Read by Mason Mitchell, Mort's grandson:

Day is done,

Gone the sun,

From the hills,

From the lake,

From the skies.

All is well,

Safely rest,

God is nigh

Go to sleep,

Peaceful sleep,

May the soldier

Or sailor,

God keep.

On the land

Or the deep,

Safe in sleep.

Love, good night,

Must thou go,

When the day,

And the night

Need thee so?

All is well.

Speedeth all

To their rest.

Fades the light;

And afar

Goeth day,

And the stars

Shineth bright,

Fare thee well,

Day has gone,

Night is on.

Thanks and praise,

For our days.

'Neath the sun,

'Neath the stars,

'Neath the sky,

As we go,

This we know,

God is nigh.

Shared by Charlotte at Mort's memorial:

I must begin by thanking Laura Mitchell (Mort’s daughter) and Katie TePas (my graduate student) because I never would have met Mort had they not orchestrated the introduction. Katie was my graduate student at the Juvenile Court who came to me 6 months into the internship saying that her best friend’s father would be a perfect partner for me. This was a first for me. Thanks, but no, I cannot cross boundaries. Neither she nor Laura gave up working on the two of us. Katie returned after graduation saying that she’s no longer my student and he’s still perfect for me. Thanks but no. So in the Fall of October 1997, Mort picked up the phone and called me. It was a call that lasted for 3 hours, and we never stopped talking until the moment he died. We never owned a television set because there was no time to watch it. Too many things to talk about. Too much to do. So many interests.

You can tell by the picture that accompanied your invitation that he had a playful glint in his eyes. That’s my guy. He knew how to work, and he also knew how to play. On Sunday mornings in the summer, we would rollerblade at Northwestern before the crowds arrived. Most days began at the gym before covid. Mort was in charge of our home. He rebuilt every surface, could repair anything, and also cooked great, healthy food. If you’ve been in our kitchen, he built it for a tall person. He was committed to maintaining his highest level of fitness which he did for years. He proved everyone wrong as he regained his strength during his first hospice run and was discharged.

Mort was always a Marine. Focused, goal oriented, and always doing what needed to be done. Today was the first event I have planned in over 21 years without him. He read voraciously. His bookshelves express the breath of his interests and curiosity. He also ventured into my bookshelves. Reading and discussing clinical publications that caught his attention. He would say that he had no idea what it would be like to be married to a therapist. All topics were on the table for discussion.

In early March 2023, he said he did not wish to hurt me by saying this but he was exhausted and ready to go. And so we began our last series of conversations. It was so hard for him to pull away…..and be alone on this final walk. And he let me know how difficult it was to feel this way. Dying is hard. We will all do it alone no matter who is with us during this final time together.

Teddy Roosevelt summed up Mort in a 1910 speech in Paris:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

Yes, Mort was always courageous and encouraged everyone around him to risk, strive, and become the best they could be. Thanks Mort for your love, encouragement, and persistence. I love you.

Shared by Duncan Johnson at Mort's memorial:

Good Morning! My name is Duncan Johnson, I am Mort’s nephew, Harlow’s 3rd son. Although we moved to California our family connections in Evanston remained strong.

When I think of Uncle Mort, I think of summers in Evanston working at Chandler’s and staying with Grandma J @ 1733 on the 3rd floor. Our days began very early since Mort would pick us both up at the same time every day to open up the store. There was no sleeping in as there was work to be done before the store opened.

For those of you who know the Johnson Family, we don’t sit still well and this was very true for Uncle Mort. If he wasn’t fixing something at the store during the day, he was working on a project at grandma’s house over the weekend…. In any extra spare time he was remodeling or adding a second story to his home with his family – Aunt Pat, Larry & Laura – he was the general contractor, contractor, electrician, plumber, you name it! Mort, Dad & Uncle Jerry were all Eagle Scouts so there was lots to learn from each of them if you were paying attention.

Uncle Mort was a good teacher & I as a teenager at the time looked up to him. As my dad’s brother, they had many similarities, but differences too. We both shared the 3rd son position & I valued his mentorship during those summers working. One summer, Mort, Eric & I closed down and dismantled the entire Chandler’s Northwestern Co-op which was at the Orrington Hotel for many years. We moved all the inventory, metal racks, shelving, displays, etc back to the main store on Davis St. and stored everything in the parking garage. These were long days and will never forget that both Mort & I had to get tetanus shots one day that summer from stepping nails. We both remember that fondly and reflected on that recently during our last trip.

It wasn’t all work once summer vacation to the lake drew near. It was time to pack the Minnie Winnie & load up the fishing gear, motors, etc. As long as there was light, we were working on something.

On our way to Minnesota I can remember stopping at Lake Superior one year for the night. Mort said we must take a dip in the lake. At that time, I had no idea how cold it was, of course Uncle Mort was leading the charge. I have so many memories of Williams Narrows over the years – Cabin 9 was Uncle Mort & family, Grandma J in cabin 15, we stayed in many different cabins over the years and later would stay in the campground…always eager to rise, stop by to grab a quick bite with G’ma then head out on the lake – North shore, Uncle Mort, Dad on Fishin Fool trolling for walleyes/northerns while we would be throwing dare devils for northerns. My first water skiing was w/ Mort and all the cousins in Mac Avity Bay. A treasured memory and truly a very special place.

Mort would visit CA & would join my dad, brothers & I fishing in Halfmoon Bay & Santa Cruz for salmon. Annually we participated in a Grady White Salmon Derby in Santa Cruz taking 1st place on summer! Fishing is a passion in our family which we enjoy…

In 2011, my family took another cross-country road trip this time to my brides family reunion in Door County. On our way Mort & Charlotte hosted us including my mother & father & brother-In laws. We were blessed to have spent that time together in their home for a wonderful home cooked dinner. My dad later told me how happy Mort and Charlotte were that we came through to visit. So were WE!

Shortly after 2013, I am so grateful to Uncle Mort & Charlotte for their love and support after dad’s passing 10 years ago. Making a strong connection with our two boys Jared & Jaime who were 16 & 14 at the time. He made a big impression on them. They too will always remember Uncle Mort’s energy, enthusiasm and love for life.

More recently in 2021 after another of our cross-country road trip to the lake, we came down to visit. After telling Mort that we had a camper, he said it would fit perfectly in their driveway - & thought that it was a smashing idea. We arrived at 3pm and the “talkfest” began and lasted until the wee hours! Funny thing is that we never left the kitchen…enjoying tapas & sipping a little red wine. We went out to our camper & enjoyed a typical midwestern summer thunderstorm before falling asleep. The next morning of course Mort was up early, Charlotte too… coffee ready and the talkfest resumed as we enjoyed a special breakfast, we call the “Mort & Charlotte Special”. After stretching our family genealogy through the living & dining room we thought we should begin the goodbyes. This is not a quick process in the Johnson Family. We eventually headed on our way to Michigan to visit Cousin Eric & Cheryl.

I will always remember Uncle Mort for his strong conversation, endless energy, drive for health, wellness & exercise and most of All his LOVE for FAMILY.

Mort - Thank you for your service to this great country, we honor you!

Although it was time to leave – you will ALWAYS be here in our hearts!

See you at the lake……

Shared by Ed Lesniak at Mort's memorial:

I am Mort’s brother-in-law. Charlotte asked me to say a few words about Mort. In her grief, I don’t think that Charlotte realized that she was asking a retired attorney to say a “few” words. Attorneys have a very different definition of the word “few” than the rest of the general population. So please bear with me.

I only knew Mort for the last two decades of his life, so I can’t regale you with stories of childhood adventures or college pranks. Instead I grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote the name Mort Johnson at the top. Then I wrote down all of the thoughts that came to mind about Mort, and I’d like to share some of those thoughts with you.

The first group of words I wrote down were “good guy,” “decent human being,” “thoughtful,” “observant,” and “sharp knives.” Human beings are complicated, but in the end, the simple question is what type of person was Mort Johnson? He was a good guy, a decent human being. Thoughtful and considerate. Over the Thanksgiving Holiday in 2021 and 2022, Mort and Charlotte came to visit Kate and me in Virginia. We had a great time—wonderful conversations, lots of laughs, good food and wine. But we had dull knives. Somehow Mort knew that, and he was not okay with that. On both visits he brought with him his knife sharpening tool, and he sharpened all of our knives. We didn’t ask him to do it, but he just did. Every morning now I have the same breakfast, which includes strawberries. And as I slice the strawberries every day, I think of Mort with gratitude because I am using a knife that he sharpened.

The next words I wrote down were: “personable,” “engaging,” and “easy to talk to.” Mort was very personable, very engaging, and easy to talk to—that is, if he had his hearing aids turned up to full blast and you were shouting into his face. Now, in case you were thinking that I am just trying to get a few laughs at the expense of Mort’s hearing disability, let me disavow you of that. First, Mort would have laughed heartily at those comments. He was quite comfortable with who he was, and had a great sense of humor about himself. Second, I would not make fun of a hearing disability, particularly one caused in large part by his military service to our country. But most of all, I am trying to make a point. A hearing disability is one that can easily lead to withdrawal and reclusion. But that was not Mort. He attacked his disability with vigor. He made himself into a test subject for the Veterans Administration. It seemed like every time we saw Mort he had the latest version of hearing aids distributed by the VA and was advising it on the merits and demerits of that hearing aid. He would always look right at you when you were speaking to him, so he could try to read your lips. And if that failed, he would put his hand behind his left ear and lean toward you to direct you to speak directly into his “good” ear. He never let his hearing difficulty get in the way of engaging with people.

The next words I wrote down were: “intense,” “studious,” and “pit bull mentality.” When Mort got his teeth into a subject, he devoured it. Kate and I owned Toyotas for almost 30 years, but in 2013 we decided we needed a hatchback. We didn’t like what Toyota had to offer, so we looked at a Subaru. We took one for a drive, and really liked it. When I suggested that we buy it on the spot, Kate, who was a reference librarian, responded that we should investigate and look at Consumer Reports before purchasing the Subaru. In response, I asked her what type of car Mort owned. She said Subaru. At that moment, we both realized that the research had been done, and done extensively, by Mort. We didn’t need to do anything further, except purchase the vehicle. Which we did.

Another subject that Mort devoured was vitamins and supplements. He took about 80 vitamins a day. About 40 in the morning and 40 in the evening. He would line them up and take them in a certain order, like a well-choreographed meal. I remember once reading an article about the benefits of vitamin K for men’s health. And when I went to buy some on Amazon, I found about 10 different sellers of vitamin K. So naturally, I contacted Mort. I figured that there must have been a K somewhere in that alphabet soup of vitamins that Mort took, so I reached out to him with the question as to which brand he purchased. He could have responded with two words—Life Extension—but instead he sent me information about how that company obtained the ingredients, how they processed the ingredients, absorption rates, and anything else you could never want to know about vitamin K. I think of Mort every day when I take my vitamin K.

The last set of words I wrote down were “determined,” “persistent,” “stubborn,” “lust for life,” and “The Reluctant Farmer.” Mort had an almost incomprehensible desire and will to do what it took to stay alive. In one hospital stay, Mort refused to eat the food provided by the hospital, but instead demanded to speak with the nutritionist. He explained to the nutritionist how the food being provided to him was not suited for a cardiac patient. The nutritionist agreed to look at the materials on the subject that Mort provided, and later came back to visit him to let him know that he was exactly correct. At one point, Mort’s doctor conceded that he had no explanation as to how Mort was still alive. Mort in hospice, came out of it, and lived another couple of active years. He had amazing will power to confront and overcome the numerous health challenges he faced.

One of the things Mort and I had in common was a love of traditional Celtic music. We attended numerous performances together. He had an intense appreciation for the passion and skill of musicians. So I thought I would finish with a music-related recitation. Recently, an Irish band called the Jeremiahs released a new album. Unfortunately, Mort never had the chance to hear it. But there is a song on the album that I cannot listen to or even think of without thinking of Mort. It’s a song called The Reluctant Farmer. It is a fictional story about a farmer named John who keeps hearing voices telling him that it’s time for him to go. But he refuses their invitation to the grave because-well-he’s just too busy living his life. The farmer exemplifies the same type of determination, lust for life, stubbornness and persistence as Mort did in his life, and in the way he squeezed every drop out of juice out of the fruit of life. The story of the song is fictional, but I did change one line of it as a special tribute to Mort. You’ll know it when you hear it.

So here are the lyrics of the song “The Reluctant Farmer.”

Late one night in the wind and the rain,

I heard a rapping on my window pane,

Stirring me from my slumber deep,

I’m here for your soul to reap

Late one night in the wind and rain,

Rap, rap, tapping on my window pane,

I heard a voice like a demon spake,

I’m here for you soul to take.

[I won’t go to the grave below,

I’ve got a cow and a calf in the meadow,

Sixteen sheep and a field to tend,

And a dry stone wall to mend.

I won’t go, I’ve a ridge to plow,

Six young pigs and a hungry sow,

And an old sheep dog, for itself can’t fend,

And I’ve got to take my vitamins.]

The years went by and the noise never ceased,

And I heard the voice of a local priest,

Calling me for to come outside,

“John, I think that it’s time you die.”

The years went by. Will the noise ever end?

And the children of the children of my long dead friends,

Calling me for to come outside,

“John, we think that it’s time you die.”

[Chorus]

In the middle of the night, in the moonlight pale,

I was woken all the sudden to a banshee’s wail,

And the lady in the threshold, in the long white veil,

Looked fierce familiar to me.

“Tis meself, John, she whispered as she looked inside,

Twas’ none other than the spirit of my long dead bride,

But I hadn’t time for to listen to a word she said,

I slammed the door and I went back to bed.

[Chorus]

I won’t go.

I won’t go.

I won’t go.

Hell, no!

Shared by Larison Johnson at Mort's memorial:

One of my earliest childhood memories is of skating with my dad. He was holding me up between his

legs as he skated on what my several year old self had decided was the most terrifying pair of skates I

could possibly have imagined.

I found those skates years later and when I asked him about them, he told me they were speed skates,

from his days as a speed skater. Oh...well that explains a lot, not so terrifying after all.

He was always full of surprises.

I remember accompanying him to an office building where he rented computer time to process the

inventory records for Chandler’s. An original IBM Mainframe, with huge platter disks and punch cards. I

think I might have him to thank for sparking my love of technology and computers

There was the one summer we must have spent a month driving around to various antique stores, with

our neighbor, collecting the equipment necessary for making wine. Then the final trip to Chicago to pick

up 5,000 pounds of grapes. The entire neighborhood turned up in our backyard to watch as we crushed

grapes and pressed out the juice. They also laughed at our purple hands for the following month.

For those who weren’t aware, my father was very interested in nutrition, vitamins and supplements.

That started when Laura and I were young. First it was Cod Liver Oil, the normal preventative, then a

small, but ever expanding selection of vitamins, and then came the vinegar. Just a small amount,

perhaps a shot glass, mixed in with a glass orange juice was supposed to make us right as rain. Not sure

if it worked, sure tasted terrible, but we choked it down. Somehow word of the vinegar therapy reached

our neighbors, who mentioned one day they couldn’t believe we were able to stand drinking that stuff

after trying it themselves. But we explained it wasn’t too bad when mixed with orange juice. Wait....you

mix it with orange juice?...We all had a good laugh about that.

My dad had a few favorite sayings. They would roll off his tongue at just right moment. My

favorites...”Whatever idiot invented this thing should invent one more and drop.....” which usually

proceeded an impromptu trip the hardware store or another “Whatever the mind of man can conceive

and believe, it can achieve.”

That second one really drove him. He was always ready to jump on an idea if he believed. Business

software development for Chandler’s, the infamous Chandler’s assignment book, stock market trading,

helping me build my first computer, and passive solar home design. Each new idea filled with the

promise of discovery, the risk of the unknown, and possibility of great success. He always had an open

mind....that is until he formed an opinion. After that, well, you got what you got.

He loved working on home projects and I enjoyed learning the lessons that accompanied those projects.

He taught me that any job worth doing, was worth doing right, or you might end up having to do it twice.

He taught me that every job required the proper tool and based on his tool collection, he must have

done a lot of jobs when I wasn’t looking. That isn’t to say he had always planned the end result when he

started a project. Just try to figure out how to turn on one of the many recessed lights in his living room

from the Star Trek inspired console of switches on the wall. I’m not sure he had that in mind at the start.

But most important was the work ethic those projects instilled in me. Take your time, do it right, and

you’re not done until you are proud to hang your name on it. Those lessons have served me well.​

And though he always seemed to be busy with some project, he always pushed me to follow my own

interests. Of course, there was the Family business, but he set some boundaries. He told me I had to go

find my first job by myself. That taught me independence. Then after working that job for a few years, I

finally decided to leave it and go work for him, first in the warehouse and then in the office. That taught

me agility and how to work with a variety of different people. Then came the reality that I would have to

go away for college, far away, he didn’t want me driving home for long weekends to do my laundry. He

explained that there would always be a job for me at Chandler’s, if I wanted it, but that would be my

decision to make.

That last lesson, to go out and make my own way, is the lesson I appreciated the most.

I wonder if he realized the only reason was I able to succeed at that was because of the foundation he

helped create. I hope he did.

I love you Dad, I miss you every day. 

Shared by Marty Senica at Mort's memorial:

Hello everyone. I’m here today to say a few words about the man we call “Da”.

Some of you may not know about us calling him Da, but we started to do so after he married our Irish mom. Da is the Irish word for dad. He was our Irish da, with a little Ikea thrown in.

We called him this as he treated my wife and me with fatherly love. Mary lost her dad when she was young, so it was nice for her to have a father figure. He also supported me with encouragement during college and graduate school and life in general.

Da knew something about everything. You couldn’t pick a topic that he didn’t know about. There were many great conversations at 9244 N Linder over the years. Also we loved the Chandlers Planner with its great collection of quotes. One of his favorite quotes was, “The universe is not only stranger than we imagine, it is stranger than we can imagine.”

When something needed to be done, “Send in the Marine” was invoked. There was nothing he couldn’t do or figure out. He single handedly roofed the house, laid the brick path and laid the floors so they will never squeak. Mary would have liked that when sneaking in late in her youth.

Da always encouraged life-long learning. He has an extensive library with many books. Gift giving was always easy as he always had a list of books from Amazon. He was constantly reading and learning about nutrition, and eating healthy with organic food. He made sure to always read the labels too. In fact, he and mom drew the attention of a store employee while walking around Trader Joe’s when they were dating because they were lingering and reading everything. We even gave them a gift card there once and jokingly told them to rekindle their dating days. When he was able, he exercised like a fanatic to stay in shape. This exercise probably kept him going as long as he did. After his first session with hospice, we were happy to have him for another 2 years. COVID kept him at home more so he bought a bike for the house so he could exercise. Sadly through the pandemic we missed seeing him and Mom for long periods of time.

Mary and I learned how to be good spouses from observing Mom and Da interacting. They worked as a team and were kind to each other. We will miss having meals where we were guinea pigs for making the perfect rib rub, and will miss his famous Primordial chicken.

Da was a father to me, but he was also a friend. I could talk with him about anything, and he always had good advice.

Before I met him, I was very interested in the Viet Nam War and had read many books about it. Da was always forthcoming, and we had many discussions about the war. He gave me a copy of the book, “What It Is Like To Go To War”. It is an oral history written by a marine officer in Viet Nam. We often talked about his experiences overseas and he said that the book was the best explanation of combat available.

I once asked him if he was afraid in Viet Nam and he replied, that one could get used to anything. Again, Mort rising to the occasion, and doing what needed to be done.

When it came time for Mary and I to get married, I needed to choose a best man. Da was the obvious candidate. He knew me and I knew him. We were blessed that our families - Mary’s siblings and Mom and Da threw a great dinner and reception and Da gave an awesome toast.

Before meeting Da, the only men I kissed were my dad and my grandpa. I don’t remember how it began but I started kissing Da hello and goodbye. It felt good to show him that I loved him.

With Fathers’ Day coming soon, and summer almost here, there will be an empty chair at the table, and someone else manning the grill. It won’t be the same – it will be different, but we will have our memories of Da from all the occasions over the years. These times remind us to keep close to our loved ones and never assume they will always be around. I, for one, am going to miss the kiss. 

My best memories of Mort go back to my childhood when he was in college. Uncle Mort was approachable and someone to look up to. He was agile and athletic - casting fishing lines from the boat bow in Minnesota for hours at time. He readily pitched in to help with any heavy chores like climbing a tree to cut damaged branches or up the ladder to fix a roof or gutter. His athletic ability stayed with him well into his later years and served as a role model to keep your health as you grow older. Mort was also interested in talking with us even as children. Quietly listening during conversations but with a quick smile and laughter that made any situation more fun and lighthearted. You can see the twinkle in his eye in the photographs posted.

Unfortunately, I will not be able to attend the Memorial Service and do not know when we will meet again in person but know that I am thinking of all the family and wish you peace in the coming months.

Kathy Johnson