10/31/2025
It has been said, “A man dies twice, first is physical death, second is the last time his name is spoken in memory”
John always reveled in telling me about the time when he was in high school, Coleman was playing Clare in baseball. On the mound for Coleman, John Owens. Up to bat for Clare, Pat O’Laughlin. Pat drives a line shot into the outfield and on his leisurely run to first base, he is badgering, heckling and verbally abusing poor John on his trip to the base. Friendship with Pat was never boring, nor did it consist of hugs and kisses.
18 years later, in 1972, John started helping Pat at the Funeral Home. In John Owens style, he was willing to help a friend. He was already working full-time at Dow Chemical, in addition to his water softener business, but filled in so that Pat could take time off to travel to Alaska for a once in a lifetime hunting and fishing trip. After Pat’s return, John continued to assist Pat for several years, until Pat’s sons could step in.
When my brother Ray turned 8 years old and was anxiously awaiting his debut in Little League baseball, John Owens was the coach who selected him as a player on his roster for Ray’s first season. Ten years later, John once again offered Ray a position on his team for an introduction into fastpitch softball. Two years after that, John repeated the offer to Ray’s brother Paul. Growing up, Patrick always told his sons, “If you have any questions about baseball or softball, call John.” Whether it was what gloves, cleats, bats to buy or questions about strategy.
In 1972, when John started working at the Funeral Home with Pat, the family life he witnessed there was tense and collapsing. John, with the soft spot in his heart, took it upon himself to give the youngest son there a respite from the decaying family environment.
John graciously allowed me to experience my first taste of the working life that summer. He took me along on several water softener service calls. Imagine the patience required of having a nine-year-old, who when asked to bring a crescent wrench could not figure out what tool that was until the toolbox was nearly empty, or when he asked for a certain socket, how many trips that must have taken. I was also “employed” to accompany him to the Midland and Clare County Fairs to “work” in his booth. As I matured and grew stronger, he hired me to mow his lawn and later Patricia and John decided to round off my work experience with babysitting their son Scott.
In 1988, when Pat’s health was failing and we were realizing he could no longer assist me in the day-to-day operation of the Funeral Home, John appeared to be the only logical choice to replace Pat. John had recently retired from Dow Chemical and we considered he might be open to the idea. When I presented the possibility of employment with an established family business that had been minus an outstanding employee like it had in the 1970’s, John replied that he had a desire to keep busy and had heard that the Funeral Home had a much more understanding and personable owner than he had previously suffered with. This was said with that twinkle in his eye and impish smirk that I would see so many times in the years to come. He ended up spending the next twenty some years showcasing his professionalism, compassion and levelheaded work experience in all aspects of the business. John was the most valuable asset the O’Laughlin Funeral Home was fortunate to accumulate. I trusted him completely in every position he filled: from answering the phone, making house calls, valet parking, ushering, flower arrangements, providing assistance during arrangements, visitation and services. Most importantly though, managing the Funeral Home so that I could pursue time spent with my family, whether for just an hour, weekend trips, vacations, coaching athletics or hunting expeditions all over the United States and abroad. I never had a concern or worry about him managing my family’s legacy and life’s work. Amazingly, John and I had identical beliefs about how to serve the families, attempting to provide dignified assistance with sincere reverence and consideration for everyone’s individual needs and desires. My only true regret is that I could not compensate John equitably for his experience, time and faithful devotion. Every time I would present him with a check, I would explain that he was far more valuable than the amount stated but I would ask if he was satisfied with the transaction. His response, “I enjoy what we are doing, you don’t have to pay me a dime.”
John’s personality aligned with mine perfectly, almost to the point that discussion was seldom needed to accomplish our tasks. Our matching sense of humor leaves me with a lifetime of great moments and memories.
John also seamlessly inserted himself and Patricia into me and my family’s personal lives: from Patricia’s disbelief in my choice of a babysitter for my daughter Rachel (our Bouvier dog, Ashley with Rachel in the car while I darted into the restaurant to retrieve our to-go order), to taking on the role of grandparents for our daughters after the death of Patrick. John and Patricia would help transport the girls, who were quite occupied with recreation softball, travel softball, recreation basketball, travel basketball, volleyball, dance classes and sometimes even school. They would often take the girls to their cottage for weekend visits, have overnights at their home in Coleman and assume temporary custody of the girls, when Pam and I would escape on our hunting trips.
As I had mentioned previously, if you had any questions about softball, you asked John. So, when it came time to coach our daughters in softball, John was a natural choice for the position of assistant coach. Never attempting to flaunt his knowledge without a request, John patiently waited for us to inquire for his input. Never did I ever feel intimidated or overshadowed by the man who obviously had more experience and strategy than I could ever hope to achieve. All the girls loved his patient, attentive and gentle personality and would be willing to attempt any task he placed in their path with smiles and focused determination.
John and Pat had truly displayed their love and unselfish devotion to Rachel and Lindsey every year when they would attend their spring dance recitals with the Newman School of Dance. I am sure it was much more enjoyable for John when later in spring and summer he would follow the girls’ softball seasons and watch with proud knowledge of the impact that he had in their development.
John was also the most loyal, devoted, selfless friend I could have ever hoped to have. He was with me at the hospital the day my dad died. It is truly very difficult to comprehend the hours he spent supporting me through my life. The friendship we shared never kept a record of what either of us would do for the other. No ledger or balance sheet to rectify, no expectations to be met, no financial accounting for favors done. When the girls were old enough to show an interest in hunting, John showed up with a combination .22 rifle, 20-gauge shotgun, short interchangeable barrels and stock for youth hunters. When they outgrew it, I returned it, no questions asked. After John and Pat’s moving auction, when John sold his gun collection, he had a grandson start to show an interest in hunting, so I presented him with a new R***r 10/22. He did notify me later, with his impish grin, that he had increased the value of “MY” gun by installing a scope and keeping it for his progeny. He had taken Rachel out on her first turkey hunt, sneaking her out of school for the day, beginning the tradition of Cops and Doughnuts after the morning hunt. One spring, my Minneapolis Moline Tractor seized up and John appeared on his Blue Ford 4000 Tractor with the three-point disc mounted so I could finish with the food plot preparation. Nothing was said other than, “I need a ride home. Bring it by when you don’t need it anymore.” Then there was the 45-minute one-way trip, crawling along in his fork truck to the newly built showroom to unload the delivery truck full of slat walls and helping to install them, and the 45-minute commute back to their home on Methner Road. The farm equipment disassemble-reassemble, John’s plumbing expertise, the heavily guarded permission to hunt pheasant on his property, the semi-monthly lunches. Never keeping track of who does what for whom. Just the true pleasure of companionship with no expectations, just rewards.
I never would have been able to enjoy my professional life as much as I have, without the presence of John. The ability to have the peace of mind to leave the responsibility of the Funeral Home in the able and competent direction of Johnnie, so I can experience anxiety-free time off. The great camaraderie of the staff when John was present, the ability to lighten the stress, tension and sorrow experienced with the nature of the occupation. The light-hearted conversations during visitations and services with humor injected periodically. I cannot imagine I would have been able to survive the Funeral Home environment as long as I have, without his constant companionship through the last 30 plus years.
The impact both he and Patricia had in my personal life. Helping to shape Pam and my daughters as they grew through their impressionable years. Mrs. Owens as their doting schoolteacher. Encouraging them as grandparents would; frequently in attendance at school functions, athletic events, the day-to-day encounters, supporting them when others would not. Witnessing the growth, maturity and character both girls achieved that they helped to facilitate on their path into adulthood.
Johnnie, you have given me so much to be thankful for and I have truly tried to share the importance and value your friendship has had and the impact you also had on my life.
At approximately 2:30 pm Monday November 3, 2025 I will with reverent love and respect, gently lay to rest the physical remains of the most generous and faithful friend that I will ever have had the honor to know. I will also relinquish with Johnnie the true and honest memories of Pat, Ray and Paul, vowing to speak of him as long as my memory allows.
