had the gall to “have her nose in another book,” a federal crime by his standards back then when he needed a playmate or partner in crime. He spent a few days working on the woodpile for that transgression.

Steve and Lynda spent a lot of time at Longfellow Park, where they played sports, went to dances, ice-skated, mostly playing pretty aggressive “smear” pullaway – with Steve on speed skates. We even did ceramics, and generally goofed around.

The Bergs were members of Bethany Lutheran Church, where the kids got confirmed. Later they went to Mount Olivet, following their favorite Pastor Ken.

After a weekend mishap involving a (rented) golf cart, where he likely hit a half a dozen balls into the woods on #9, and, exercising poor judgment decided to go try to find them – with the cart - he got in trouble with his Grandma Toots (Ingrid Sudmeier Jennings), who read about the escapade at her home in Arkansas as she had a subscription to the Luck Enterprise Press. Suffice it to say, Stephen was banned from Luck for the foreseeable future, such was the wrath of Tootsie.

Not long after, he enlisted in the Air Force, serving with the 86th Medical Group at the esteemed “Clinic Rammstein,” in Germany. The installation is home to the largest American community outside of the United States. The ambulatory care facility is renowned for its cutting-edge expertise in dozens of medical disciplines. NATO operates out of the base, which also serves as HQ for US Air Forces throughout Europe and Africa. Steve thought it was all “pretty cool” and flourished in that environment, setting himself up for a lifetime career in the medical field. With no choice but to be responsible and exercise some discipline, it turned out he had a nearly encyclopedic mind when it came to all things medical. Those who knew him were inevitably subjected to some demonstration or recitation thereof, which could be both irritating and endearing – at the same time. It was during this period of his life that he amassed the majority of his letters of recommendation, mostly commending him for his work ethic, leadership skills and morale-boosting style. He was a Type A kind of guy who liked to have fun, which was more fun if everybody else was having a good time too. Undoubtedly, those letters served him well, getting his foot in the door nearly every place he applied.

But who was Stevie B? Who among us really knew him? In many ways, he was an enigma, a walking dichotomy, so different were the many colors of Stephen M Berg. He was a “squirrel face,” a common term we used, right up until last week, of either endearment or reprimand. He used to try so hard to come off as some kind of macho bad#as, when he was really just a sweetie pie with a heart of gold. He would give you the shirt off his back – and if he had five bucks he would give you ten. He loved playing Santa, but not so much at Christmastime. It was uncanny how he always had a half dozen or more Mac and Dons’ cheeseburgers in his ever-present bag, pronounced like rag. He knew to whom he should share with…and when. He was especially pleased and probably proud when his cheeseburger recipient of choice landed well. He was very specific about just how one must reheat it to ensure perfection. He also seemed to have a never-ending supply of sunglasses and gladly gave them away too. A boon for his sister, who invariably lost them. He loved the Minnesota State Fair and it was a blast to go with him. It was one of those Do Not Break dates. Rain or shine, sick, lame or lazy - excuses were not tolerated.

He was a child. He really was – an endearing puppy-dog -like child – who is going to be missed so so much by those of us who love(d) him. The goofus found creative ways to avoid adulting, as if he couldn’t be bothered with the mundane - except when it came to housekeeping. Never once was his place less than immaculate. Everything exactly in its place. Always. “Perfection in action,” he would say, as he fussed over his guns like they were children and he handled them with respect – as his father bade him. Usually, that is.

Steve was a voracious reader, gobbling up huge Tom Clancy books with obvious glee. He loved the smell of a fresh new read, where he could be transported from the mundane to the intriguing spy vs spy kind of novels written by Robert Ludlum, arguably his favorite author. He also loved Clive Cussler and James Patterson. He always bought hardcovers and his library was extensive. When his eyes gradually became veiled by cataracts until he could barely see, it was almost certainly a contributing factor to his downfall. After his surgeries, the sight he regained failed to propel him back into the live wire he was, both interested and interesting. He became a very good listener in his later years. Maybe he always was, a trait he shared with his mother. But there would be very little singing and dancing after that, though he did muster some energy in small spurts from time to time, like when he tried to copy sister Suzy’s moves to Rappin’ 4-Tay. They were awesome!

{In an aside, Steve used to keep in pretty regular touch with several peeps from his past. If he abruptly lost contact with you, it isn’t because he didn’t love you anymore, but because he could no longer see to use his phone - and had too much pride to ask for help. I’m sure you’re over it, but I wanted to apologize on his behalf anyways.}

Stephen was a consummate entertainer in his own inimitable fashion. He threw a good party with great music. It is said the best hosts are the ones who have a good time at their own parties. At least that’s what mom said. Stephen loved music and he loved to dance. And he did it loud and proud, like nobody was watching, long before that phrase became a meme. All through the school years, the thought just now occurs, Stephen somehow always got home first. That’s fishy. By the time his sisters got home from school, he would be halfway through whatever the hot new album was, “chillin with his homies,” no girls allowed. From Deep Purple, Frank Zappa and Black Sabbath to Average White Band, Earth, Wind and Fire, and the Climax Blues Band, he moved on to Led Zepplin, Jethro Tull, Uriah Heap, the Doors, the Stones, Pink Floyd and Prince. He’d throw in some Frampton, Stevie Ray Vaughn, even Stevie Nicks, if there were “chicks.” Speaking of, wow, was he a flirt! But what most of his girlfriends didn’t understand, is that he literally flirted with everybody – all women that is, the whole spectrum. He would be just as outrageous and complimentary to a frumpy, downtrodden, 68 year-old-maid, as to the perky babe at the bank. He saw them all. It was truly sweet. There’s got to be better than 1,000 women, all over the world, who have properly blushed from his attentions. I don’t think he could help himself – he got that from dad.

Whether Stephen’s wanderlust stemmed from innate curiosity and a yen for adventure, or a deeper sense of longing to travel – he and wife Melody, who married in 1991, were eminently employable with medical and techie skillsets, respectively. Since their moves were to sunny California, Arizona and Nevada, it is likely they just wanted to escape the cold. But once their son Chase was born, home and family beckoned, and they returned to Minnesota, where Steve worked at the Vets Hospital for the next decade. He and Mel untied the knot around 2011.

Stephen has always been a BIGTIME Packer backer! He could recite stats as far back as they go. His blood ran green and gold for sure and he lived and died with his team like they were family. And they kind of were. This black and blue division is wild, maybe because of the cold? It is the coolest thing that here in Wisconsin, the public owns the Pack. The very happiest day of his entire life had to be when his dad finally made good on his promise to bring him to a Packer game! Never was there a kid more overjoyed! The rest of the family were, and still are, diehard Vikings fans. But there never was a player the likes of fullback John Brockington, #42, who was Rookie of the Year in 1971. He was so powerful. His knees would nearly touch his chin as he ran through, over, and around Jim Marshall, Alan Page and Carl Eller. Just unbelievable. Stephen’s artistic talent then went from drawing fighter pilot sagas to NFL battles, featuring the amazing Packer fullback who shattered the records at the time. Steve was just reminiscing about him the other day…something about over 1000 yards rushing his first three years – and how Bart Starr was misguided when he held Brockington’s reins too tightly.

Towards the end of Steven’s mother's life, he returned to Luck at his sisters’ behest, and helped them care for her so she could stay in her home– in accordance with her wishes. When he was “on break,” he would make a beeline to the gas station – but not for gas. He was well and truly smitten with Miss Jari, whose customers chatted away with her and left with a smile. So did he.

Steve talked a pretty good story about his deer hunting days, but his freezer wasn’t stocked with venison, so might need to throw a flag there, although much as he loved venison, it would be like him to share the meat until it was gone. He overcooked it anyway. But when the fish were biting, he was laser-focused and would gleefully reel in sunnies, crappies and bluegills. As time went by and he lost his appetite, Winston would make sure that when he was frying up fresh panfish, walleyes or Northern he would save some for Steve, as it was one thing that he said, “tasted the same.”

Those were the days. And now his days are done. It is surreal. Looking through photos from just one short year ago, it is hard to believe how ravaged one’s body can become when it no longer tolerates real nourishment, rather just another beer, he had a penchant for Natural Ice. Surely cigs the likes of Newport Menthol 100s didn’t help. But he went out his way, stubborn to the end. That he was full of bluster and enjoyed embellishing a good story was par for the course. Everybody knew and nobody cared. He was loving and he was kind, but his drive was gone and no real purpose remained.

He was done.

Rest in Peace Dear Brother, Stephano Bergano…Godspeed on your journey.

Until we meet again

P.S. He got the girl.

Stephen Matthew Berg, will be interred with Military Honors on Dec. 5, at Fort Snelling National Cemetery, in Minneapolis, Minnesota at 1:30 p.m., where his father is also laid to rest.

The family would like to invite any of Steve’s pals to join us in remembering our brother. We will be at the Cardinal Restaurant and Bar in South Minneapolis (2920 E 38th St, Minneapolis, MN 55406), no later than 2:30 p.m. and Stephen is buying (Just kidding, but he would if he could), and yes, there will be an open bar…and apps…one must feed one’s liver. Of note, Amy and Tanya will be working and are going to reserve space starting at 2:00 p.m. Sure hope some of you can make it.

Love, Lynda

Last Update: Nov 24, 2025 9:32 am CST