Steven Alec Bushman

For a man whose favorite phrase was “if you want a friend, get a dog,” he sure had a heck of a lot of 'em. In fact, from the moment Steven Alec Bushman was born to Lois and Irwin Bushman on January 6, 1962 in Derby, Connecticut, his larger-than-life personality and cheeky sense of humor paired with his devoted disposition and adventurous spirit made him magnetic to all.

In many ways, his childhood mimicked his adult years: traversing the world with an innate zeal for life and devising clever tactics to make a buck. Much before his admiration of Wicked emerged, a young Steve Bushman could be found bellowing the Milford Day Camp theme song as he walked the perimeter of the mall, bar mitzvah money in hand, inquiring to each retailer about where he could purchase an over-the-counter stock. Much to his dismay, he couldn’t locate one, but Wanda’s Sugar Shack—where sweets were a penny—and a listen to Genie the Magic Record could turn any rough day around.

As he entered his teenage years, he paired hard work at Caldor department store and McDonalds with antics distinctly Steve Bushman branded. The trunk of his 1967, green Chevrolet Chevelle evidenced this mischief, loaded with his sister’s bowling ball that he’d stolen years prior and cases of beer he sold to the local youth after purchasing them with an ID he’d boldly printed out himself. Not to mention, Steve’s peers could regularly be found lingering under his bedroom window catching up with him after they purchased fireworks from yet another of his unregulated businesses. However, once his dog Cocoa consumed the inventory, that business was, unfortunately (or very fortunately, depending on how you look at it), shut down. Growing up, his friends admired the fun he channeled into life; even an off-handed remark from his friend about a craving for cheesecake could have Steve pushing them into the front seat of his car and barreling down I-95 to New York City, so he could secure them an authentic slice. Even recently, Steve would enthusiastically detail the tale of a teacher he’d had that labeled everything in her classroom. He and another friend slowly removed the labels and watched her go mad. At the end of the school year, they mailed the labels to her home and eagerly awaited her reaction.

Despite his class clown ways, he was a math and stock market whiz. He attended the University of Connecticut and later graduated from Jacksonville’s University of North Florida with a B.S. in Finance in 1985. Undoubtedly, Steve’s career as a financial advisor was his calling. Starting at Prudential Bache and ending at Meinrod & Leeper Wealth Management of Raymond James, he expertly crafted custom trusts and pensions for his clients. He was always delighted to offer financial advice, and treasured the time he spent traveling the country living out his dream of being a one-man standup show dedicated to the bull and the bear. He also often reminisced about his fond memories rubbing shoulders with other market-minded folks during a course he took at The Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania. Additionally, throughout his life, Steve was a beloved landlord to many around Jacksonville, frequently showing up with a paint brush and toolkit ready to spearhead any renovation or repair. His stashes of items, such as old door knobs or keys could rival even the most well stocked Home Depot. When not crunching numbers or installing crown moulding, he spent time serving as the Vice-Chair of the University of North Florida College of Arts and Sciences.

His calling brought with it his most steadfast companion, Pamela Bushman, his ex-wife and dear friend. They met in 1988 while colleagues at Prudential Bache, and later married on October 20, 1991. Together, they had two daughters (Lindsay and Jessica), were known for their legendary Christmas parties, and bonded over their shared love of travel and always having a darn good time. Most of all, Pam and Steve created a household filled with love and a family in which each member understands the profound depth of love they each carry for one another.

As a father, he loved his daughters fiercely and molded them, with their mother, into women just as fierce. To his dismay, they failed to direct their ferocity towards Delta Air Lines customer service, and, instead, almost daily, he found himself in debates that could be instigated only by those who shared his DNA. You’ll often hear it said about women that they were born to be a mother, but it is rarer to hear that a man was born to be a father; with Steve, that statement couldn’t be truer. Being a girl dad, which he often proudly advertised on his famous Dad joke t-shirts, was his greatest joy in life. He instilled in his girls a mindset that their capacities are limitless, and that their capacity for joy knows no limits. Some of his most cherished memories with them occurred in the early 2000s within the four walls of the family’s local Waffle House and Panera, where he’d bring Lindsay and Jessica to breakfast before school. Like a screw going through his head, they never failed to remind him that his doctor had placed a limit on his coffee intake, and like a screw going through theirs, he’d inform them of the latest stock market scuttlebutt. Giggles were abundant, and days would end with bedtime stories like Yertle the Turtle. He kept involved at their elementary school, working with the Development Committee for Jacksonville Country Day School. Steve rarely referred to his girls by name; instead, he answered their calls with a cheerful “hi, honey buns!” or “hey, sweet pea,” and when he told stories about his “pumpkins” he beamed with pride over his “babies.” As they got older, he taught them new games like ‘Drink a Drink, Buy a Gift,’ entertained their common love of lottery tickets and eating directly out of the gallon of ice cream, and, most of all, would drop anything and everything for them. He was overjoyed when Lindsay and Jessica could join him on his travels, always reminding them to flap their wings as the plane took off.

In his later years, Steve partially retired and fully immersed himself in his travels. He safaried through the plains of Africa (three times!), snorkeled in Turks and Caicos, traversed Machu Picchu with Lindsay, pet kangaroos in Australia, wore flip flops through a civil war in Ethiopia, sang the Figurines jingle after dinner in Milan, admired his favorite Christmas lights on Regent Street in London, watched the Book of Mormon in New York City with Jessica, sipped coffee in Parisian cafes, popped champagne on a rooftop in Prague after hiking in Germany, remembered his lack of affinity for lobster rolls in Maine, and sipped Canadian lager at a hockey game in Toronto, to name a few of his adventures. His last big trip was in March 2025. He traveled to Japan, South Korea, Thailand, Vietnam, and Singapore with his closest family and friends, go karting through the streets of Tokyo and experiencing a 7.7 earthquake along the way. A deal on a flat-bed plane seat, free airline socks, and a complimentary Tumi toiletry case were the keys to his heart.

Despite Steve’s passion for traveling, his favorite place in the world was his balcony overlooking Jacksonville Beach, at sunrise or sunset, with his girls by his side or overflowing with friends and family on the Fourth of July. His eyes would grow huge at the mention of key lime pie, and his cranberry orange bread was one of his signature recipes. You could hear him before you saw him, and, if you were lucky, you’d be met with a rendition of the Time Warp from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, or a presentation on his tiny stapler, carried with him from Kindergarten onwards. He was a flower-lover with a particular fondness for orchids and even rescued one from the trash. He’d wear clothes with holes and water shoes to the gym, while simultaneously getting giddy as he revved the engine of his sports car. He must’ve never had any change because he was always saying, “if I had a nickel.” He’d squeal while watching horror movies and forget the day of week, but know every detail of a pointless lawsuit he was still angry about from twenty years back. He never let the candy jar go empty and was a jar half full kind of guy.

In 2021, Steve was diagnosed with uveal melanoma that, in 2024, metastasized to his liver and, later, to his spine and his lungs. Even so, he’d say his days were “just amazing” and “wondrous.” Not because his days weren't sometimes quite difficult, but because his positive outlook was truly unwavering.

Steven Alec Bushman passed away on August 28, 2025. He is survived by “his girls:” his daughters, Lindsay Bushman (Wesley Okerson) and Jessica Bushman and his ex-wife and soul“mate” Pamela Bushman; his sister, Debra Bushman (Alfred Shastokas), brother, Michael Bushman (Suzanne Corbett), and lifelong best friend and travel partner, Carolyn Matthes.

In lieu of flowers, donations in memory of Steven Bushman may be made in support of Uveal Melanoma Research at Jefferson's Sidney Kimmel Comprehensive Cancer Center. Please donate online to : Jefferson.edu/SupportUvealMelanoma and select the button next to where it says "make your gift a tribute" and write in Steven Bushman.