H Jack McCunn Jr. passed from this plane and onto his next great adventure on the 13th of October, 2025. After a few too many or too few bottles of wine and a hearty meal of rare steak and dark chocolate, he found himself surrounded by a bevy of buxom barbarian beauties. Being a man of good character and better taste, he offered his protection to them in exchange for only a bit more wine; they were, naturally, overcome by his good looks and  honorable offer and beset him with amorous advances. He could not bring himself to fend them off with any ferocity or efficacy, not wanting to mar their beauty or shame their warriors spirits, and sadly was suffocated by bosoms in the mid-October moonlight. While this story may not be 100% factual, we see no reason to let that get in the way of telling it. Neither would he. Jack leaves to hold his memories and tell his stories his beloved wife Doris McCunn, his daughter Amelia (Mali) Templeton, his bonus sons Shiloh Reeves and Rick Rousseau, and grandchildren Azalynn, Alyce, and Josephine. He also leaves his sister Paula, his brother Scott, and a wild pack of in-laws, nieces, nephews, great-nieces and nephews, bonus grandchildren, and even a few bonus great-grandchildren to carry on without his terrible puns and wonderful Christmas sourdough cinnamon rolls. Jack rejoins his mother and father, Amelia and Jack McCunn Sr, his son Jack McCunn III, and his bonus daughter Jennifer Tombrella (nee Rousseau) along with a number of his dearest friends in the halls of Valhalla. Jack was born in Oklahoma in July of 1952 and got the hell out of there as quickly as possible (by his account, he was there for 3 days or 3 weeks depending on the telling) His family spent much of their time in Midland, Texas before settling in the Houston area. Jack led a life of relentless learning and endless curiosity. He always had a book to hand and a story to tell. He raised animals, rode motorcycles and goats, made knives, grew grapes, wove chainmaille, tended to chickens, grew mutant zucchini, and fished every chance he got. He was never happier than when he had a problem to solve, a joke to tell, or a project to dream up. There's also a rumor he once sacked Rome. He stayed close to his parents throughout his entire life, spending countless days having coffee in the morning and a glass of wine in the evening at their table. Between he and his mother, the stories told at that table were endlessly entertaining, and occasionally even true.

Jack loved his family deeply and fiercely. He was both protective and challenging and never let a chance to tease his siblings, hug his kids, or goose his wife pass by if he had his way. To his friends he was an entertainer, a companion, and a warm heart, warmer embrace, and generous spirit. He was often found lending an ear or a hand, and offering advice that ranged from most excellent to most dubious indeed. He will be missed with the intensity of a thousand suns, remembered often, carried forward in our hearts, and spoken of boisterously by those who love him. May the halls of Eldorado echo his name, may the wine flow freely and the beer be rich, may the stories grow with each telling, and the songs reverberate in the chambers of our hearts for all our lives. "Over the Mountains of the Moon, Down the Valley of Shadow, Ride, boldly ride," The shade replied,- "If you seek for Eldorado!"

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