Remembering Donald Shoup (1938-2025)
Professor Donald Shoup passed away on February 6, 2025. Among many other significant achievements and honors he was a founding Advisory Board member of PRN.
Donald’s curiosity, intelligence, passion, generosity, and kindness allowed him not only to expose the critical problems with modern parking policy, but also to ignite and nurture a movement to change them and make the world a better place.
The Parking Reform Network wishes to provide our community with a place to share their stories and thoughts to remember and honor Donald.
Professor Shoup was a donor, member, and booster of PRN’s work. If you are so moved, you can honor his legacy and support the parking reform movement with a memorial donation.
Many will remember Don Shoup for revolutionizing parking policy and shaping urban planning for generations. His work speaks for itself, but I want to share a more personal side of my mentor—one that highlights his wit, creativity, and impact beyond his academic contributions.
I met Don by chance as an undergrad when I walked into UCLA’s Urban Planning office for a brochure. He was behind the desk shuffling papers, and I assumed he was the receptionist. Ever curious, he struck up a conversation, and minutes later, I was sitting in his office (where I realized he was the department chair). After a classic “Well, thanks for stopping by” sendoff, I left with an application packet—and homework: reviewing a chapter of The High Cost of Free Parking. That was Don.
As his research assistant, I reviewed countless chapters—sometimes multiple times—because Don welcomed critique. He’d scribble “Be critical!” or “Be brutal!” on drafts, eager to refine his ideas. He once told me, “If my writing confuses you, it will confuse others.” His commitment to clarity is part of why his work resonates so powerfully.
His passion extended beyond parking. He wanted sidewalks fixed, trees planted, and yes, parking revenue to help pay for it. But he didn’t always wait for policy change—when the house next to them sold, he planted a tree in front of it before the new owner moved in. Don laughed at his neighbor’s bemused comment about not seeing it there the day before they moved in—because Don had planted it at night!
One of my favorite memories is how we saved UCLA’s BruinGo transit pass. Don had convinced officials to launch a free transit pass pilot, later calling their eagerness to shut him up a “huge mistake”—because in his words, “It’s really hard to take away a benefit once people are enjoying it.” But UCLA tried anyway, claiming lackluster use. Don had me pass out flyers he made urging riders to email in support, but few took them at the transit hub. So I rode the buses, announcing the program’s imminent cancellation. I’d get off one bus and hop onto the one just behind. Within days, over a thousand emails flooded in. Don was ecstatic, carrying his favorite responses and quoting them to people in the hall.
At the next UCLA Transportation Committee meeting, Don arrived with a towering stack of emails and said, “I just don’t see how you can cancel a program with this much support.” When the chief official, who he called a "thug" (LOL) dismissed the ridership numbers as probably inflated—claiming one student rode the bus 27 times in one day—Don gave his characteristic laugh and tilted head shake, “Well, that must be a mistake—who would ride that much?” Of course, all three of us knew exactly who that student was. Don loved playful mischief and clever workarounds when bureaucratic obstacles stood in the way of good public policy.
I’m grateful for Don’s mentorship, humor, and infectious laugh over the past 26 years. My thoughts are with his wife Pat, family, friends, and fellow Shoupistas. His influence lives on—not just in print and changed public policy, but in the many lives he touched. Love ya, Shoup Dogg.
I met Don by chance as an undergrad when I walked into UCLA’s Urban Planning office for a brochure. He was behind the desk shuffling papers, and I assumed he was the receptionist. Ever curious, he struck up a conversation, and minutes later, I was sitting in his office (where I realized he was the department chair). After a classic “Well, thanks for stopping by” sendoff, I left with an application packet—and homework: reviewing a chapter of The High Cost of Free Parking. That was Don.
As his research assistant, I reviewed countless chapters—sometimes multiple times—because Don welcomed critique. He’d scribble “Be critical!” or “Be brutal!” on drafts, eager to refine his ideas. He once told me, “If my writing confuses you, it will confuse others.” His commitment to clarity is part of why his work resonates so powerfully.
His passion extended beyond parking. He wanted sidewalks fixed, trees planted, and yes, parking revenue to help pay for it. But he didn’t always wait for policy change—when the house next to them sold, he planted a tree in front of it before the new owner moved in. Don laughed at his neighbor’s bemused comment about not seeing it there the day before they moved in—because Don had planted it at night!
One of my favorite memories is how we saved UCLA’s BruinGo transit pass. Don had convinced officials to launch a free transit pass pilot, later calling their eagerness to shut him up a “huge mistake”—because in his words, “It’s really hard to take away a benefit once people are enjoying it.” But UCLA tried anyway, claiming lackluster use. Don had me pass out flyers he made urging riders to email in support, but few took them at the transit hub. So I rode the buses, announcing the program’s imminent cancellation. I’d get off one bus and hop onto the one just behind. Within days, over a thousand emails flooded in. Don was ecstatic, carrying his favorite responses and quoting them to people in the hall.
At the next UCLA Transportation Committee meeting, Don arrived with a towering stack of emails and said, “I just don’t see how you can cancel a program with this much support.” When the chief official, who he called a "thug" (LOL) dismissed the ridership numbers as probably inflated—claiming one student rode the bus 27 times in one day—Don gave his characteristic laugh and tilted head shake, “Well, that must be a mistake—who would ride that much?” Of course, all three of us knew exactly who that student was. Don loved playful mischief and clever workarounds when bureaucratic obstacles stood in the way of good public policy.
I’m grateful for Don’s mentorship, humor, and infectious laugh over the past 26 years. My thoughts are with his wife Pat, family, friends, and fellow Shoupistas. His influence lives on—not just in print and changed public policy, but in the many lives he touched. Love ya, Shoup Dogg.