Wilfred Cesanek

It is with a heavy heart that we announce the passing of Wilfred J. Cesanek. Known by his nieces and nephew as Willie, and by friends, strangers, fellow parishioners, the community of ballroom dancers, dining companions, dogs, birds, and just about everyone who crossed his path as Wil, he died in hospice care on November 2, 2025, after a downturn in his health that was so brief, he was on the dance floor only two weeks earlier.

Wil was born in Allentown, PA on October 11, 1932, the youngest of four children born to John and Mary (Strella) Cesanek. His father died when Wil was four, but despite that absence, Wil did not lack for love. His mother was devoted to him, neighbors took him under their wing, and his easygoing personality ensured that he got along with everyone.

Early on, Wil showed an aptitude for art, a trait he shared with his late father. He liked to tell the story of how, in parochial school, his natural skill with drawing led the nun, who liked him and his artwork, to hold him back a year to keep him around.

In time his interest in producing art waned, but his appreciation for the arts never faltered. Throughout his life, Wil was an enthusiastic reader of novels (Nevil Shute, Lee Falk, Ernest Hemingway), comics (Prince Valiant, The Phantom, Terry & The Pirates, Calvin and Hobbes), and journalists (most recently, film critic Steve Persall and sports columnist John Romano). As a married man, he frequented art fairs, musicals, and musical performances.

These were far from his only passions. As a young man he grew enchanted with aviation. After a stint in the Air Force, spent stationed in England, he became an avid attendee of air shows as well as a licensed pilot, going up into the clouds in his 1947 Piper Vagabond. For a brief period, he became a skydiver as well. On the ground, sports cars grabbed his fancy - he owned a Thunderbird, a Ferrari, a Jaguar, and an Alfa Romeo – while his camera captured landscapes, waterfowl, and aircraft in flight.

Sports provided him with many fine adventures, some spur of the moment, a few at games that became legendary. Many times he attended the Lehigh-Lafayette game, one of the oldest college football rivalries in America. Memorably, he once snagged a free ticket offered by a fan up high in the bleachers, who then sent said ticket sailing downward until it reached Wil's outstretched hand. He also had the distinction of being one of the few, and perhaps only, Tampa Bay Ray fans to attend both the first game played in their home stadium, The Tropicana, and, thanks to a hurricane, the last (or at least the last in his lifetime, as repairs to the shredded roof will allow a reopening next season).

All of these passions were evident in Wil's home décor. Every wall and surface told a chapter in the story of his life: paintings of jazz musicians, tapestries of birds, model airplanes, die-cast cars, signed baseballs, air show posters, framed photos snapped from his lens, bobblehead hockey figures, empty Wheaties boxes emblazoned with sports luminaries, the Alfa's grille.

The first of Wil's careers began in the Whitehall Cement Company, located down the block from his childhood home, where he continued to live, with his mother, into his forties. He soon moved from that factory into working in the machine shop at Bonney Forge Plant, in Allentown. After the plant closed, he began his second career, leaving the world of factories for the outdoors, where he worked on landscape crews. He liked going to work throughout his life, but for him the real attraction was friends he made on the job.

Shortly before his first career came to an end, another, equally momentous life change occurred. His mother said to him, "Villie, you know I'm not going to be around forever. So you have to find yourself a wife." Though a novice at the dating scene, Wil lucked out. On his first try, he connected with Sylvia, a librarian with an appreciation for the arts.

Some men might exaggerate, or even fib about, certain traits when introducing themselves to a woman. Wil, however, described himself accurately. He told her, right at the start, that he was sincere, gentle, and kind. He assured her that the warm, sensitive, caring, open man still existed in the world. And he added that, while his major interests were travel, sports, and the arts, he was flexible about creating new ones. Sylvia was won over. They married in 1980 with his mother Mary looking on, beaming.

A few years later, tired of cold winters, Wil and Sylvia relocated to Largo, Florida. There, in a modest, pleasingly decorated home, they lived happily to retirement and the years beyond.

Early in their time in Florida, Wil experienced two life-altering events. One happened when Wil's landscape crew spotted a gray cockatiel in a tree. It seemed friendly yet homeless, and Wil, not previously a pet owner, decided to bring it home. Pumpkin, or Punk, as this bird became known, settled right in. Enchanted by the social tendencies of this species, Wil and Sylvia got a companion, Lemon, or Lem. These beloved birds rounded out the family.

The other event also originated well off the ground, though this time it was Wil who was at a high elevation. Standing on a ladder to trim a tree, he came in contact with an electrical wire. Electricity coursed through him. He was rushed to the hospital. As he said in the years following his recovery, "I was supposed to die that day but didn't. So everything that happens from here is extra." Though why did he have that extra time? He wondered.

Together, Wil and Sylvia became fascinated with lighthouses. Wil would say he found lighthouses compelling in that they save lives and have a magnetic majesty that draws people to them. Living out of a Sea Breeze motor home, nicknamed Wil's Wheel-Inn and adorned with a painterly rendering of Punk and Lem, the family of four crisscrossed the U.S., touring lighthouses on the coasts. Soon, scores of meticulously-crafted, small-scale recreations of lighthouses assumed a prominent place among their cherished knickknacks. Visitors marveled.

Eight years into retirement, Sylvia was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and Wil committed himself to caring for her. They stopped traveling, and he threw himself into caregiving with the same focus he'd put into his many interests. He became a devoted attendee of a support group. He read Alzheimer's-themed memoirs. Eventually, with the support of two of Sylvia's daughters, Lenore and Rachel, who were helping him with Sylvia's care, he enrolled her in Maria's Adult Daycare, where he also became a volunteer. Attendees and staff deepened his understanding of the condition.

One day, while Wil was volunteering at the daycare center, the activities director, a spirited woman named Charlotte Hutton, put on music so the members would dance. Wil, who'd always felt too awkward to join a disappointed Sylvia on the dance floor at weddings, decided to sign up for a class at a dance studio. Not a slate of classes. A single session. That should do the trick.

His class with instructor Corinne Rungo was transformative. He was putting his mind to a new skill. Freeing himself from his concerns. Regaining a sense of community. The idea of a single session went out the window. At the age of 83, under the tutelage of a warm, knowledgable instructor, Wil grew into a true dancer, skilled in waltz, foxtrot, and tango.

A few years later, Wil was forced to confront the fact that he was no longer able to care for Sylvia at home. Sylvia moved into a memory care unit, where Wil visited every day for the remaining three and a half years of her life.

Over his many years of being a caregiver, Wil was able to answer the question he'd asked himself long before, after he'd survived the electrocution at work. He was given a second life so he could be there for Sylvia. For over a decade, he put heart and soul into what was essentially his final career, and was grateful every day that he could be with her.

After Sylvia passed away, Wil moved to assisted living in Freedom Square of Seminole. There he enjoyed the company of Phil, Joan, George, Austin, and other friends. Well-liked by residents and staff, Wil was always ready to laugh at jokes or offer an encouraging word.

He was also adored by the three close friends who sustained him during and after Sylvia's illness: the aforementioned Charlotte and Corinne, and Vivian Perroni. Over the phone, on the dance floor, in restaurants and cafes, he and his friends shared triumphs and fears, buoyed each other up, and just had fun.

These friends survive him, as do stepdaughters Lenore Simon (Mike Phelps) of Arizona, Rachel Simon (Hal Dean) of Delaware, and Beth Simon (Tony Smith) of Pennsylvania; nephew Joseph Tarafas (Cindy) and niece Maureen Tarafas, both of Pennsylvania; niece Kathy Tarafas, of Florida; and pet cockatiel Rudy, successor to Punk and Lem.

A funeral will be held at the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Cemetery in Northampton, PA, at a date to be determined. In lieu of flowers, Wil wanted donations to be made to the Mercy School, a loving and caring school for children with special needs that Wil held in the highest regard. His great-nephew Mikie was once a student there, and Wil donated to the school many times in Mikie's memory. Please send your donation to: The Mercy School For Special Learning, 830 S. Woodward St., Allentown, PA 18103.

Wil had many ways to say goodbye. "Later," he would say. Or, "Talk to you soon – down the road." But for us to say goodbye to him, we will turn to a word he learned, and practiced saying, for his 90th birthday, when his friend Corinne arranged for him to attend a game for the Tampa Bay Rays and meet a star player from Cuba, Randy Arozarena. And so, as his eyes lit upon the famed outfielder, Wil called out, with gusto, "Fantastico!", sparking merriment and applause from all around. It is a word that, in the end, summed up his life. He would have hoped that one day it would sum up your life, too.