A Tribute to My Father

Over the Memorial Day weekend, my father, Curt Johnson, passed away. It has been difficult for me to put pen to paper to add to my blog. Every time I started to write, memories would fill my brain and the words failed to come forward. My dad was an adventurer and story teller. He did many extraordinary things throughout his life from becoming the youngest licensed auctioneer in Missouri before he was twelve, to travelling around the world and befriending Princes and Sheiks.

He volunteered for over 40 years with the Delaware Pow-Wow from helping in the concession stand to serving on the Pow-Wow committee. Even though he was part Cherokee and Choctaw, the Delaware gave him his Indian name that he was most proud of… Opieihum or White Eagle.

He was proud to call Hogshooter Oklahoma, his home. Over the years, he explored the various caverns, caves and canyons that outlaws had used for hideouts around the area he lived. He went on to write a book on the history of outlaws in Oklahoma, from the James gang to the gangsters of the early 1900’s. He also wrote a weekly column for a couple of local papers, The Nowata Star and ****** *****, called the Hogshooter Philosopher. He wrote about everything from his adventures around the world to his point of view of what was happening in the world that affected daily living.

My dad never met a stranger. He would talk to anyone and could tell you their life story after a simple fifteen minute conversation. I always found this unique trait fascinating. Over the years the number of people I have met through my own travels that knew my father left me speechless more than once. It is amazing the number of people my father touched, helped and inspired. I was proud to receive an email containing this tribute to him from a friend he never met;

http://twofeetofftheasphalt.wordpress.com/2012/06/05/a-friend-i-never-met/

I thank Mr. Hoover for his kind words. Dad would have been happy to open his door and invite you in for a cup of coffee and a good conversation.

Dad was a talented artist that was accomplished in painting, wood carving to sculpting. Some of my favorite memories are those from when he was working on his projects. The earliest memories  have are those of him painting signs on the sides of trucks or the six foot painting of the Indian Chief he painted on the basement wall of one of our homes.  My personal favorite memory involves the look on my mother’s face when she came in and there was a 4 foot by 6 foot piece of wood on her dining room table with dad working feverishly carving away at it. All was forgiven after weeks of work produced an eagle with wings outstretched wide grasping the American flag in its talons that he proudly placed above the fireplace. That was until the next project ended up on her dining room table…

Dad inspired my favorite saying “Smile, It is contagious” with his simple 2 word ending of his column each week… Stay Happy.

Dad you are deeply missed, but will not be forgotten for generations to come.