John Michael Pennington

I didn’t think I’d be writing something like this, at least not at this point in our lives. I thought we had many years before I’d even begin thinking about this, but here we are. Remember that St. Patrick’s Day? When we started in Dogtown, then went to The Blarney Stone, and ended up in Imperial? How about the Table Rock trip where we had to rebuild the entire cabin? If you could even call it a cabin. Of course, you had your tools with you. When didn’t you? All the June Parties? Hell, all the parties! So many good times. We can’t forget the 6047 party when you finished your basement. Lots of food and drinks and a little Karaoke. Other than a few switch cover screws, top-notch work as always. What about Toms’ bachelor party? The cases and cases of Golden Light on reserve, the quad incident which led to the trip through those rough back roads to the ER, and the broken collarbone? The simultaneous calls to let everyone know that we were at the hospital and, other than some methane poisoning, everyone was OK. It’s a good thing we listened to you and had the party far enough out from the wedding! And the wedding! What a day! So many friends in one place and such a wonderful day, from beginning to end. During the New Year’s Eve tornado who’s the person who risked his life to grab a cooler from the house while the rest of us hunkered down in the crawlspace, riding the storm out? That was you, John. You always took care of people and expected nothing in return. You’re the person I went to for home and car audio/video advice. You’re the person I went to for home repair questions, and I had a LOT of questions. And you never hesitated to help with any project that I wasn’t comfortable with myself. And if it was out of your comfort zone, which wasn’t often, you always knew someone who was an expert. You were a bottomless pit of knowledge that you eagerly shared with anyone willing to listen and learn. And maybe because we were at similar points in our lives, always someone I could talk to about those very personal and difficult topics. So many times, this week, I’ve wanted to reach out to you for answers or see how you were doing. Then I’m reminded of the reality that I don’t have that luxury anymore. And it hurts. Every time I hear the word “Eclipse”, I’m going to remember the Solar Eclipse party of 2017. Every time I ride, I’m going to remember the Bentonville trip. Every time the guys get together, I’m sure we’ll be sharing stories because something will remind us of you. The pain and suffering are finally gone. I hope you’ve now found peace, John. I’m going to miss you, as will many others whose lives you’ve touched.