Joe Pizzurro

Joseph “Joe” Pizzurro, 76, of Warren, passed away peacefully on Saturday, November 15, 2025, at UPMC Pittsburgh Shadyside, surrounded by his loving family.

Born on July 10, 1949, in Sicily, Italy, Joe was the son of Giuseppe and Francesca (Randazo) Pizzurro.

In July of 1966, Joe and his family immigrated to the United States, settling in Queens, New York. Joe trained horses at Penn National before moving to Ohio, where his brothers proudly established Brother’s Pizza, a community staple that continues to carry their legacy.

Joe had many passions throughout his life, including cars, horse racing, watching football, and cooking. Though he carried a tough exterior, he was a man of great kindness and generosity. He loved his family and friends deeply, often putting their needs before his own. His devotion and love will be forever remembered by all who knew him.

Joe will be deeply missed by his devoted life partner, Ann, and their children JoAnn, Francesca, John, Devon, and Rosie, together with their significant others. He adored his cherished granddaughters, who brought him endless joy. In addition, he is survived by his children Danielle, Joe, and Frank. Joe’s memory will also be honored by his siblings Angelo (with his wife DeAnna), Salvatore, Peter, and his sister Anna Maria Randazo of Sicily, along with many beloved nieces, nephews and friends.

He was preceded in death by his parents and his brothers Francesco “Frank,” Antonio “Nino,” and Giovanni Pizzurro.

Joe’s family honored him with a private funeral mass at St. Teresa of Calcutta Parish and entombment was in All Souls Cemetery.

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I was hoping not to have to give this speech. Especially so soon. But there are a few things my siblings and I wanted to share from our hearts to shed some light on what our father meant to us. I’m sure he’s touched the souls of everyone here in one way or another.

My dad had a rough exterior but a big heart. Bigger than he ever wanted to admit or let anyone know he had. He wouldn’t tell you how much he cared.. no he certainly wouldn’t do that. But he would show you. He believed actions speak louder than words. He lived that in all his actions. His actions were intentional. He strived to not only live by example for us but for everyone around him. He wanted people to be the best versions of themselves. That’s why he often got so frustrated with people. He hated to see missed opportunity. And I’m sure he’s had some callous words for every single person here. Probably even had those words for God himself. But they were mostly out of love. In many ways he loved deeper than anyone I’ve ever known and probably will ever know.

He was a leader, an entrepreneur, a lover, a fighter, a friend, a foe, a cook, a brother, a father, a husband, a storyteller. He was whatever you needed him to be but was always himself.

When I think of my dad, I think to a few weeks ago. I was here in the hospital with him and driving his Cadillac to and from the hospital everyday. He gave me a leather jacket that he said “fit me better”. Every morning I would get in that car, in that jacket and think, “damn my dad is cool”. And in the back of my mind I’d start singing Riders on the Storm. That’s what I thought of him always. He was cool, he was smooth, he was mysterious in a badass way.

Many of us have our own stories with him and that’s the amazing thing about who he was. He wasn’t just there. He had a quality about him that made people gravitate to him and look for guidance in him. He had things figured out and went forward. He was part of so many incredible memories or made the memories himself. He told me before he died, “John I’ve always been a private person”. And that’s true. But he often failed to realize no matter how private he wanted to be, people noticed him. Noticed his greatness. Noticed his loving and funny spirit.

Life won’t be the same without him here. I don’t know who is going to call me to complain about the Giants and in the same sentence explain how they’re going to the Super Bowl. I won’t be able to call him when life’s milestones pass by. I won’t be able to make pizzas with him on Thanksgiving. I won’t be able to tell him I love him anymore… except I can. He’s still here in our thoughts and prayers. As long as we don’t forget him, he will be here. Like usual he’ll be right over our shoulders to tell us we’re doing something wrong. (Out of love)

If you take anything away from this incredibly long monologue, please do your best to be exceptional at whatever you do. That’s the legacy my father would want. It’s what he would call you to do. - John