Dennis Jon Burmeister

A beloved uncle, gifted tenor and avid explorer of books and rivers, Dennis Burmeister was born, raised, and lived almost his entire 86- 1/2 years in Chicago.

For a man so connected to a major city, he deeply loved nature. His apartment shelves teemed with representations of his favorite natural creature, the turtle. His mailbox was stuffed with repeat solicitations from almost every organization defending animals and wetlands you've ever heard of, and many you haven't.

Almost until his last days—he died Jan. 6, 2026, after five days of in-home hospice—he kept those charities' representatives busy processing checks for $25 this quarter, $40 the next. Earlier in life, he donated in sweat, too, as an enthusiastic volunteer at Friends of the Chicago River's annual clean up.

Dennis collected elaborate geodes, representations of Earth's power and beauty, and he kept sculptural-looking chunks of driftwood he had picked up from riversides during one of his favorite pastimes, canoe camping trips in places like Texas's Big Bend National Park.

Among the possessions he wanted with him as he moved to a retirement home were canoe paddles with his name written in Sharpie and the garb he wore when reenacting the river journeys of the voyageurs, the 17th-century Frenchmen who traded with native Midwestern peoples and apparently enjoyed singing nearly as much as Dennis.

Dennis loved so much music, but especially great opera singers, and he loved to sing and was very good at it. With a rich tenor that belied his modest frame, Dennis sang not just with his voyageurs group, but professionally at choirs around Chicago, among them Grant Park Symphony Choir, Northeastern Illinois University Community Choir, and Anshe Emet Synagogu—where, he delighted in recounting, he was listed as "Dennis Berman."

Even into his 60s and 70s, he sang with the Northeastern Illinois University choir. In his memoir "Inspiring Harmony," NEIU choir director Michael Melton described Dennis as "one of my favorite volunteers," a "kindred spirit" whose "shoulders would shiver and... eyes would well up with tears" when the group was singing especially well.

By then he considered himself an ensemble singer, but Dennis cherished a recording of a solo performance he gave in the mid-1960s, where he brought the house down at the old Germania Club singing the complex and demanding "Soliloquy" ("my boy Bill...") from "Carousel." On the last night of his life, Dennis listened again to the performance he considered one of his finest.

The third key role in his life was as "Uncle Dennis"—attending youth sporting events, stage productions and concerts; dispensing cash and, always, McDonald's gift cards at holidays; asking a great-nephew's new girlfriend the nosy questions his parents were reluctant to pose.

Dennis never married or had children of his own, but he was that quintessential uncle and great-uncle to his sister Betty Johnson's two sons, Steve and Erik, and their families. Steve, wife Louise Kiernan and sons Conor and Declan loved traveling with Dennis from Chicago to spend Christmases in Fort Wayne with Erik, wife Debbie Parrott and sons Magnus and Lukas.

Dennis was also every bit the beloved uncle and family member to Heather Moky and her sisters Kristine Walz and Kara Lavin, the daughters of the late Wayne and Esther Moky. "Denny" was also embraced as one of their own by the extended Moky families, often attending holidays, weddings, and other celebrations through Wayne's brother John and sister Marilyn and their children and grandchildren. Wayne had been one of Dennis's closest friends since childhood, and when Wayne got sick in his late 50s and later passed away, Dennis stepped up for his family as Heather would step up for him.

"Dennis became a cherished and steady presence in our lives, embraced with love and care for many years," recalled Kristine. "He deeply loved 'the kids,' and always delighted in hearing about the lives of Kailey, Emily S, Ethan, Emily C, Connor, Tyler, Annika, and Keegan."

Among Dennis's papers was a neatly pencilled list noting the birthdays of those "kids" and all he loved, plus other key dates to him: "2/25/85 Dad died," "3/2/02 Mom died," "3/7/82 Quit smoking," even "9/8/49 Strauss died (85)."

Born July 28, 1939, Dennis Jon Burmeister was raised in a two-flat on Chicago's Northwest Side, the son of Henry Burmeister, a railroad mail car worker, and Helen Johnson, a candy shop office manager—two children from immigrant families who had met dancing at the Aragon Ballroom. He graduated from Roosevelt High School and then Northern Illinois University, in 1962. Dennis served in the Army Reserves during the 1960s but did not see combat.

The biggest part of his professional career was spent in HR at Schwinn during challenging years for the American bicycle industry. That tenure ended, his brother-in-law Darrell Johnson remembers him saying, after the company shed some 800 employees in a short time period. Dennis took one more corporate HR job, but from his 40s on, he lived off of prudent stock investments and by taking occasional jobs, including delivering flowers and working for a friend who had a print shop.

Proud of his Norwegian heritage, he preferred "takk" to "thank you" and was a devoted member of the Verdandi lodge of the Independent Order of Svithiod, the pan-Scandinavian fraternal organization ("4/25/82 Joined Verdandi"). Every year around Veteran's Day, he would emcee there a tribute to the men and women who had served, telling jokes and leading the lodge in patriotic songs.

Dennis was an ardent reader and even more ardent collector of books, especially on natural history and Native American themes. He was one of the rare people who grew more liberal as he grew older, incorporating women's and other progressive causes into his long list of regular donation recipients.

And while he lived frugally—he became a devoted patron of dollar stores—Dennis also lived fully. He was an enthusiastic explorer of the deeply discounted corners of Chicago: public library book sales, free movie showings, hidden gems in the park system, classical music events at churches, Grant Park, and the Cultural Center. He frequently saw dear friends, many from the old neighborhood or from his canoeing exploits, and he remembered everybody's birthday.

The Moky, Burmeister and Johnson families are hosting a memorial for Dennis at the Swedish American Museum, 5211 N. Clark St. Chicago. The April 25, 2026, event runs from 2-5 pm, with a tribute service at 3 pm that will celebrate his love of music, nature, and family. All who knew Dennis are welcome.