Ralph Johnson Obituary

Ralph A. Johnson
If Ralph A. Johnson were responsible for writing his own obituary, it might be weeks or, more likely, months late. Not because of laziness or inability, but because he was the human equivalent of a hummingbird at times. Like the hummingbird that gloriously hovers in a spot just long enough to dip its beak into some nectar before darting off to some other flower or place, Ralph had moments of intense concentration, especially when reading everything he could get his hands on, before some other project or person in need lured him away. When not ironworking throughout Connecticut, he built a beautiful home in Harwinton with his remarkable wife, Corinne M. Johnson; raised vegetables in a garden half the size of a football field; made stonewalls and flowerbeds; and always cared for his parents, Ralph O. and "Bobby" Johnson, who lived across the street. And he always loved and listened to and sacrificed for his children, Becky, Nathan, and Marni, and his siblings, Eldah, Sam, Brandon and Clarence.
Just as hummingbirds have a big hippocampus dedicated to learning and remembering, Ralph had a beautiful, big brain, and he was endlessly curious about the world and the people in it. He delighted in reading and learning and talking. Without any ego or arrogance, he could share knowledge about nearly any subject. And what he didn't know, he wanted to know. To the delight of some and the disbelief of others, Ralph asked more questions than a journalist, a therapist, and a philosopher combined.
It's hard not to marvel and smile at a hummingbird; it moves its wings so fast and yet looks like it's standing still. It can pull off backward flight and stationary hovering. We should have marveled at Ralph more. He became the man of the house at age 10, in 1957, when his father was paralyzed in an ironworking accident. Though a year younger than his sister, Eldah, and only a few years older than his younger brothers, Sam, Brandon, and Clarence, Ralph started parenting his siblings even before he was a teenager. As soon as he had his license, he brought his siblings to so many of the activities and events of their lives. After an impromptu year or two at Johnson State – no relation and now part of Vermont State University – Ralph hit the road and the rails (years later, he earned a bachelor's degree from Central Connecticut State University). He ended up in California, at a tuna processing factory, only to be served a tuna fish sandwich upon seeing an aunt who lived out there.
The marvels and the humor continued throughout Ralph's life. He met his beautiful bride, Corinne, the daughter of immigrants escaping the Holocaust and Germany in the late 1930s, on the ski slopes of New Hartford's Ski Sundown. They saw each other, and they timed it so that they rode up in the chairlift together. And from that moment on, Ralph and Corinne faced the uphills and downhills of life with determination and humor and teamwork and love. They loved and nurtured and laughed with their three children who, like all humans, have faced challenges in their wonderfully absurd lives. Ralph and Corinne were always there for each other and for their children. And, more recently, for "Crazy Chloe," Ralph's furry, faithful companion, who misses her 3.5-mile daily walk with him.
While his heartbroken family and friends may have needed to research some of these hummingbird facts, Ralph himself might have known many of them. And if he hadn't, he would have wanted to hear about them from a family member or one of the many people he helped and performed acts of kindness for in New Hartford over twenty years of living in the town.
Ralph had more knowledge and curiosity and love and patience and resilience than a hummingbird has heartbeats in its lifetime. And just as many people want to see a hummingbird dance in the sky and over flowers for a little longer, we wish we could have seen more of this husband, father, father-in-law, brother, brother-in-law, cousin, uncle, and friend. More of this reader, learner, listener, sharer, gardener, builder, walker, talker, and jokester. More of this wanderer. This wonderer. We will look for him always and revel in the life he lived, the stories he told, and the conversations he shared. Fly far, fly free, Ralph. We love you. And we will celebrate your life and your flight at a memorial in early fall.