Ben, Runner and I hiked to John’s rock today. We love you, John

I know that John would rather me bring beer than flowers, so good thing Tracy had empty beer cans in her pack for the picture. He still has an amazing view. I don't know how my heart has survived 3 years without him. It hasn't been easy for any of us. He was one of a kind. What I wouldn't give for a few moments with him now.

Most all of Johns family would rember me Im sure, Im Pete Theodos, we used to live down the street from them on Aulnay Lane in HB. John and I were inseprable during our elementry years at Circle View school. I loved him like a brother and I hated it when my parents decided that we would move away,John and I were going to be in the 8th grade. We use to ride our bikes everywhere, basketball in the driveway,I even went with John and his dad in the green VW van to his work, spent the night over many times, I rememeber so many things from that time long ago. John and I used to go to Jerrys baseball games, had a blast. One day at school we were out in the field, he was about 100' from me walking, I found an Orieo Cookie in the grass,
I threw it at him, it was going right for him, I yelled at him to look out! It hit him square in the forhead, he went down laughing his ass off, that was John.

I do have to go but promise, I will write again, I wish i would have looked him up sooner.
To all his family: My deepest condolances, he will be dearly missed..........pt

      

This tribute to John is a work in progress. Some came from my eulogy, and occassionally I add more.

After being set up by the 7th grade dating service, John and I started with phone calls, then the safe lunch date and eventually the $100 hamburger, which is what pilots call flying into another airport for lunch. I fell in love with his smile, laugh, quick wit, and intelligence.

When I introduced John to my family and friends, they naturally fell in love with his charm and humor. When I met his friends, especially from the department, they offered me their condolences or asked me where I kept the medal – I know that’s how firefighters express their love. My dad especially took teasing liberties as his firefighter father-in-law. There was no end to the flack John caught for flipping our trailer on the 14 freeway, catching our RV on fire, or the low number on the length of his Levis. Of course, John had that wonderful quality of being able to laugh at himself, and his self-deprecating humor is what endeared many to him.

Early on in our relationship, John decided we needed a dog, and in his usual impulsive way, he bought the first golden retriever he found, which also happened to be the last of the litter. Nevermind that the puppy’s idea of playing was running towards its mother, latching onto her jowls, and swinging like a monkey. When our new hyperactive puppy, Mogley, snagged a jewelry box from the table and returned it open with one diamond earring missing, John had an opportunity to prove how much he loved me. I watched out our kitchen window with love, and a twinge of nausea, as John sifted through the dog poo with a colander and a hose. We never did find that earring.

Before children, John and I went on many hikes with Mogley in the neighboring forests. We found twisted enjoyment in hiding from her behind trees. She was a great dog, except for one nasty, but not uncommon, golden retriever habit – she was literally a “shit-eating dog,” more affectionately referred to as “Graham cracker teeth”. We were constantly warning visitors not to let her lick them. One time, we took her with us to the Colorado River in our old Tahiti ski boat equipped with a wide, wooden swim step. Mogley surprised us all with the best doggy trick ever. She visited the swim step, hung her tail end over the water and took care of business.

I’ll never forget the day I got the ultrasound news on the gender of our first born. Before that day, John never let on that he was hoping for a boy. His bellow of joy when I shared the news said it all. He was one proud soon-to-be papa. John had plenty of practice with babies as the uncle of lots of nieces and nephews. He was always the cool, single uncle with the trampoline, air hockey table, airplane, and rustic cabin the mountains. It’s true that his house was full of kid stuff (including bunk beds) before I even met him. I can still see John cuddling so comfortably with our newborns in the living room rocking chair.

When Hayden was 9 months old, we decided to try RV-ing and purchased a used and not very mechanically sound Class C motorhome. With great anticipation, we planned a trip to Lake Powell - a mere 10 hour drive from home. When John calmly mentioned that I should grab Hayden and the dog and exit the RV as he slowed down on the side of the highway, I knew there was no time for explanation. Watching John blowing white foam from a fire extinguisher under the RV, I understood the urgency. After AAA towed us to a mechanic in the barren desert town of Barstow, John paid for a hotel and told me to take the baby and the dog to the room. When I inquired about the dog, he replied that he had handled it. Baby in one arm and spastic golden retriever tugging her ski rope style leash from the other, I made my way to the room. I found out later that John had told the receptionist that Mogley was my hearing assistance dog.

My mom once told me to look where a man spends most of his time if you want to truly know where his heart is. John spent it at work providing for our family and at home, working on our house and yard. When we needed a baby room in our old 1940’s Big Bear cabin, John replaced windows, doors, and walls. The kids asked for a swing set and a tree house. John built them. I asked for a Jacuzzi tub, he installed it. John and I dreamed together and worked together to make our home nice for our family… but not without mishap. I do remember one sprinkler installation snafu in particular. I was startled by a loud whooshing sound and ran out to find a geyser of natural gas spewing from the ground and John, ditch witch in hand, shouting at me to call the gas co.

Living in a house built in the 40’s offered many challenges, and we became “do it yourselfers” before the term DIY was in vogue. I remember one Christmas eve that we came home to no heat. John ventured into the cold darkness under the house to find the problem, a pair of wires not quite held together by a failed twisty tie technique. The underside of our house was full of many similar surprises like a family of raccoons, bumping and scratching in the night and rotting wooden stilts, responsible for all balls rolling to one corner of our living room floor. Auto jacks were instrumental in solving the floor issue, but the coon problem became an ongoing challenge. Exhausting all humane methods to make our house less coon friendly, he finally resorted to his rifle. In my usual passive aggressive way, I protested by giving John a coonskin cap for Christmas.

John had an infinite amount of patience fixing up that old house. When we remodeled our master bedroom, which happened to be a 1940 converted single garage, John installed a beautiful set of French doors. The elegant doors were quite a contrast to the rest of the dilapidated garage room. My dad’s cousin summed it up perfectly, when he announced that “it was like shoving a diamond up a goat’s ass”. Eventually, we completed the remodeling of the “goat’s ass,” and the room turned out beautifully.

After a few years with John, I accused him of false advertising during our courting years. John not only ran regularly to keep in shape, but when it came to food, his body was a temple. He also tried to convince me that he was an avid roller bladder and skier, proclaiming that he flew to Mammoth regularly for conditions that were more worthy of his expertise. Ha! Well, for those of you who knew him in the last 15 years, that was all a ruse. In fact, he admitted to me that he no longer needed to stay trim or feign interest in skiing, because I said yes and he had “sealed the deal”.

We all loved John for his sense of humor. Even though he spent our entire two week vacation in England searching for an English dessert called spotted dick, he did possess a sophisticated sense of humor. Being a history buff and news junkie, political humor was his favorite. He was often instrumental in a few elaborate practical jokes, and exceptional at covering his tracks. It wasn’t his style to take credit or confess, and to this day, the victims still don’t know that John was involved.

I admired many things about John, but one thing in particular was his intelligence. He just seemed to know how everything worked. He had amazing recall when it came to historical facts, which you know if you ever played trivia with him. His recall may have had something to do with all those years at slow fire stations sitting in the recliner watching the history channel. Recliner time contributed to his mastery of movie quotes too. His love of reading was to credit for his extensive vocabulary. Oftentimes he would throw out a zinger that nobody knew the meaning to. Sometimes the words were so obscure they defined objects we didn’t even know existed, as was the case with one unusual term that really stuck as his nickname.

When John turned 50, I decided to show him how much I loved him by having the surprise birthday party of the century. When I learned that Jim could fly in from Connecticut, we decided to make that surprise extra special. I brought a table and a cake box with holes cut out, just big enough for Jim to hide underneath and stick his scary, bald head through. I never dreamed that when we asked John to go take a look at his cake, he would scream like a girl, fly like a chicken, and hide behind Sara. Jim, on the other hand, had more experience with John’s reactions to scary situations, (like older siblings jumping out of dark closets). Jim anticipated that he might get punched and was thrilled that he reacted with flight instead of fight.

John was much more than a husband to me. He truly was my best friend. Whenever I had a problem or a celebration, he was the first person to tell. He always knew the right thing to say – so empathetic and wise. He was a counselor to many. Often friends and family would call him with their life struggles and solicit his sound advice on everything from marriage to experimental airplanes.

John had an amazing knowledge about everything aviation. When other friends and firefighters found out he was a pilot, they clambered to be his best friend. John was very generous with his time and knowledge when it came to flying, offering a flight to anyone who showed interest. When I told John I thought it would be fun to learn to fly some day in the future, he convinced me that I should pursue my license immediately. Once I had my license, he taught me something new every time I flew with him. Our bookshelves are brimming with aviation books and our walls are covered with prints of airplanes. It truly was his passion.

John touched many lives, but my whole world will forever be changed for having loved and lost John. He was the most influential person in my life. He made me happy, and he made me a better person. I will be forever grateful for his love.

This article was published in both the "California Fire Service Magazine" and the "LA Firemen's Grapevine" ,magazine.

Everyone loves a fireman – and I should know.  I’m the daughter of one and the wife of another.  My two favorite men in the world are heroes, and not just to me.  Being courageous is actually part of their job description.  I still remember how people fawned over my husband John after 911.  They baked him cookies and wrote him thank you notes (never mind that he was 3,000 miles away in Orange County when the twin towers fell).  Like most firemen I know, he was humble about his work.  He didn’t do it for the praise, and he wasn’t comfortable on a pedestal.

At the age of 48, John was diagnosed with cancer.  When he received the devastating news that it had metastasized to his brain, I saw his usual strength.  He faced 18 months of multiple brain surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, and more.  His decline was gradual.  First he lost his memory, then his balance.  Mobility was next to go and finally even speech.  Through it all, he never complained.  Knowing him as I do, I wasn’t surprised at all.  

I also wasn’t surprised by the overwhelming love and support we received from our friends and family.  They cooked.  They stacked wood.  They shoveled snow.  They drove my kids all over town.  John and I had dozens of doctor’s appointments and exhausting medical treatments that took us away from home for days at a time.  Our friends and family always came through.

Bill, Joe, and Drew were all retired firefighters who had known John for over 20 years. Although they didn’t live nearby, their shared love of flying, the fire service, and elaborate practical jokes kept them close.  One time, Bill and Drew hid John’s single-engine plane at another airport, making his “Dude, where’s my plane?” t-shirt that much funnier.  Another time, John scrawled an offensive epithet on the inside of the plane’s propeller, knowing that Bill was planning to fly that day.  Would he have done the same if he had known Bill’s pastor was coming along for the ride?  Probably.

When John became bedbound, there was no way I could move him.  Without being asked, Bill, Joe, and Drew stepped up their visits.  They came three times a week, traveling up to two hours each way (and sometimes through snowy conditions).  When they arrived, they would lift John out of bed for a bath, and gently carry him to the living room recliner for a much-needed change of scenery.

Their tender caregiving was full service too.  It included a shave, a foot massage, leg exercises, feeding, and prayer.  They even bundled him into the car for a taco fundraiser for another friend who was also fighting cancer.  They weren’t uncomfortable showing physical affection either, often dropping a kiss on John’s forehead when he became too ill to move or speak. They even squeezed into that twin hospital bed with him. When they weren’t seeing to John’s needs, I often found them changing light bulbs or fixing the chicken coop.  Firefighters often talk about their brotherhood, but what I saw took my breath away.  It still does.

“I’ve spent my whole life taking care of people I don’t know,” said Bill every time I tried to thank him.  “Now I’ve been given a chance to do it for someone I love.

Picture a firefighter in your mind.  I bet you conjured an image of a strong, invincible man willing to risk his life for the safety of others.  Maybe the figure in your mind is fighting a wildfire on a hot, windy day, searching a collapsed building for earthquake survivors, or pulling a child from a car wreck.  Firefighters do all those things.  But I’ve seen a quieter side of their courage these past few months.  

Bill, Joe, and Drew lightened the darkest hours of my life and preserved my husband’s dignity.  They were compassionate enough to bathe John when he couldn’t do it himself, gentle enough to coax him to take one more bite of dinner when he wasn’t hungry, and brave enough to face a brutal disease day in and day out when they really didn’t have to.  These men are my real heroes.

I’ve written this essay as a tribute to my husband’s firefighter brothers, but changed their names.  They’re heroes, but it’s not their style to advertise.  

I did not witness this but, I saw photographic evidence of it and John talked me through the process after the fact. I believe one of his buddies was involved but I can’t remember who, maybe Steve a.k.a. “football head”. This is yet another example of John’s obsessive/compulsive disorder.

John had heard of someone that had managed to become completely engulfed in pigeons, a bird suit if you will, and decided he could do the same thing. I cannot explain the chemical misfires John experienced, I can merely attest to their existence. As he related it to me, he began by constructing a garbage bag “suit”. This thing covered him from his neck to the tops of his sneakers. He said he then went about researching what foods pigeons liked; I always assumed they would eat anything. Remember, this was long before the internet so books were involved. He finally came up with a concoction of peanut butter and bird seed. He drives to the beach, where the birds are, in our Dad’s VW van so he has a place to change. He puts on the Hefty bag suit and proceeded to smear it with the peanut butter, not so much as an attractant but rather as an adhesive for the bird seed  (pure genius). He then steps out of the van and into the crowd making their way to the water and stands there. He assumes a scarecrow-like stance and waits. Within less than a minute, he is spotted by a pigeon. John, being a native Southern Californian, instinctively knows that pigeons watch the reactions of other pigeons when they are in search of food, which is the only thing they do so they’re pretty good at it. As soon as the initial pigeon lands the others follow suit. Moments later,  John is completely covered in pigeons. Again, this was told to me by John and I just know the picture of it is in the possession of his accomplice. If someone has it, please post it.

I just realized I’ve been relating only funny stories about John. There are also compassionate stories as well. I remember one that had a profound effect on me. John and I were walking on the Seal Beach pier towards the restaurant that was located on the end, I think it was called “Ruby’s”. We were in no particular hurry and we were commenting on the people that were fishing from the pier. Just before we got to the end of the pier, John noticed a guy without any fishing gear and standing far enough away from others such that you could tell he was there alone. The guy looked pretty down and out and was staring at the deck and not out to sea. Without slowing down, John veered off course and directly towards this guy. He smiled at him and said, “Hey, you hungry?” The guy looked at him, much in the way I was looking at John, in a state of disbelief. Then the look immediately disappeared off the guy’s face, it remained on mine however, and said “yeah”. John put his arm around the guy and said “Come on”. He walked the guy into the restaurant and sat him down at the counter. He told the waitress, “Give this guy whatever he wants and put it on our tab”. He then looked at the guy and said half kidding, “Don’t go nuts”. We then went to a table to eat our lunch. I asked him, “Do you know that guy?” John said, “I don’t know him exactly but, I see him down here all the time and every once in a while I buy him a burger”. I told him that was a pretty cool thing to do and he said, “Hey, my life is great and his sucks. It’s going to cost me maybe $5-$6. I just got more for that money than I could buying some crap at Home Depot that is just going to end up in a junk drawer. Besides, it will get me into Heaven”.  I had never seen an act of selflessness like that. It wasn’t until a couple of years later that I realized John had never mentioned the lunch again and I don’t think I would have known about it if I hadn’t been there. I’ll always remember that.

In his late teens and beyond, John ran with a crowd that liked to ride dirt bikes and dune buggies. In the “salad” years John had an anemic cash flow. Because of this he only had the bare essentials. A motorcycle and a truck. Neither one was new and both were prone to mechanical failure. These facts confined John’s capital to keeping them running. This left no room for other things like, sleeping accommodations.  Fortunately, his big brother had a two man tent. Unfortunately, big brother had already promised the slot to someone else on this trip. No problem. John can just squeeze in between. Because this was during the winter months there was a gas heater that separated myself and the other occupant. This was also the area that John would be sleeping in. As all of us were dead tired after riding all day and most of the night, we were asleep in no time. During the night I woke up to the smell of burning cotton and hair. I looked over and saw John’s pillow ablaze as well as his coif. As many of you know, John was a HEAVY sleeper and snored, emitting a sound akin to a 2 mile long coal train going up a steep hill. As the tent began to fill with acrid smoke I yelled at John, “John, JOHN!! Your head is on fire. Put it out”. Eventually, John awoke. He assessed the situation with lightning speed (sarcasm). He tossed out the pillow, which by this time was almost completely consumed, and slapped his head frantically for about 15 seconds. He then zipped the tent door back up, thus containing the remaining smoke, and went back to sleep. When I saw him the next morning in the light of day, he was truly hideous. He stood next to the morning fire drinking coffee in just his shorts. Back in the day he had tons of hair and the guys were used to seeing John with bed head hair in the morning, he always appeared to have just survived an electrocution. When he turned his head to look at what was his pillow, familiarity gave way to horror as the back of his head was barren. John continued on with his weekend unfazed.

John was like a box of chocolates.  You didn't know what you were getting, but it was always good and always uniquely funny.  Be it positive or downright cutting, he loved a good joke, either tell or listening to one.  Many could not be shared in mixed company.

He adored his family and knew he was fortunate in what he had.  A beautiful wife and two loving boys.  Georgene and I always enjoyed our time with the family watching Hayden and Ben grow into young men.

One particular trip comes to mind that was the epitomy of John.  I had the pleasure to fly with him, along with Jim Blauer, to McCall, Idaho on a fishing trip.  We left very early from Big Bear on our way to Reno for our first stop.  I was John's co-pilot and was allowed to fly the plane for a time.  Nearing Lake Tahoe, John said,"There's a change of plans.  We need to stop at Tahoe."  " Is everything OK?" I asked.  "Yeah, I have to make a pit stop," was the reply.

Approaching Tahoe, the plane was being bounced about by turbulence.   And the lake was churning with white caps.  As we started to descent, John yelled to me, "Tom,, don't touch or step on anything!"  After several attempts to land we came to a halt on the runway.

John bounded out of the cockpit.  "Way too much coffee", was his response, as he began to produce one of the longest, in duration, stream of urine known to man.  It's amazing he wasn't arrested for indecent exposure.  Jim and I turned away 3 or 4 times, but the flow continued.  Finally, what seemed like an eternity, he was finished.  We could now proceed to McCall.  I remained in the back seat for the rest of the trip.

 

John had a great sense of humor and we laughed often.  Here's some insight as to the kind of things he enjoyed.

Email form John on Sept. 1, 2008

Top Ten Country Western Songs

10. I Hate Every Bone In Her Body But Mine.

9. I Ain't Never Gone To Bed With an Ugly Woman But I Woke Up With a Few.

8. If The Phone Don't Ring, You'll Know It's Me.

7. I've Missed You, But My Aim's Improvin'.

6. Wouldn't Take Her To A Dogfight 'Cause She Might Win.

5. I'm So Miserable Without You It's Like You're Still Here.

4. My Wife Ran Off With My Best Friend And I Miss Him.

3. She Took My Ring and Gave Me the Finger.

2. She's Lookin' Better with Every Beer.

And the Number One Country & Western song is...

1. It's Hard To Kiss The Lips At Night That Chewed My Ass All Day.

John was a man with a robust vocabulary.  He enriched our live greatly by introducing us to such words and expressions as:

*  Homunculus
*  Senor Compost
*  Nose Breather

And of course, Merkin !

One of the funniest uses of the word Merkin occurred when we are all at a comdey club in Vegas where the performs incorporated the term as part of their act, upon our request.  They had no idea what the word meant and we later explained.  You had to be there :-)

 One of my favorite times with John was at a home brew festival near Temecula. My husband (Chris) and I were there with John, Mike Sannes, Michele Pickering, and Erik and Gina Hildebrand. We had too much fun. There are too many stories for here. John was smart enough not to try "Ole Stank-ass". Anyway, the next morning, I was not a hundred percent. John was feeling great. He was "playing Hazel" cleaning the "Hillbilly Hilton", sweeping and making coffee.

Chris had to catch a flight for work and I was to ride back to Big Bear with John and Mike. Well, I got side tracked at Gina and Erik's RV. They were making Bloody Marys and the hair of the dog was doing the trick. During my second Bloody Mary, John came by and said it was time to leave. I said "sure, no problem", but continued to drink my medicine and hang-out. He came back a 2nd time, with pretty much the same response. My husband came into the RV and said "John is leaving with the trailer". I responded "John wouldn't leave me, he's too nice." But I went out anyway. John was down the road and still moving. I had to run to catch up. I like to think he would have circled back around, but I will never know. I am glad I didn't wait to find out.

I had so many great times with John, Kam and the boys.  John was not afraid to show how much he loved Kam, Hayden and Ben.  He was always sharing a story about something they were doing that he was proud of, such as Kam with her volunteering or athleticism, or Hayden with his music or math, or Ben with his sports or school.  John was so humble.  He would always tell you how lucky he was to have "tricked Kam into marrying him".  He would say he wasn't so smart, when he was the most well-read man I know.  He would also say he wasn't that social - such a BS'er. 

We shared many jokes and good times watching stand-up or talking about comedians we liked.  I think I will miss his humor, most of all.  Merkin, my friend, I miss you.  But my life is richer because you were here.

It was probably August of 2007 when John, Mike Sannes and I decided we needed a "Guys Camping Trip".  So we loaded up and took the boys, Ben, Hayden, Max and Garrett, over to the San Gorgonio area.

One evening while John, Mike and I were hanging out enjoying adult beverages the boys were running around with the glow sticks.  What was really cool was they had found this huge tree with an abundance of horizontal branches they were climbing like a ladder.  So, 50+ feet off the ground, deep inside this tree, you could see these four different color glow sticks way up in the air.

The boys of course, could not see this from our perspective, but it was pretty cool for the dads to see their boys having such fun in this really unique tree.  It was also a memorable experience to share with two great friends, Mike and John.  I think if you asked any one of the boys about the Ladder Tree they would immediately know what you were talking about.

And that is the story of the Ladder Tree :-)

John, Kam and the boys joined Mickie, Garrett and I at Lake Mohave.  We had rented a couple of wave runners for the weekend to race around on and it was great fun.  One day it was decided that we needed to go day camp on the other side of the lake.  So John and I had the pleasure of shuttling full coolers, lawn chairs, easy-ups and people across the lake to set up camp on a secluded beach away from civilization.  You can imagine the chore in dragging all the stuff across the lake and back on a wave runner. 

Anyway, we made the best of the adventure and enjoyed the day with family and friends.  I will never forget feeling like such a moron but it was certainly a fun experience shared with John.

CH

From the minute he was born, John was wonderful to have as a child. He was a dream child, sweet, but all-boy. By the time he was born, the other kids were in school, so I had plenty of time to shower him with attention. I remember listening to him toddle through the house in his walker, but we knew silence meant trouble. His dad, Jerry, would whistle, he would scream and come running with that walker skidding on two wheels. He did not like when people lost their tempers or if people were sad. He especially didn’t like seeing his older siblings being punished. He was the peacekeeper of the family. He kept the peace outside the house too.  He wore huskies and was big enough to take out any kid who bothered him, but he preferred to make friends with the local bullies. He always had so many friends.

When John was in 5th grade, I was a parent chaperone on a field trip to Knott’s Berry Farm. The teacher told me to let the children vote on one place to get a souvenir. Of course, all the kids chose the candy store. When they all picked out jumbo candy canes, one little girl dropped hers and had an absolute fit. Sweet, adorable boy that John was, he walked up with no prodding and said, “You can have mine. It’s whole, and I’m just going to eat it anyway.” He was always doing stuff like that.

When the kids were little, I used to wash their ears very thoroughly and held an ear inspection every morning before school. During one morning inspection, John, who was all of five, looked up at me and said, “I looked it up and it’s against California state law to wash a boy’s ears that way.”

John used like to go with his grandma while she drove around selling real estate, mostly because she would take him to McDonald’s. Once day after lunch, John said, “You know, Grandma, a man does not live on fish sandwich alone.” Apparently, he wanted some new shoes too. When she acquiesced, he thanked her by announcing in his loud 6 year old voice that he finally had his very own shoes.

John was a very affectionate son. No matter where we were, grocery store, post office, movies, he had kisses for his mom. He often took me to the movies, offered to share his goobers and sat with his arm around me, which often elicited some questioning stares for the little old ladies in the theater. He was always so loving.

John was always a favorite of all of the relatives. He never ate a meal without a compliment and a thank you to the cook. Thanks to his sister, Laurie, who was like a second mother to him, he never forgot a mother’s day. Never mind that I received a boom box three years in a row. He always set goals as a young man in high school and achieved every one of them. He never wavered from his goal to be a firefighter. He was very proud of his marriage and family. We always told John that every time he fell down, he landed in a bed of roses.

When John was a fireman at Orange County’s fire station #44 in Seal Beach, he was a young nineteen year old and his Dad and I were so very proud of him. The holidays were coming up and I wanted him to have his gifts and some good food. At the time, I did not realize what great cooks firemen actually were. I took the family and went to the station. Not wanting to bother him at work, I planned on staying a short time and giving him a traditional gift that I gave all my sons, a pack of white socks and plenty of them.  Since they did not live at home any longer and weren’t schooled in laundry care, John was always walking around and getting his socks dirty. So, in front of his captain, engineer, and all the other men, I began telling him to always bleach his white socks. He was mortified and never got over it. As his mom, I did not want him letting everyone see his dirty socks.  Sorry, son.

John and I talked on the phone almost every day, and when he got sick and Kam was at work, we would talk for hours. We often talked about his childhood. He was in tune to the relationships between each person in the family. He was such a beautiful boy and man.

John, I love you and know you will never leave my heart.

Although there were 100s, only a few are really appropriate for a general audience.

            Once John took a friend and I on a boat trip to see Catalina, my buddy was from Colorado and had never seen Catalina and John thought he would get a kick out of it.  We were going around the island and had arrived at the west side when John thought it would be cool to beach the boat so we could walk around and stretch our legs. So, since he is the Captain, he tells the guy from the land locked state to get on the bow and call out when we are approaching the proper depth that we can disembark without getting wet. John hits the beach with enough force to launch my friend off the bow and onto the beach, at which point John declares it sufficient. All of us then spend 20 minutes walking along the beach and looking at rocks. When we decide to leave the boat won’t budge. John grabs the emergency bag and we proceed to walk in search of other idiots that may be on this side of the island. We find none. After a time we decide our only hope is to signal a passing boat and get rescued. Finally, we see a boat paralleling the island but too far out to see us waving. Not a problem. Our Captain extracts the flare gun. He points it skyward but, rather than looking at the angle of the gun he looks at the distant boat. This is as about as smart as people who hear startling news on their car radio and then stare at it. He fires the flare gun. It is at this point that he decides to examine the course of the white hot flare. We are about 60 or 70 yards from our vessel and the flare arcs and begins its decent. Like a missile, it is headed right for the boat. It lands less than a yard away from it and continues to burn with the intensity of the sun for about another minute and then goes out. Even though John just came within three feet of creating a much grander signal that would have been seen from the mainland, all he did was look at the rescue boat and say, “he saw it, he’s turning in”.

In his Baja bug phase, John had converted a VW bug into a cool looking Baja. In typical John fashion it had all the bells and whistles. On one particular trip out at El Mirage, a dry lakebed in the desert where folks drive/ride their toys, we had just arrived and set up camp. Just before we took off in the Baja bug, John noticed the driver’s side rear tire was low. Turned out it had picked up a nail on the way in from the main road. John quickly swapped it out for the one spare he had and we were off. We were a good 1/4 mile from camp when the bug suddenly dipped down on the rear left side. As soon as we realized something was amiss, we witnessed a tire performing a proper passing maneuver on the left. Apparently, John had neglected to put the lug nuts on the tire. We both sat there and watched it bounce up and down the road and then disappear over a hill. I looked at John and he in a deadpan voice said, “Should be easy to track down. I’m familiar with that tread style”. Turned out it had neatly turned and flopped behind a sagebrush so John’s tracking abilities came in handy.

In the late 70’s or early 80’s, parrots were all the rage. John wanted one. There was a guy working at the shop that “knew a guy” who could get him a bird cheap. He did. John bought a beautiful gray/white Macaw. He had it in his apartment in Seal Beach and pretty much completed his beach bum theme. He got it to sit on his shoulder and take a cracker from him. He had a neighbor down stairs that he wanted to impress, yes a girl. A few days after he got the bird he saw the neighbor washing her car down below and saw his opportunity. He had his best OP shorts on as well as a cool looking beach shirt and put his parrot on his shoulder. He stepped out on the balcony and pretended to just notice her. She looked up and saw him and smiled. John said, “hello” and the girl said, “hi”. Then, the parrot flew away. John stood there in shock but did not betray his feelings. The girl looked puzzled and asked, “Is your bird coming back?”. John replied confidently, “ Oh yeah, he’s trained like a homing pigeon”. John bought a legit parrot, Popeye, a few weeks later. Popeye had wings that were clipped, unlike the first bird.

John was my best friend for 52 years. He also happened to be my baby brother. I’ve known courageous men, compassionate men, dedicated men but never anyone that possessed all of those qualities except for John. I’ve never spent as much time in someone’s company as I had with John and probably never will. I’m going to miss that level of closeness. We shared adventures, happy times as well as bad. I wish I could articulate the intensity and depth of our times together over all these years but, it would fall woefully short. It sounds cliché but it is genuinely true. I’ve not known a day without John for all of but 6 years of my life. A large piece of my being is gone.

One of my earliest and fondest memories of my brother John, is him standing with his arms held out, looking up at me with his smiling brown eyes, while wearing nothing but a diaper, a ten-gallon hat, and a face full of melted chocolate.  He stood there calling me “Wori” because at this young age, he had difficulty pronouncing the letter “L”.   John was always a happy, good-natured child who grew into a wonderful man with a quick wit and a great sense of humor. He will forever be the beloved child with the soft brown eyes in his sister’s heart.  

I love you John,

 Love, Sis

The earliest memory I have of my brother John was when he was about eight months old and I was nearly four years old.  We were in our back yard and, knowing that John was one of those babies that put everything he touched into his mouth, I guided him toward a garden slug.  Sure enough, he grabbed that slug and put it right in his mouth and swallowed it down!  As you may have guessed, I am the mischievous big brother.

However, as we grew John was routinely the one to exercise caution, whereas I rarely did.  Fortunately for me, John was the one who acted like the big brother.  He would tell me “JD, I don’t think that’s a good idea!” when I was about to jump off the roof, or climb a tree so high that the smaller branches wouldn’t support my weight, or even when I caught a scorpion to take home and show mom.

John always stuck-up for me, though,  no matter what happened.  And he seemed to sense when something wasn’t right, even when it wasn‘t obvious to me.   He really illustrated this one day when he was thirteen and we were out fishing in the sea off Huntington Beach.  The sea was calm and we were a couple of miles off shore.  It was an uneventful morning until John spotted a seagull, about a quarter-mile away, that was flying in our direction.  John said “hey, JD, that bird is headed right at us!” to which I replied, “yeah, right” while I continued fishing.  After a few seconds, John again said “I’m telling you he’s heading right at us!  I turned and looked and sure enough, the bird was still headed right at us.  I said, “ he’ll turn away any time now” but I set my pole down and picked up one of the oars.  The bird was now less than 100 yards away and closing fast.  I held the oar at thigh level, between us and the bird.  To our amazement, the bird dropped down to about five feet over the water and continued straight at John!  When the bird was a split-second away I lifted the oar so the paddle went right in front of John’s torso and I struck the bird!  The gull was stunned for a few moments but he was able to get up and fly away.  After that, I figured I should pay a little more attention to what John had to say!   

As John and I went through our awkward teenage years he continued to support me whenever I was having a bad day.  I’ll always love him for that.  Though we often had our spats like brothers always do, we kept a fierce loyalty to one another when the chips were down.  John even supported me at a time when he could easily have poked fun at me--and I wouldn’t have blamed him.  He had just graduated from the Santa Ana Fire Academy and was working as a volunteer firefighter in El Toro.  John happened to be home early one evening when a very rare event occurred.  I was bringing a girl home to meet my parents.  As my date and I walked through the front door, my parents stood up to greet us in the living room.  John remained seated at the kitchen table.  I proudly said “mom, dad--this is Debbie” then I turn to my date and said “Debbie--this is my mom and dad”.  While they were shaking hands I hesitated before introducing my brother.  While I hesitated, my date was still shaking hands with my folks when she said “hello, my name is Annette”.  Well, my dad let out a laugh that rattled the windows.  My mom laughed too, but she cut her laugh short when she noticed that I was shrinking into my shoes.  I looked over at John and he had covered his mouth with his hand--but he never made a sound.  To this day I can’t believe John passed up that opportunity!

After a few months as a volunteer, John was hired as a full-time firefighter with Orange County.  And within a few years he convinced me to become a firefighter as well.  Once again, John was acting like a big brother and leading the way.  As young men, John and I not only looked and sounded alike, now we had the same careers.  But the final thing that John and I have in common is the most important thing of all--the love of a good woman.  Most people don’t realize how difficult it is for a woman to be married to a fireman.  She not only has to be very dedicated but self-sufficient as well.  It’s common for firemen to work 100 hours a week.  The minimum work week is 56 hours.  Being married to a fireman is about as close as a woman can get to having a part-time husband.  For many women this is simply too much to endure.  In one of the last conversations I had with my brother we both agreed how fortunate we were to have our wives.

Dear Kam, Hayden, and Ben,
You three have never left my thoughts, prayers, or digital hugs for the last few years. There is not a day that I walk Roxie that I don't send prayers and good vibes skyward for all of you.

John, your dad, was a true friend and a marvelous soul. With your mom, he built a strong and fun-loving family. Together they instilled in you boys a sense of wonder, a sense of humor, and a sense of right and wrong. When you both came home from the hospital after being born, the look on your dad's face said it all. It held a mix of pride, wonderment, love, and oh-my-what-have-I gotten-myself-into.

Our conversations were thought provoking and gut splitting. I never left one without having learned something new or laughing so hard I was crying. I respected him for never trying to BS on the important stuff and ALWAYS doing that on the stuff that really doesn't matter. I am reminded of your dad every day when a plane goes overhead or I hear a good joke. It always makes me smile.

So hugs to you all. Give your mom and each other one for me, that way you get two back.  Please know that I will do anything for you, anytime.

 All my love,

Hawks

John, Emmet and I were stationed back in the canyon. One afternoon the Sheriff used our parking lot to prestage a raid on a house in the canyon. They put on all their swat gear etc. Turns out they missed the guy. He wasn't there. 

The next day (off duty) I bought a laser pointer for teaching and had a brain storm. The next time on duty I told John and Emmit that the guy they were after was really mad and looking to get even. He had a rifle with a laser scope and was hunting anyone connected. I reminded them a couple times during the day.


That evening while John and Emmet were watching TV in the living room with the windows open (summer)   I sneaked into the front yard and shined my laser onto the wall above them in the living room. One of them yelled "duck, it's the canyon guy" and they both hit the floor really quickly. I ran around to the kitchen and sat at the dest but they found me trying not to laugh.


I paid for that over and over and over. John was not a guy to fool with. He was way to clever for you to ever think you could get one over on him.