Steven Paul York

He was born August 31, 1970, in Pekin to Anthony and Peggy Jean (Woolf) York. He was preceded in death by his parents and one sister, Julie Petrone.

Surviving are five children, Mallory York, Dirk (Stephanie) York, Austin (Emily) Dungan, Colt York, Rett (Tracy) York; seven grandchildren, Marley, Macy, Maxx, Liam, Nova, Rowe and Bluem; three brothers, Anthony (Tracy) York, John York, Mark York; two wives from previous marriages, Joy York and Theresa Sloan; two sisters-in-law, Tina York and Courtney Moore and many aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews.

And now that we've gotten through the obligatory, governmental paperwork part of his legacy, let's talk about our Dad.

He always said people live forever through their children, which might be why there are so many of us. He also always said, in his best Kid Rock voice, "I was born at night, but not last night," so it seems maybe not every catchphrase was filled with deep-seated wisdom.

He was not full of what anyone would consider traditional fatherly advice—but if you wanted to drink a beer (or thirty) and discuss existential nihilism, the vastness of the universe, comparative theology, or listen to Metallica loud enough to concern the neighborhood, Dad was your guy.

He could quote Nietzsche from memory, explain your tax return, spend an hour convincing you Kurdistan deserved liberation, and then ask to borrow twenty bucks for tobacco so he could hand-roll another 40 unfiltered cigarettes to chain-smoke before the day was over.

If you came here looking for a tidy story about a good man who lived a simple life, you've got the wrong obituary. Dad was complicated. He wasn't the father Hallmark wrote movies about, and none of us are interested in pretending otherwise. He disappointed people. He said hurtful things to people. And sometimes he disappeared, whether physically, or into his own mind, when we needed him most.

He was also one of the most intellectually curious people we've ever known.

Whether he was talking about ancient civilizations, tax law, computer systems, theology, military history, or the latest conspiracy he'd stumbled across at three in the morning, every conversation with him felt like you were either about to learn something fascinating or spend the next week trying to figure out whether he'd just told you an obscure historical fact or the most elaborate bs ever conceived. The honest answer is that sometimes we weren't entirely sure he knew the difference either. Dad never met a certainty he couldn't argue with—including his own.

He did some things with us dad’s probably shouldn’t. Shooting cans in the backyard, setting off epic firework displays, riding dirt bikes through cornfields. More importantly, he taught us to question everything. “Judge everything,” he would say, “how else are you supposed to establish any sort of reasonable criteria by which to live your life?”

The king of party tricks, he was proud of his ability to drive a framing nail in with one hammer swing, shoot his half court hook shots, or hold his breath underwater for an exceedingly frightening length of time. And whether you felt like debating Stanley Kubrick’s psychological masterpiece, The Shining, or Sergio Leone’s Epic Western, The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly, our Dad would be happy to watch a bootlegged copy with you.

He wasn't our hero. We didn't always understand him. We didn't always agree with him. We certainly didn't always survive conversations with him without being challenged, or dragged into a philosophical rabbit hole we never intended to enter.

If there is an afterlife, we imagine Dad is already arguing with someone, correcting their interpretation of history, and asking whether heaven has a smoking section. If there isn't, he'd probably appreciate the irony that we'll spend the rest of our lives debating what he'd have thought about all of this.

Maybe that's what he meant when he said people live forever through their children.

A celebration of Steven’s life will be held at Westminster Community Hall, 1504 West Moss Avenue in Peoria on July 18th, 2026 at 1 p.m. – with food of course. Cremation has been accorded by Preston-Hanley Funeral Homes & Crematory in Pekin.

To express condolences online, visit www.preston-hanley.com