Imagine a world where the creators of iconic monuments remain hidden in plain sight, their masterpieces celebrated while they fade into obscurity. This is the story of Susan Wagner, the unsung hero behind the Bill Mazeroski statue at PNC Park, whose remarkable talent has shaped Pittsburgh’s cultural landscape—yet few know her name.
Wagner, a Pittsburgh-based sculptor, often visits PNC Park to observe the statues she’s crafted, including those of Pirates legends like Mazeroski, Roberto Clemente, and Willie Stargell. Her visits are quiet, almost anonymous, blending into the crowd of fans who admire her work without realizing its creator stands among them. But here’s where it gets poignant: during a recent visit, Wagner witnessed fans paying tribute to Mazeroski, who had passed away. Flowers, mementos, and heartfelt notes adorned the base of the 12-foot-tall bronze statue, capturing the city’s grief and admiration for the baseball great. Among the tributes was a photo of Mazeroski and Clemente, and a Pirates hat inscribed with a note: ‘WE LOVE YOU MAZ. A humble hero. Pittsburgh will miss you No. 9.’
And this is the part most people miss: Wagner, the artist behind this emotional centerpiece, remains largely unrecognized. Even as fans snapped photos of the statue, they had no idea the sculptor herself was standing nearby. Her anonymity is a testament to her humility, mirroring the modesty of the very figures she immortalizes in bronze.
Wagner’s interaction with Mazeroski himself is a story worth retelling. Weeks before the statue’s dedication in 2010, she met him at a press conference. ‘He turned to me and said he didn’t understand why they wanted to make a statue of him,’ Wagner recalls. ‘His modesty really struck me. He didn’t think he deserved it.’ Her response? ‘Everybody loves you. They want to honor you.’ Mazeroski simply smiled and looked down—a moment Wagner cherishes to this day.
But Wagner’s talent extends far beyond sports icons. Her portfolio includes a bronze of Dr. Thomas Starzl, the organ transplant pioneer, at the University of Pittsburgh; a heartwarming sculpture of children at the Pittsburgh Zoo; and a copper statue of Rocco, a fallen K-9 hero of the Pittsburgh Police Department. Her work has even reached the Vatican, yet she remains a quiet force in her field.
Here’s the controversial part: In an era where artists often seek the spotlight, Wagner’s dedication to her craft—despite financial struggles—raises a thought-provoking question. Is true artistry about recognition, or is it about the impact your work leaves on others? Wagner’s story challenges us to reconsider what it means to create, to inspire, and to endure.
Growing up in a working-class, sports-free household in Penn Hills, Wagner’s path to sculpting sports legends was anything but predictable. Her only connection to baseball was her mother’s adoration for Clemente. ‘She was in love with him,’ Wagner remembers. ‘When he passed away, she was crying in the kitchen.’ Yet, it was Wagner’s innate artistic talent—not her interest in sports—that led her to this career. As a child, she sculpted mini figures from red clay dug up from her backyard, a passion that eventually led her to study art and anthropology at the University of Pittsburgh.
Her big break came with a Gulf War Memorial statue in Greensburg, followed by a competition to create the Clemente statue for PNC Park. Winning that competition was a turning point, but it didn’t guarantee financial stability. For over 40 years, Wagner has juggled odd jobs—cleaning houses, painting walls—to support her art. ‘I’d rather do that than anything else,’ she says. ‘I will paint walls rather than get a 9-to-5 job, so I can have time to do my art.’
One moment, however, solidified her commitment to her craft. While cleaning the Clemente statue, Wagner questioned whether she should pursue a more stable career. As she descended the ladder, a man ran up to her, embraced her, and said, ‘Thank you for giving Roberto back to us.’ ‘That was my sign,’ she reflects.
Wagner’s work isn’t just about physical likeness; it’s about capturing the spirit of her subjects. From the joy on Mazeroski’s face to the ripples in his shirt, every detail is a testament to her dedication. ‘I don’t sculpt the game,’ she explains. ‘I’m sculpting the spirit of the person.’
So, the next time you pass by the Mazeroski statue at PNC Park, take a moment to appreciate not just the legend it honors, but the artist who brought him to life. Susan Wagner may prefer the shadows, but her legacy shines brightly—whether she knows it or not.
What do you think? Should artists like Wagner seek more recognition, or is there beauty in their anonymity? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
