Harold Courtley Carter

“A father doesn’t always tell you that he loves you. He shows you.”

Harold Courtley Carter—known simply as Court to everyone who loved him—released his legendary bear hug on this life on January 8, 2026, surrounded by family. He was 83 years old, and if there is peanut butter in heaven, we are confident his youngest son, Nate, has already shown him exactly where to find it.

Born December 13, 1942, in Los Angeles, California, Court was the oldest of five children and naturally took his role as protector, provider, and quiet example seriously. He proudly served as an officer in the United States Navy, Aviator and Navigator on A-3 SkyWarrior and EA6B Prowler aircraft, achieving the rank of Lieutenant, and completed six years of service, including two tours in Vietnam—an experience that shaped his integrity, bravery, and lifelong love of planes, the Navy, and especially the Blue Angels. He was never happier than when someone thanked him for his service, because it gave him a guaranteed opening to talk Navy, airplanes, or any tenuous connection you might have had to either—and by the end of the conversation, you were no longer a stranger but a friend.

In 1967, Court married the love of his life, Beverly, and they were sealed in the LDS Oakland Temple. Together they built a life rooted in faith, devotion, and teamwork, raising six children and modeling a marriage defined by steadiness, loyalty, and enduring love. Court’s faith in the Lord and his testimony of the Savior guided every part of his life. He loved serving in the temple, quietly and faithfully, and believed deeply in covenants, family, and doing what was right—even when no one was watching.

Beverly is Court’s perfect opposite—and his perfect match. Where Court was quiet and reflective, Beverly is social, chatty, busy, and endlessly selfless. She raised six wonderful children, gave freely of herself to everyone around her, and somehow managed to cook meals that Court faithfully ate without a single complaint—a true act of love and devotion that deserves recognition all its own. She filled their home with movement, conversation, and love, while graciously allowing Court the space to retreat into his books. He never met a home improvement challenge that he couldn’t solve, fix or haul. Together, they balanced one another beautifully, building a life that was rich, full, and unmistakably theirs.

After earning his master’s degree from BYU, Court owned and operated his own accounting business for more than 40 years, retiring in 2014. He took pride in his work—not because of numbers, but because of people. Court remembered details—names, stories, milestones—and treated every client like a valued friend. Relationships mattered to him, and he collected them carefully, thoughtfully, and for life.

Court’s great loves included the Navy, his family, the Lord, baseball, and peanut butter—though not necessarily in that order. In truth, peanut butter probably came first. He believed peanut butter was less a food and more a solution, and he never encountered a problem that couldn’t be improved with a spoonful of it. He was frugal and honest to a fault, yet endlessly generous with his time, his service, and his quiet acts of kindness.

A man of many hidden talents, Court played the organ and saxophone, loved poetry and Elvis, and could—despite appearances—dance quite enthusiastically. He loved to sing and make up silly songs. He adored the Oak Ridge Boys, and even in his final hours, his eyes popped open at the sound of “Elvira.” He was a wallflower by nature, but once engaged, he could talk your ear off. He had a booming voice, a hearty laugh and sneezes that shook the walls. He enjoyed a good joke and even more a good prank, with a surprising sense of humor. He was sparing with his words, generous with his hugs, and his bear hugs were truly legendary.

Court loved books so much he considered them friends—which worked out well, because they were quiet, dependable, and never interrupted him. With shelves upon shelves of them, he rarely reread any—except The Hunt for Red October. He loved baseball in all forms: playing it, coaching it, watching it, and especially attending Mariners games with a bag of roasted peanuts in hand. Some of the family’s favorite memories include walking to the Kingdome or Safeco Field together, talking baseball, and being perfectly content just being together.

Above all else, Court cherished his grandchildren. Each one delighted him beyond measure, and he collected memories of them the way he collected everything else—with pride, attentiveness, and deep affection.

Court is survived by his wife of 58 years, Beverly; five of his six children—Gregory (Court, Number 1), Jennifer (Princess, JenJen), Derek (Hey the D), Brandon (Slugger), and Shallane (Sweets, Squeeze Bug); 19 grandchildren; four great-grandchildren; his sister Robin; and his brothers Forrest and Rondi. He was preceded in death by his parents, Roma and Harold; his stepfather DJ; his sister Jilanie; and his beloved youngest son, Nathan (Bud).

He will be buried with military honors at Washington State Veterans Cemetery in Medical Lake, Washington, on Tuesday, January 27, at 11:15 a.m.

As A.A. Milne wrote, “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” If Court could have lived any other life, he would have been a Blue Angel—and we’re fairly certain he’s finally flying in formation now. The world is diminished because he is gone, but it is infinitely better because he was here. We imagine him now—wrapped in an eternal bear hug, reunited with Nate, and finally at rest.

If you would like to show your love or support in the form of a donation:

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