Joseph D. Iannotta

of the Hill District, passed away peacefully on Tuesday, June 24, 2025. Joe was married to Linda (Dunne) Iannotta for 55 years; father of Joah Iannotta (Sam Young); brother of Catherine DeRiggi (Carl); uncle to Mallorie DeRiggi; and son of the late Dominic and Catherine Iannotta.

When a loved one dies, it’s a reminder that, rather than our resumes, it’s the memories, experiences, and the things we learned from those we love that stay with us. Here are a few moments that capture what my dad shared with us.

It was 1987, and I came home from the YMCA with a confused look on my face. “How was the gym?” my dad asked. “Some guy insisted on spotting me on the bench press. I told him I was fine, but he insisted and gave me a lift off and kept talking to me. When I was done with the set, he went to the other side of the room, and then he stayed away from me the rest of the time we were in there. It was weird. I’m pretty sure I was benching more than him.”

My dad guffawed, utterly delighted. “Joah, when a 14-year-old girl benches more than an adult man, they get intimidated. Good job!”

That day, I learned it’s okay to defy expectations—and that being strong and a girl was a good thing. I carried that lesson with me, and much later in life, my dad’s guidance in weightlifting helped me win two World Championships in powerlifting and set four world records.

That same year, my mom decided to try running a marathon. While he didn’t know much about running, my dad instinctively encouraged her to complement her training with weightlifting. This is standard practice now to help runners prevent injuries, but at the time, his advice was ahead of its time. My mom never suffered an overuse injury and went on to run four marathons, clocking in just over four hours—something few people achieve even today. As her strength grew, I noticed her posture changed. Her shoulders weren’t caved over anymore—she stood straighter, and over the years, the feeling of strength and trust in her own body solidified an inner resilience and belief in her own capabilities.

My dad also had moments of quiet insightfulness, recognizing when someone needed help. After listening to my aunt, his sister, smile gently and reminisce about him walking her to school when she was little, I remembered him dropping me off at Montessori. The school had several farm animals, and because we were late—probably because I had declared I wasn’t eating breakfast that morning—there was a lone chicken on the path leading up to the school. Dad had dropped me off when I had emphatically declared I could walk myself, but the big white bird stood in my path. I stepped to the right, and it did too, blocking my way. We did this dance a few times, and I remember growing increasingly fearful as the bossy creature, which seemed to enjoy standing down a 4-year-old, took a few steps closer to me. I hadn’t noticed, but my dad had quietly come up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. “That’s a big bird, but I think we can walk past her.” He took my hand and slowly walked me around the bird. I remember how relieved and comforted I was by him quietly lending some help. He didn’t shout at the bird or chase it off or tell me not to be scared. He showed me that calm and confidence are often what’s needed in a confrontation.

My dad was silly and jovial, and he loved making others laugh, often with self-effacing humor. He took great pride in my mom’s and my achievements, bragging rather shamelessly to others—or rather insisting I regale someone with a story of whatever thing I had recently done. Funny how you can still feel like an awkward teenager in moments like that, even if you’re 52 years old. He introduced me to sci-fi and superheroes, and I won’t forget joyful shopping expeditions to the local comic book store and trips to see the latest superhero movie. We always got popcorn and either Snowcaps or Hot Tamales.

In the end, my dad taught me that strength comes in many forms—physical, emotional, and the quiet kind that helps you face life’s challenges with grace. His lessons will stay with me forever.

Services and interment will be private in accordance with Joseph’s wishes. Arrangements entrusted to WILLIAM SLATER II FUNERAL SERVICE, Scott Twp., 412-563-2800.

In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions in Joseph’s name may be made to the Parkinson’s Foundation, 850 Cranberry Woods, Cranberry, PA 16066; the UPMC Hillman Cancer Center, UPMC Cancer Pavilion, Suite 1B, 5150 Centre Avenue, Pittsburgh, PA 15232, www.hillman.upmc.com/difference/supporting/make-a-gift; or to the Humane Animal Rescue of Pittsburgh, Attn. Donations, 6926 Hamilton Avenue, Pittsburgh, PA 15208, www.humaneanimalrescue.org.

www.slaterfuneral.com