Ethan F. Campbell

Late in the afternoon of February 28, 2025, Ethan Francis Campbell, 69, of Towaco, NJ, passed away, leaving this mad, mad world to be with his Savior in the realm beyond.
God called Ethan home just as he had always hoped – quickly, quietly, and peacefully. His final moments were spent in the arms of his son and beside his beloved wife.
Only hours before, he spoke to his younger daughter, encouraging her to press on in her faith and pursuit of truth.
Mere moments before, he sent a text to his elder daughter, letting her know he loved her and might be a little delayed in helping her fix something. Later, his car keys were found still in his pocket – a quiet testament to the man he was in life and in death: ever ready, ever giving, a man of boundless love and service.
Ethan was born in Atlanta, Georgia, on September 24, 1955, and grew up in Bloomfield, New Jersey, the youngest of seven children raised with unwavering love by their mother, Edith Jean. His childhood was far from easy, yet his earliest understanding of love came from his mother's boundless sacrifice and devotion. Years later, Ethan and his childhood friends would laugh endlessly over the small mischiefs they got into, but beneath it all, young Ethan Campbell carried a caring heart and an inquisitive mind.
Ethan graduated from Bloomfield High School, Class of '73, stepping into young adulthood with a David Cassidy hairstyle, a bright smile, and a song on his lips – usually The Beatles, though often with lyrics of his own invention. In 1980, he met his future bride, Taline, in the halls of Union College. Together, they went on to graduate from NJIT with a degree in Electrical Engineering. Their early years were filled with adventure, often spent backpacking through the winding paths of the Appalachian Trail, building the foundation for a lifetime of shared journeys.
In 1989, they vowed together, "'til death do us part" – and hand-in-hand, first as best friends then as husband and wife – they embarked on the great journey of parenthood in the Garden State, taking them from Bloomfield to Oak Ridge, to Montville.
Raised by a single mother, Ethan had no template to follow as a husband and father. Instead, he carved his own path, working tirelessly to demonstrate his love and commitment. Through forty years of construction, rain or shine, in the summer or winter, alongside all the rigors of raising a family – nothing detracted from his relentless dedication as a provider.
Ethan was the fiercely proud father of three children, Jonathan, Rachel, and Hannah. He sought to raise his children with integrity, ethic, and love. "God, give them a backbone of steel," he prayed with them each night. Never judgmental, always supportive, he chose to understand and guide rather than dictate. "Fatherhood comes to you naturally," his sister, Susan, once remarked. That truth meant the world to him, and he carried it with him until the very end.
When it came to his children, no sacrifice was too small.
For two years, he woke up at 4:45 every morning to drive his son to the gym, snoozing in the car outside while waiting for him to finish his workout. He'd always insist on driving his daughters back to Hoboken, or to the airport, cherishing their time in the car chatting about life or listening to music. He'd pipe up, "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"
He had many nephews and nieces. He loved teaching his nephews the tricks of his trade. His nieces benefited from big hugs and larger than life snowmen in the winter. He had a remarkable talent for cheating at any and all board games – but only ever to help his nieces win.
He found an extraordinary aptitude in tradecraft – carpentry, electrical, and plumbing. His keen engineering mind intimately understood the math and process of the craft, and he gained a strong reputation for circumspect, high-quality work. "When it's Ethan done, it's overdone!" he once remarked to his brother-in-law, John, after using mahogany to restore their front stoop.
"If it's worth doing, it's worth doing well," he'd often remind his kids. His customers, many of whom became close friends, loved his handicraft – work that never needed repair, and always exceeded expectation.
As a small business owner, Ethan's deep-rooted altruism often clashed with the realities of running a company. He founded Ram in the Thicket (RITT), a residential construction company named as a testament to his passion for solving the "unsolvable" problems in people's homes. His only frustration? The necessity of sending invoices – he would have gladly spent his days helping others for no charge. Once, his daughter asked what he would do if he won the lottery. "Well," he mused, "I guess I could finally help people for free!"
Ethan was a man of profound depth and emotion. His capacity for feeling was immense – always attuned to the silent stirrings of the heart in everyone he met. Eternally introspective, he reflected often on the challenges of his early childhood and the indelible mark they left on his soul. Yet, he refused to let the past define him. Instead, he built upon his mother's template of love, expressing it through quiet acts of kindness to those around him.
What is to give light must endure burning. Ethan embodied this truth, transforming the pain of his past into a rare ability to connect deeply with others. Giving was his love language, and his craft was its voice.
Humorously, this often got him in trouble at home – even earning him a beeper from Taline, so he could let her know if he was going to accidentally miss dinner again as he got lost in helping a friend fix something in their home.
As for his Christian faith, the path of belief is rarely linear, and so it was for Ethan. First introduced to Christianity by a colleague at Peerless Tube, he first worshiped at First Baptist Church of Bloomfield, then later at Trinity Baptist Church of Montville for many years. He was drawn to a God who loved and valued him, "not for the diamond that [he] could become, but for what [he] is, in need of Him." Deprived of a human father's love in this world, Ethan found his greatest solace in the embrace of his Heavenly Father.
As his understanding of himself and his place in the world evolved, so too did his faith – deepening, maturing, taking root. He was a great reader of biblical texts, and even in his final days, books by C.S. Lewis, John Bunyan, and other Puritan writers lay at his bedside. After his passing, his son discovered dozens of personal writings on his laptop – reflections on grace, on love, and on the ever-present hand of God.
In his later years, he took up writing, sharing decades of experience and faith in profound messages to friends and family, congratulating, encouraging, and providing sympathy.
Ethan was a fixture in his son's Boy Scout troop – often the first to arrive at community service projects and always the last to leave, likely with a few extra scouts in his car to drop off on the way home. Quick with a laugh or a quiet word of wisdom, he was, above all, an unwavering example of Christian mentorship and service. He boasted something of a legendary reputation among the scouts – for forearms the size of their legs and a strength that seemed almost Herculean.
In later years, he devoted himself to Trinity Christian School, always fixing, installing, improving. Few students passed through without knowing of "Mr. Campbell" and all he did for them.
Beyond his service, Ethan was a man of deep curiosity and passion. An avid collector of antiques and clocks, he cherished not just the objects themselves, but the stories they carried. Each time a new clock "found" its way into his home, he would eagerly recount 200 years of history to each and every house guest, locking them in an unsolicited history lesson.
His version of winding down for the night included an iced coffee and political talk shows, a sure-fire way to calm down before bed. He'd look over and remark to his cat, Sparta, "It's a crazy world out there, man." (Sparta, in turn, would lazily crack one eye to look at him, yawn, then curl more deeply into the crook of his arm.)
Ethan's cats knew he was the weak link, targeting him daily for treats. He'd always chuckle and tell the cats to "Get a life!" before inevitably cracking open the treat container and spoiling them silly. Yet this spirit of giving was directed to everyone around him. On the morning of his passing, as he gently helped his 100-year-old mother-in-law sip her coffee, he spoke to his son about mercy – the privilege of showing kindness, whether in big or small ways.
Before the Almighty, Ethan fought the good fight. He kept the faith. May God grant him rest in His boundless mercy.
My dear reader, please understand that, while lengthy, this tribute barely scratches the surface of the depth and breadth of the man that my father was.
In lieu of flowers, donations may be made in his memory to The Prison Fellowship. Christian ministry was dear to Ethan's heart, and an organization that he volunteered with for many years.
Ethan's legacy of love and care is proudly carried on by his beloved wife of 35 years, Taline Marie Campbell (née Mouradian), and his cherished children, Jonathan, Rachel, and Hannah. His quick wit, great kindness, and love of cats live on in his dear sister, Susan Baker.
Ethan is predeceased by sisters Dianne Campbell, Cynthia Debold, and Judy Leckburg, and brothers David Campbell and Robert Campbell. He also has many nieces and nephews: Taryn Debold Lagonigro, Lauren Debold Bretscher, Danielle Baker Catanzaro, Daniel Leckburg, Christy Leckburg Williams, Shannon Campbell Zablocki, Kelly Campbell, Alycia McCarthy Fernandez, Shayna McCarthy Kressaty, Christina Mouradian, Michael McCarthy, and Gregory Mouradian.
A Memorial Service will be offered on Thursday, March 6th, at 7:30 PM, at Trinity Baptist Church, 160 Changebridge Rd, Montville, NJ 07045. A livestream link will be available at the following link: https://trinitypulpit.net/. Funeral Services are entrusted to Shook-Farmer Funeral Home. To share memories and condolences, visit shookfarmer.com.