There are several things that come to mind when I think of John. His smile, his laugh and how he was always willing to help someone. Everyone!!!

After John grew his beard and we learned of his bike riding we started calling him Mountain Man. 

Avery, Devon, Janet and Jeff send our love and condolences to Mary Ellen, Caleb and Ellie. 

When I first arrived at Deerfield in 2014, John was one of the first to welcome me to Wells Street. The Friends family lived across from me, and although the transition of taking on boarding school life was admittedly jarring at the time, their family made me feel immediately comfortable and at home on our block. I adored Mary Ellen for all her wisdom and warmth and was delighted by the gentle spirit of her husband as well. I remember his pride for the small raspberry bramble he’d cultivated behind their brown house, how he taught me about foraging wild garlic greens to make pesto, and the shared meals from his local harvest. When I expressed admiration for his adventurous spirit, he invited me to join the Drafters and patiently encouraged my bravery to mountain bike the Pocumtuck range. Whether through shared neighborhood walks or yard meetups, or bumping into each other behind the Flynt Center or on the lower fields, our dogs played together with a joy that was unbounded and infectious. I often saw John venturing out to take Misty and Alice for long bike rides or cross country ski outings, modeling for me the kind of active and loving animal kahu I aspired to be. At one point, I asked John and Mary Ellen if they’d consider writing a book on parenting because their children Ellie and Caleb had grown into such special young people: well-adjusted, kind, dynamic, interesting and interested. I was honored to attend a student theatrical production at the Full Circle School and to see the magic of John's (and Ellie's) influence come to life on stage - through the creativity, courage, and playfulness of children.

"A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved" (Kurt Vonnegut, The Sirens of Titan). I stopped at this quote recently with thoughts of John, because he was especially good at this - at cultivating community and making those in his orbit feel seen and valued. We are each and all the better for having known him. Sending heartfelt condolences to his loving family and to all who lost a friend, mentor, teacher, and brother in John Friends.

John taught our kids so much. Reading and history, yes, but also how to make Brazilian cheese bread, how to snowboard, how to be kind to classmates, how to turn a day into an adventure.

As a parent, it was a gift to have a teacher like John, who actually knew your children — not merely seeing them in class every day, but forging a lasting connection with them.

John was a patient, good-natured and versatile educator. He’d gather students in a cozy corner and read a story, then a little later, he’d be gearing up for a cross-country ski expedition out behind the school.

John taught his students to notice the world around them, and at the same time, he took notice of the things that made them light up.

He cheered on our daughter’s graduating class as they hustled to arrange a year-end trip to Broadway. A few years later, he was out in a field with our son, launching homemade rockets.

We were lucky to have him. 

Words cannot express how shocked and saddened I was when my brother Scott called to tell me of John's sudden passing.  Know that I'm thinking of you all as you grieve the loss of this remarkable and wonderful man.

The Webster boys, my cousins, Barry, Todd, and John spent our summers growing up together on Sodus Bay.  I have many fond memories of time together over the 63 years or so that my memories cover.

One of my oldest memories is of John's dad taking us all out sailing on his little Sailfish a couple people at a time.   When he charged away from the Friends' dock with my father and me aboard, it was the first time in my life I had ever been on a sail boat.  A crazy windy Sodus Bay day, the Sailfish hovering on the edge of tipping over,  5-year-old me was pretty near terrified.  But I was also hooked and have never had a more thrilling sailboat ride in my life since.  I bet John had a similar first Sodus Bay sailing story.  I'm sure we all do.

I do not have a photo to share, but I'd like to comment on one that Amy posted of Barry, Todd, and John in their dad's Alumacraft ski boat in the 1970s.  Barry is at the helm, Todd is holding a line of freshly caught fish and a set of snow skis, and young John is holding a slalom water ski, sporting dare I say, maybe a bit of a smirk?  Encapsulated in that one photo are four things John loved - and was supremely good at:  boating; fishing; snow skiing; and water skiing.  It seems many of you too enjoyed those activities with John.

I have long liked and admired John.  It is clear from the many posts on this site that I am not alone, and that he touched many people.  I'm not surprised in the least.  My last memory will be of John motoring over to say hi and see our new docks last July.  Nothing special; just the kind of thing we all do in our beloved summer community.

John was piloting his newly restored antique wooden boat and in high spirits that day.  But, of course, that's just it.  Wasn't John always in high spirits?  It seemed to me he lived his life as we should all want to live ours.  He was a force for optimism, decency, and just plain all around goodness.  The world is a little less special place without him.  My thoughts are with you all.  May we all find a way to come to terms with this sudden, unexpected, and so very unwelcome loss.

This is less of a story and more of a testament to John's impact. My elder son, Walter (8), has been at Full Circle for two years. During this time, John became a north star for him. What John said and did impacted my son tremendously. This relationship instilled a sense of inner well-being in my son, as John embraced all aspects of him. When my son would explode with excitement, John would recognize the experience, honor it, and simultaneously offer a quiet, grounding presence. When my son was confused and frustrated at school, John would provide quiet reassurance that the learning would come. When my son was overwhelmed, John would bend down and assure him that this, too, would pass. What John offered our son is what every parent desires for their children — someone who embraces them with love, with care, with dignity.

I lost my own father two years ago to a rare bone marrow disorder. We were close. It was hard. Yet this loss somehow feels more intense. John was a beacon of certainty for my family — the assurance that our son was on the right path. To say John will be missed is an understatement. The pain of this sadness will be with us for many years to come.

And, to John directly: thank you, my friend, for all you did for our family and so many others.