JOHN MUHLKE

Who could forget that laugh? It rang out often, as John built a joyful life in which his friends, family and colleagues were all great sources of laughter and delight. (And if you were lucky, you got the snort.)

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A Midwesterner at heart, despite spending the majority of his 79 years on both coasts, John had an ease and optimism that were infectious to those around him. He knew what made him happy, and pursued those things in his own special style, whether it was listening his way through Johnny Hartman’s catalog, searching for porcelain in little antiques stores around the country, or renovating and decorating beautiful homes with Deborah, his partner of 28 years. (There was also the time in his 40s when he worked at a Maserati dealership so he could drive the cars, but that’s another story.)

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What really made him happy was connecting with people, be it friends he spoke to every day, like Dick Miller, or former colleagues, customers and employees who still checked in and shared a (bad) joke. The wonderful nurses and aides from the Bon Secours Hospice, who cared so beautifully for him during his last two years, always left with a smile on their faces. As one nurse said to Deborah, “He was such a joy to all of us.”

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HMA Lab Supply was John at his best: Forging relationships with people all over the country, building something he could call his own, developing a loyal work family and always managing to work in a pun or Star Trek joke. He took a gamble when he started the company in his 50s — an idea borne from his time working for his first father-in-law’s testing equipment company in his 20s — but his success was due entirely to his vision, his charm and his problem-solving ability, along with the support of a talented and dedicated staff. As he often told Deb, he never tried to sell anything; he just tried to help his customers solve problems.

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As his friend, the late Bernice Wollman, used to say, “John is the poster boy for midlife success.” The fact that he remained involved with HMA long after selling the company attests that, to John, it was more than a business: It was his family.

 

John’s incredible kindness and generosity — not to mention his dedication to Deb, his daughter Christine and grandson Max, as well as to so many lifelong friends — will be what we miss most about him, especially in these times. Of course, we miss his bad jokes and great laugh, too.

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In honor of John, we hope that you will bring his acts of generosity and gift of laughter into your every day. Call a friend you haven’t spoken to in ages. Give someone a gift that will lighten their day (or month). And above all, tell a joke.

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Go for the snort.

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We’ll miss you, Mr. Muhlke.