Keith "KC" Laudon

Keith Craig "KC" Laudon

Born in Milwaukee, WI - Departed this world (with one hell of a story to tell) on Saturday, September 20, 2025

KC Laudon was the kind of man who had a joke for everything, a song for every situation, and a fire going before you even knew you needed one. He told stories that made you laugh so hard you cried, and he lived a life so full of passion, music, and adventure that it left a mark on anyone lucky enough to know him.

Born and raised on Milwaukee's south side near the airport, KC developed a fascination with flight early on-likely thanks to the constant hum of jets overhead. That spark stayed with him for life. Through his long and well-traveled career in the bottling industry, he logged over 8,000 flights, navigating airports like second homes. Though it wasn't easy to coordinate around his work travel, he eventually earned his pilot's license and flew when he could-often alongside his late friend, Bob Zaptin.

He attended Pulaski High School, but traditional systems were never quite his thing. KC wasn't one to follow rules for the sake of it. He was independent, sharp, and averse to the status quo-he carved his own path and made no apologies for it.

In 1979, he married the love of his life, Joan. They built a home in Wind Lake and together raised two daughters, Katie and Gina, filling their home with music, laughter, and the kind of warmth that made everyone feel welcome. Over the years, KC and Joan hosted countless parties-backyard cookouts, jam sessions, late-night bonfires-where friends and family gathered for food, music, stories, and loud, contagious laughter. As KC liked to say, "Never a dull moment at the Laudon house."

He worked for more than 35 years in the bottling and labeling industry. He had a rare kind of genius that made him invaluable in his field. His titles included "service technician" and "project manager," but what he brought to the table went far beyond that. When he walked into a bottling plant, he saw what others couldn't. He understood systems, machinery, and processes at a level most people couldn't begin to grasp-and he loved it. Give him a problem and he'd light up, not because it was easy, but because it was a puzzle waiting to be solved. He was respected, trusted, and often called on when no one else could figure it out. Known to colleagues as "The Guy From the Factory," his work took him all over the country, and it became a huge part of who he was-challenging, fulfilling, and something he took real pride in.

From a young age, he had a feel for string instruments, especially acoustic guitar. But the truth is, he could pick up just about anything-bass, banjo, mandolin-and make it sing. He had a natural ear, a steady rhythm, and that rare gift of playing straight from the heart.

Music wasn't just something KC enjoyed-it was how he expressed himself. In another life, he could've been on tour buses and festival stages, but he was perfectly content being our small-town rock star-playing to living rooms, bonfires, backyard crowds, and anyone lucky enough to hear him pick up a guitar.

His musical taste was a mirror of who he was: grounded, poetic, a little wild around the edges. Crosby, Stills & Nash. Neil Young. Jackson Browne. Tom Petty. Every song he loved had a deep meaning. And he always had the right one cued up for the moment.

KC never stopped being curious-about music, about people, about how things worked and why. He had a natural instinct to dive headfirst into whatever caught his interest: learn it, build it, master it. His hands told the story-rugged from a lifetime of hauling wood, fixing what was broken, shaping what didn't exist yet. His fingertips were worn smooth from decades of guitar strings; the rest bore the marks of a man who never sat still. He was always knee-deep in a project, and his latest labor of love-a hand-built log barn on the land, his favorite place on earth-was shaping up to be one of his greatest accomplishments.

He was deeply proud of and loved his daughters, and he never missed a moment to remind them. He was an even prouder grandfather to Carter (15), Nolan (12), Lucy (10), Harper (5), and Corinne (4). He lit up for every phone call, every visit, and every story about their lives. He showed up, no matter what.

KC also had a deep, enduring connection to Native American culture, particularly the Lakota Sioux. He wasn't religious, but he was spiritual in a way that made you believe there was something bigger out there-especially if you were sitting beside him under the stars.

People will remember KC for his presence-rugged and unmistakable. The worn denim, the well-loved cowboy boots, the weathered hat that rarely left his head. He looked like he belonged on the cover of Rolling Stone-but it wasn't an act. It was just who he was. Beneath that grit was an easy smile, sharp wit, and piercing green eyes that didn't just look at you-they saw you. He had a way of listening that made people feel valued. Like what you were saying mattered. Like you mattered. He had a gift for making people feel at home in his presence-because around him, they were.

He fought cancer with the same grit, humor, and heart that shaped his whole life. He cracked jokes until the very end. He was brave. He was kind. He was one hell of a fighter.

KC is preceded in death by his mother, Evelyn; father, William; brother, Jerry; and sister, Sharon. He is survived by his beloved wife, Joan; daughters, Katie and Gina; grandchildren, Carter, Nolan, Lucy, Harper, and Corinne; his sister, Marlene; brother, Bill; and countless extended family and friends who loved him deeply.

As he often said: "I'm here for a good time, not for a long time."

And damn, what a good time it was.

To honor KC's memory, a celebration of life is being planned for a future date. We will post information here once arrangements are complete.