Christopher E Wagner

We met for the first time in the early morning of May 1970, a time that worked because we were both generally morning people. That's when the lessons started.

His-Christopher Elmont Wagner's (Chris)-story started barely 21 years earlier when he when he became the third, middle son, of Eleanor and Leroy Wagner. He spent his early years as a member of the "older kids" squad with brothers Greg and Jeff, getting into mischief and taxing his mom beyond reason. As the middleman and smallest of his five brothers, Chris spent much of his young life polishing his "tough guy" reputation. Weeks-long camping trips with his grandmother, Marie, armed with fishing line, bedrolls, and matches cemented his life-long appreciation of elders, particularly independent, adventurous older women. Academically indifferent, he thrived in sports-baseball, wrestling, golf, and football, where he was captain his senior year. At sixteen, he fell in love at first sight with the younger sister of his classmate, Toni, and begged her to introduce him to Jennifer, the love of his life. They married six months after Jennifer graduated high school, and Chris gave up his new-found aspiration for formal education at Seattle University to support his growing family by logging in the mountains above Enumclaw. Like most people, he was a complex, multi-faceted, sometimes contradictory, and often stubborn person. Most importantly, he possessed an insatiable passion for relationships, giving of his time and money, and above, his family-which for him started with Jennifer. He was a gifted storyteller and teacher. Today, he would be thrilled to know his full, joyous life provided lasting lessons for us all.

Above all, Chris was defined by his extraordinary work ethic. He didn't understand people who wouldn't work all hours and days of the week-to help friends, family, or clients-turned-friends, and to always go above and beyond. He spent his middle years traveling the globe to do "projects" for his kids' young families. Whether it was a deck on the other side of the country, a leaky roof on the other side of town-he did whatever it took, wherever it took him. He drove hours moving his kids and grandkids around the country, and even swapped his truck with stranded grandchildren so they could return to school while he waited with the broken-down car for a tow truck. And while we may have all winced at some of his "repairs" (read: scary electrical wiring), he did all these things without hesitation, without concern for his own schedule or well-being, without calculating the cost physically, emotionally, or financially. It certainly took its toll on him, but to his last days he never wavered. His lesson was that hard work can be a reward, and that sometimes work for the benefit of other people is most rewarding of all.

Chris' exceptional grit was evident in an abrupt switch in his personal habits-first making a commitment to Jennifer to stop drinking after 20 years of marriage and then, nearly ten years later, quitting smoking after waking in the middle of his quadruple bypass to see the cardiologist holding his heart in his hands. The second change was followed by a rough 18 months in which Chris was diagnosed with Type-I diabetes followed shortly by stomach and esophageal cancer. Through it all, Chris gritted his teeth, continued moving forward, and built the first of the bed-and-breakfast units on his and Jennifer's waterfront property. This part of the "tough guy" journey was marked by a positivity and grit that none of us would dare to compare to anyone we'd ever met, or ever will meet. He lived hard, he loved hard, and was pretty damn tough.

Chris was proud of his work, particularly of the property he and Jennifer developed over the years on Eld Inlet. First was the taming of the original house and landscape. Later came the Eld House, built without plan or permission (initially)-transforming a jungle of blackberries into an oasis that all his family, and now some guests, would enjoy for years to come. Later, when a storm felled a Douglas fir, Chris in his usual way struck up a conversation with a log-home builder who just happened to have a cabin on his hands. The cabin would become the Heron House, the second guest abode and truly Chris' proudest build. He poured love and energy into building the cabin and delighted to share it with guests of all stripes. Over time, meeting guests from all over the world fed Chris' interest in engaging with new people from different places and experiences. He loved sharing the lessons he learned in building the cabin with them and learning lessons from them.

In the next 20+ years, Chris allowed his tender side to blossom. He had always been interested in people and curious about the world around him. He loved nothing more than learning how something worked, about the history of places and people-and he never forgot any of it. He and Jennifer traveled all over the country and world; an opportunity Chris facilitated by adding a second career at Horizon Airlines to his workload. Beyond the travel, medical, and paltry financial benefits, Chris reveled in the new people he met at Horizon; some became dear friends, others just a new group of students for him to share with, love on, and invest in. He volunteered at the Washington Center for the Performing Arts and at St Michael Church. He expressed a love of theater; he and Jennifer enjoyed several years as season ticket holders at the Fifth Avenue Theater. He invited friends to listen to live music. He was excited about opportunities and wanted to share them. He would have told us all to take the opportunity when it's available and to take someone along to enjoy it with you.

Relationships were key for Chris. He and Jennifer raised four children, who were encouraged to aim high-all four earned college degrees, a source of great pride. All married and had children, providing Chris with nine grandchildren who were endless sources of joy and pride. Chris deliberately and consistently connected with each of his family: attending sporting events, music nights, school fairs, recitals, graduations-elementary through college. He loved creating traditions: Macho Day, which inevitably involved fire and Oreos for breakfast; jobs for the grandchildren, which were long on instructions including how to hold a shovel, mow a lawn, or even pick up sticks properly, followed by ridiculously high pay; observation of humans in places that struck him as worth noting, such as at Wal-Mart or a certain drive-thru window; cycling through an entire wardrobe of his kids' and grandkids' alma maters' fan wear; birthday contests and adventures. He was always happy to take an unhappy child outside to feed the rabbits or stomp off a temper tantrum. He fed squirrels and chipmunks peanuts until they learned to follow them into his shop for their daily treat. He bought dog treats and kept them in the car so that he would have treats for his grand puppies wherever he went. At nearly 75 years old, he bought a Hulk costume so that he could be Hulks with his two-year-old grandson.

He texted and shared memes with an amazing number of people-never ceasing to surprise them all with his "check ins" and thoughtful GIFs. He paid attention to events and weather in places of significance to friends and family so he could connect with them. He invited friends and family to take trips with him and Jennifer to build relationships. He organized family reunions to sustain relationships with his cousins, he organized family holiday gatherings for Easter and Christmas. He didn't love visiting a friend in prison, but nonetheless made monthly visits because he knew how much it meant to his friend. Less than a week before he died, Chris left home at dawn to drive an hour to the hospital to visit a friend going into heart surgery, just to let him know that he would be pulling for him. Chris wasn't a physically or even verbally expressive person. He showed up, though. The lesson here is that showing up, even if it's unpleasant, is worth it.

Chris often butchered the English language-taiger, kossack, walgrins, sconces, wallah, and more. He loved sports: football, baseball, softball, and basketball. He loved having season tickets to watch the UW Huskies football and basketball teams and the Seattle Seahawks. He was a dedicated supporter of his grandkids in cross country, track, soccer, golf, gymnastics, and tae kwon do. His life-long dream of having a direct connection to Notre Dame was fulfilled when his granddaughter became a member of the Fighting Irish, who shockingly declined to allow him to attend with her. Chris probably missed his calling as a teacher, because he loved nothing so much as teaching his kids or grandkids how to do something. I think the bigger lesson is that learning something new was so exciting to Chris, he wanted to share it. And he never forgot anything.

In the end, Chris was proud of what he produced-a volume of work, his family, his friendships. He continued to seek opportunities to learn, espousing an interest in entomology even in his last weeks. Throughout his life, his family, starting with Jennifer, was always his greatest passion. He loved Jennifer from the day he met her until his last breath-and showed us all what loving your spouse was supposed to look like. He checked in with people, his second passion. And in the process, he crammed a big life into that small, tough body. He showed us sometimes you don't have to be the toughest guy; you just have to show up. A lesson worth learning. Thanks, Dad. I was lucky to meet you.

Chris was predeceased by his parents, Leroy and Eleanor (Iverson) Wagner and his brother, Doug Wagner. He is survived by his brothers Greg, Jeff, and Brad Wagner, as well as his wife Jennifer, children Tina (Tony Leung), Aaron (Nicole), Tony (Denise), and Keenan (Anne) Wagner, and nine grandchildren-Ross, Max, Ivey, Anna, AJ, Christopher, Anthony, Lily, and Teagan. A funeral Mass in his honor will be held at the downtown location of St Michael Catholic Church in Olympia, WA, at 11:45am July 9, 2024, followed by a celebration of life at his son Keenan's home.