Fatal collision kills Stephanie during her birthday walk with her dog Inky Thursday night

One of Jeff Sprague’s fondest memories is cruising through Fort Bragg with his super‑cool big sister, Stephanie, in her 1966 Mustang, Boston blasting from the eight‑track. As an underclassman, Jeff felt lucky — Stephanie let him ride along with all the older kids, cruising from Stoney’s to A&W like he belonged there. Stephanie wasn’t just cool; she was the valedictorian of Fort Bragg High School’s Class of 1977, admired for both her brains and her effortless confidence.

On Thursday, July 23, Stephanie Sprague (Squires) left her senior‑housing apartment near the hospital to take her mini bulldog, Inky, for a sunset walk down Cypress Street. The day was her 67th birthday. Somewhere between Franklin Street and Main, Stephanie was struck and killed by a truck. Inky survived the collision, and the family is working to reunite with him.

The family is now worried about Stephanie’s cats, who may still be inside her senior‑housing apartment near the hospital. It’s not yet clear whether anyone has been able to check on them since the crash. If someone has a key or access to the unit, please contact Judy Martin or email frankhartzell@gmail.com so the animals can be safely located and cared for.

“I’m having a really tough time with this right now. She was my favorite sister — a free spirit and the smartest person ever, unlike her little brother here,” Jeff said. Jeff spent years as a commercial fisherman on the Mendocino Coast and now lives and works in Red Bluff.

Their parents, Bud Sprague and Patricia Sprague, were beloved figures in the Fort Bragg community. Bud was a commercial fisherman, and Patricia worked for many years at Mendocino Coast District Hospital before later owning the Green Parrot Ice Cream Parlor, a local favorite.

This is a large Fort Bragg family, once local and now spread across the country, but many are coming together next week as they try to reckon with Stephanie’s unexpected death and understand what happened. Several relatives first learned of the incident through Facebook. Although the MendocinoCoast.news story did not include her name, some community members recognized who it was and shared additional details online. Family members saw those posts along with our initial report, which contained only the information we were able to confirm at the time.

Jeff said he has made sure every family member has been notified. The Sprague children grew up on Trillium Lane, just off Highway 20 in the redwoods, a place the family still remembers with deep affection.

Stephanie’s son, Travis Squires, once worked as a security guard at Mendocino Coast District Hospital, where Frank also worked alongside him. Travis now lives in Washington. We will continue adding to this story as we speak with more people.

After the crash, Judy Martin, Executive Director of the Mendocino Coast Humane Society, took Inky into her own home rather than placing him in the kennels. She has since connected with a family member who will be taking Inky the dog home with them next week.

“We are a big family and many of us are getting long in the tooth and we don’t give up or go out easy. It took somebody else to take one of us out. We each lived life to the fullest every day,.” Jeff said.

Stephanie once traveled overseas on a school study trip, an experience she remembered fondly. She later pursued nursing and then a career in accounting in Santa Rosa until illness forced her to retire and return to Fort Bragg, where she remained active in many parts of community life. She was a familiar sight walking Inky near the hospital — a small, hunched, affable woman who greeted people warmly as she passed.

One of Stephanie’s favorite things was performing in local Footlighter plays and taking part in the annual Paul Bunyan Days dress revue. The Footlighters — Fort Bragg’s wacky, old‑west‑themed troupe — embodied the humorous way locals choose to both salute and gently poke fun at their forefathers and foremothers, a tradition the community has long embraced and enjoyed.

The Sprague family includes Norwegians, Russians, and other immigrant lines drawn like magnets to the remote fishing and logging town of Fort Bragg. Their history stretches across continents: one ancestor was killed in Russia, and his widow fled across Asia, where an American military officer encountered her in China and helped her to safety.

And where did that long, improbable journey finally lead?

Fort Bragg, of course.

We promised the family we would work to gather more details, and we also told them how much we hate watching the media mafia fire out a press‑release version of a human loss in cold police jargon. When that happens — when the press release gets ahead of the remembrance of an important human life — readers are left with only the statistic, not the person. That responsibility falls on both the audience and the transactional news media here and everywhere. Our goal is to remember victims of tragedies, not alleged or convicted criminals.

We want to make journalism human again, no matter what the media mafia or the AIs think. We will check every press release, because that’s what any journalist should do — even if many don’t anymore. And we’d love for readers to help us breathe life and humanity back into the news. This work only matters if the community joins in, insists on real reporting, and refuses to let human lives be reduced to bullet points in a press‑release feed.

To that end, we bring you a nod to More Than a Feeling, the number‑one hit from the Boston album Stephanie and her brother Jeff listened to as they slowly cruised through Fort Bragg in the lost art of teenage freedom. The song’s themes — memory, longing, and the way music can carry a person back to a moment in time — fit perfectly with how Stephanie is remembered today.

So many people have come and gone
Their faces fade as the years go by
Yet I still recall as I wander on
As clear as the sun in the summer sky

It’s more than a feeling
(More than a feeling)
When I hear that old song they used to play
(More than a feeling)
I begin dreaming
(More than a feeling)
‘Til I see Marianne walk away
I see my Marianne walkin’ away

When I’m tired and thinking cold
I hide in my music, forget the day
And dream of a girl I used to know
I closed my eyes and she slipped away
She slipped away

So many people pass through our lives, their faces fading with the years, yet some memories stay sharp — bright as a summer sky. Hearing that old song from the Boston album Stephanie and Jeff played while cruising slowly through Fort Bragg brings back more than a tune; it brings back a feeling, a whole moment in time. Music opens the door to the past, letting us see the people we once knew and the places we once were.

When life feels heavy or cold, music becomes a refuge — a place to hide for a moment, to forget the day, and to remember someone who mattered. Close your eyes, and the memory slips back in. Close them again, and sometimes it slips away.

And yet, here on the Coast, some memories don’t slip away at all. They stay — in the way the fog lifts off the mill site, in the sound of a car rolling slow down Main Street, in the small kindnesses people remember long after the headlines fade. Stephanie lived her life in those human places: the hospital path she walked with Inky, the Footlighter stage lights, the laughter of Paul Bunyan Days, the quiet strength of a woman who kept showing up for her town.

In a town like ours, it becomes more than a feeling. It’s the way a community holds someone close after she’s gone — not as a statistic, not as a press‑release footnote, but as a bright, bubbly Fort Bragg girl who lived on her own terms and left a warmth that doesn’t fade.