Doug Johnson

My Dear Family, Friends and Neighbors: We gather together today to celebrate the life and mourn the loss of a great man, my father, Doug Johnson who departed from us this past Wednesday morning at 3:33am after a long and valiant struggle against a terrible illness. He fought with every ounce of his strength, motivated by the singular hope that he could be here with all of us just one more day. I should say that despite the sad occasion of his passing, he is indeed here with each of us today '"" now and forever. I shall not dwell too much on the memory of his struggle and his physical decline, but rather I would like, this afternoon to evoke the reminiscence of the man that we all remember, a vital and energetic man, with an infectious smile, an outgoing and gregarious nature, a quick, dry wit and a kind word and way with anyone who came into his warm and inviting presence. What can be said of a man who was on this earth for 73 years? Although the pain of his passing is so fresh and has left us so devastated, the way that he lived, loved, worked and played, his service and inspiration to others over the course of those 73 years should be celebrated and lauded as a great example of a life well-lived. Dad was born in 1934 in Kemmerer, a small coal-mining town in southwestern Wyoming. He used to like to say that Kemmerer's only claim to fame was the first JC Penney store and himself. Truly he was one of Kemmerer's finest native sons. Dad was the son of my grandparents, Alan and Bessie Johnson, and the younger brother of my Aunt Shirley Fishel who is with us here today. Al was the son of Scandinavian immigrants and Bessie was the daughter of Mormon pioneers. Originally from Salt Lake City, my Grand Dad Al, an auto parts man, moved the family to Kemmerer in 1931 in the midst of the Great Depression in search of a paycheck. What they found there in that remote and wind-blown little town was so much more: a lifetime of friendship with and service to the community in a household steeped in love. One of the core values of that family, like our own, was education. It was expected that the Johnson children would go on to higher education and they both did indeed, with My Aunt Shirley graduating from the University of Wyoming in 1950 and my father following her to Laramie and graduating in Geology and Geophysics in 1956. Dad's career was a story in itself. He became an Exploration Geophysicist with the Atlantic Refining Company, the predecessor of Atlantic Richfield, shortly after graduation and went to work on one of the company's seismograph crews acquiring data used to image and map the unseen subsurface of the earth in the search for oil and gas. It should be noted that Dad always had a deep-seated belief in things unseen, which I believe is defined in most dictionaries as FAITH. In fact, one of his most remembered and oft-repeated sayings was, 'Keep the faith, baby'. Dad's young career saw him moving from place to place and town to town until one day in 1957 the Atlantic crew rolled into Gaines County, Texas where he met, fell head-over-heels in love, and subsequently married the young and beautiful Dolores Harris, number one daughter of the local Sheriff, VA Harris and his wife Mary. I tremble when I think of the courage it took for him to ask this imposing giant of a man for his daughter's hand in marriage, but ask he did, and the two were married in Hobbs, New Mexico on the 4th of July, 1957 witnessed by my Mom's sister, my Aunt Arlene who is here with us today, and her husband, my Uncle Gary Chancellor, who unfortunately could not be here with us today. From that day on, my parents lived the lives of oil field gypsies moving throughout Texas and New Mexico with the crew, until one sweltering June day in 1958 in the small hamlet of Karnes City, Texas, they were truly and profoundly blessed with the birth of their first child, my brother Dwight. What can be said of that sacred bond that exists between a man and his first-born son? Few among us today '"" Dwight and my cousin Rick the exceptions - can fully appreciate the depth of love and respect between two men in this regard. I am certain that the first time my father held Dwight in his arms, the die was cast; his purpose in life was certain and fulfilled. Life for my Dad at this point took on a meaning that it had never held before and this purpose carried him up to the moment that he took his last breath. I came into the picture on a winter day in late 1962, right here in Denver Colorado. By that time my father had moved from the field to the office and had established at least a semi-permanent home and his career was taking on new responsibilities. After a couple of years he was transferred to Louisiana and later Houston, Texas. We settled for a few years in Corpus Christi, where my Dad became active in his professional societies, the Presbyterian Church, Boy Scouts and Little League Baseball where he coached and nurtured my brother's many budding talents. Like any little brother, still too young for some of these activities, I tried to keep up and yearned to be with the big boys. Dad saw this, and always made an effort to include me as much as possible and for one magic season, I became the batboy of the baseball team, an honor that I cherish and appreciate to this day. By 1970, when the Sun Oil Company transferred my Dad to Calgary, Canada, our family was maturing and developing in every way. Finally, I became old enough to play baseball and my Dad coached my various little league teams. It was around these years that my Dad took us on some of the most fantastic vacations imaginable, throughout the Canadian Rockies and the Pacific Northwest where we, as a family shared many memorable camping adventures. It was then that he passed on his love and appreciation of the outdoors to both Dwight and myself, for Dad was, above all an avid sportsman teaching us the art of trout fishing just as his father had taught him. But make no mistake about it: I was not then nor am I now a fly fisherman. The art of fly fishing is something that Dad and Dwight shared uniquely over the last few years. They are both gentleman fisherman who catch beautiful trout and then release them. Anything I catch goes on my plate. But I must say that I did enjoy tagging along with my spin cast rod and my camera and I got a kick out of their enjoyment of it all. In 1972, Dad was coming into his own as an established and respected explorationist, and made the first of several trips over the next few years to the Canadian Arctic. He was missed greatly during these absences, and I must credit my Mom, Dolores for holding down the fort and keeping Dwight and myself in line while he was gone. Each time he returned he regaled us with the exciting stories along with his many slides of his adventures in the far north. When Sun Oil attempted to transfer him to Dallas, Dad quit his job abruptly with no other offer in sight. This was one of the most courageous decisions that I believe he ever made. He decided that the constant moves were unhealthy for his young family and in Calgary he would make his stand. He became Chief Geophysicist for Global Natural Resources Corporation, an independent company dedicated to exploring the Arctic Islands. The man who hired him, Lionel Singleton became one of my father's best friends '"" a friendship which endured until the day my Dad died. When we returned to the United States in 1977, my brother Dwight was in University, achieving a high level of scholarship, living up to the values instilled by my parents. He graduated from the University of Denver with a BS degree in finance and went on to earn an MBA from the University of Indiana in 1982, a tremendous source of pride to both of my folks. Mine was a different story. I left high school early to join the Marines, which on one hand was a source of disappointment that I shucked my education, but, much to my surprise, in a sealed letter that I was instructed not to open until the airplane carrying me to recruit training was off of the ground, he expressed his and my mother's love and pride in my decision to serve my country. For several years after, he drove around with a sticker on his car that proclaimed, 'My son is a United States Marine'. But neither of them ever gave up on me, or their dream that I should benefit from a college education. It took awhile, but I graduated from the Metropolitan State College of Denver in 1987, and shortly thereafter accepted a job as a Geophysical Technician with the Western Geophysical Company of America in West Africa. It came as more than a little surprise to my Dad that I should follow in his footsteps into the oil and gas exploration industry and he remarked only half joking that he wouldn't have wasted the money on my education if he'd known I was going this direction. But in fact it was a tremendous source of pride that I should follow him into a hardscrabble industry from which that year he would retire due to the decline in domestic exploration. However his legacy as a scientist was never forgotten. Once, when riding an exploration vessel in the North Sea, I was approached by an older co-worker who asked if I ever heard of a geophysicist out of Denver by the name of Doug Johnson. 'He is my father', I said. 'I thought so', he replied. 'You sure do remind me of him'. I had never been so proud and humbled to be associated with such a great scientist. The final chapter in my Dad's career was as a small businessman, operating a franchise travel agency here in Denver. Although something of a disappointment to both of my parents, who worked very hard to keep the business running, my father showed his characteristic optimism and determination like never before and treated his employees and customers like gold. One of the finest moments of my career was when I was able bring my Dad in as a consultant on some projects I was working on in Louisiana. Once again he showed a level of professionalism and meticulous attention to detail not seen in today's industry. He made a huge impression among my colleagues, many of whom remember him fondly to this day and have prayed and rooted for him through his illness. Perhaps one of the greatest chapters of his life came in the final years, when he and my brother Dwight became active at the Arapahoe Community College fitness center here in Littleton. Not only did he make a legion of friends and admirers, he transformed his body into a healthy powerhouse, lowering his blood pressure and cholesterol. His excellent health and vitality was most certainly one of the reasons he was able to cheerfully sustain the onslaught of chemotherapy and surgery throughout the course of his treatment. But, more than anything, what my Dad enjoyed most was my brother's vacation home on Vancouver Island where he spent many happy days fishing for salmon. It became a great refuge in his latter years and we spent many great times there together. He also enjoyed coming to my home in the Wapiti Valley of northwest Wyoming and fishing the north fork of the Shoshone River, where in May, only mere days after major brain surgery, he was the only one of our party to catch a fish, a beautiful Rainbow Trout. Today we remember you and honor you, Dad. You had the mind of a scientist, the curiosity of a great explorer and the heart of a poet. If I have inherited any of these traits, only fractionally, I will consider myself a success. I am and we are all grateful for the life of Doug Johnson and his time with us. He was proud of all of us as a family and we are proud of him. While I have attempted to honor and recount some of the important moments of my Dad's life '"" and I apologize for running long '"" it's a trait I inherited from Dad, I wanted to take a moment to honor and thank all of you who are here today to remember and celebrate the life of this fine man. I want to thank my dear Mom, Dolores, who accepted Dad's proposal of marriage, and who has loved him with all of her heart and knows only too well the meaning of 'in sickness and in health'. Mom, it is my prayer that your hurt be healed and that you find joy, comfort and happiness in life. You are a strong and wonderful woman and I thank you for being his wife and our mother. I cannot honor enough the natural-born hero who is my brother Dwight, who put his own life completely on hold over the course of this year to tenderly take Dad '"" and Mom into his personal care over the course of the illness. He lived and died with your constant encouragement and neither of you ever gave up. You promised Dad that you would take this process to completion, and you were there with him when he took his last labored breath. I pray that your pain may be assuaged and you find comfort and your own encouragement in Dad's single-minded determination to live. God knows, you did your very best and your very best was beautiful. I want to thank all of our extended family for their prayers and visits and well wishes and thank you for being here today. I want to thank all of his friends and neighbors, particularly, Chuck Royce, his college roommate who has become like an uncle to me (we both credit Dad for getting us through college), and Cliff Young, Dad's dear friend from the gym. Both of you were great friends to my Dad at the final crossroads of his life and I salute your devotion. I also wish to thank Bill Henwood and Gloria Noelliste, God's own angels who revealed themselves in my family's time of need. I am humbled by your kindness and your decency. Peace and Grace to All of You. Darren Johnson Centennial, Colorado, December 22nd 2007.