John A. Recker, Sr. "Papa Jack"

John A. Recker, Sr. of Cincinnati, Ohio, age 86 and commonly known to all as “Papa Jack,” Ascended to his eternal resting place on December 7, 2025 after a long battle with health conditions. Beloved husband to Joan (Mitchell) Recker, devoted father to his daughter Julie Holbrook (Brian), and two sons John Recker, Jr. (Jodi) and Jeff Recker. Jack passed peacefully in his sleep at his home in Montgomery, Ohio on December 7, 2025.

Proud grandfather to Michael (Kaitlin) Holbrook, Ashley Holbrook, Jennifer (Jack) Holbrook Raibikis, Adam (Rachel) Recker, Abby Recker, Luke (Lindsey) Recker, Jack, Lily, Evie and Penn Recker. He was also great-grandfather to Boone and Scout Holbrook.

He was preceded in death by his brothers Tom, Joe, Richard and sisters Jane, Eileen and Marge. Papa Jack was a lover of life who adored his family and cherished his time in the outdoors. As a former electrician, little league coach and semi-professional hockey player, he was a competitive warrior who led by example and will be missed for his strength, loyalty, compassion and witty humor.

Visitation will be held on Saturday, December 13, 2025, from 8:45 am -9:45 am at Good Shepherd 8815 East Kemper Rd., Cincinnati, Ohio 45249. Mass will follow at 10:00 am on Saturday. Burial will be at Gate of Heaven Cemetery with a luncheon. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations in his memory be directed to The American Lung Association and/or NeverThirst

Words of Remembrance and Eulogy from John Sr.'s son, John Jr. and Jeff

John A. Recker Sr. “Papa Jack” - Beloved Dad

Words of Remembrance by his eldest son John A. Recker Jr.

As his first-born son, and one who most say is a spitting image of his dad, I would like to start by stating what was obvious to anyone that knew him…

He was a handsome man.

In addition to that, he was deeply loved and he deeply loved us back. And although as tough as he was, he had a very kind and compassionate side - unless he didn’t like you, unless you called during dinner or unless you somehow offended our mom. Then he was honest to a fault and let you know exactly where you stood. Like the time his unfortunate grade school classmate continued to flick him in the ear from behind until my dad finally had enough. Dad got suspended from school because that unlucky kid got suspended from the second story balcony. True story.

But for us, he always showed us that he loved us. He would always end a phone call or a visit with an “I love you” and “give me a hug or a kiss”.

My dad was a warrior… he battled every day. and throughout his entire life.

He grew up the youngest of 6 siblings. His mom died shortly after he was born and his dad also died when he was very young. He was raised by his one-armed aunt “aunt nan”- who lost her arm in a trolley car accident and being the baby of the family by default he became the house keeper who helped to clean and cook for brothers and sisters. Many of you have been blessed by having been able to experience the way he could cook!

My earliest of memories of me and my dad were of him taking me all night fishing at Lake Isabella in a metal johnboat, teaching me that I would like coffee if I added milk and sugar. And then cleaning that first catfish in our basement stationary tub after we brought home it in his rubber boot.

He taught me a lot in that basement at 3832 Mantell Avenue. He taught me how to clean our marlin 22 golden trigger lever action rifle with hopes #9, a smell that to this day brings me right back to my dad. I remember sitting on the Hudepohl 14k hard case of returnable glass bottles in that basement while we both stripped copper from discarded cut-off end pieces that he would then sell to scrapyards for extra money. He would call around for prices and when they asked who was calling he would tell them his name was “Ted Smythe” – he didn’t want to give his real name. You can’t be too careful. “Dad - couldn’t you come up with something a little less obviously fake…”

Dad renovated that small cape cod house in Dillonvale by turning our attic into 2 bedrooms and transforming an unfinished basement into a family room complete with a TV, a couch and a bathroom. That basement just had a concrete floor with a rubber backed indoor/outdoor carpet where he filmed our Christmases, and where we watched football on one of our first color TV’s. I remember how he would hold me down, rub his whiskers on my cheeks while I screamed to get loose. I can still smell his Aqua Velva.

It was in that same basement I remember talking him into giving me a ride on his back like a bucking bronco to try to see if he could throw me off… So after I wrapped my dad given calves around his waist, I grabbed him by the hair and slapped him on the side of the head. He launched me into the hospital with a concussion. I wasn’t allowed to go to sleep for 2 days. Might explain my CTE.

My dad was true grit, a man of a by-gone era where if you didn’t work you didn’t get paid. He would work around the house fixing stuff on the weekend, wearing a white t-shirt, smoking Belaire cigarettes that he bit the filters off and spit into the yard next to our white Pontiac Catalina only to have me pick them up later.

But his true love was the outdoors.

I remember the look on his face the day he brought home his brand-new John Deere riding mower. He loved mowing the yard in Montgomery where 30 years before we planted oak tree’s we dug up out of the woods. It was in that same yard where later in life - after all of his physical challenges - he could sit and feed the birds and shoot the squirrels out of his second story bathroom window. He was tormented by those squirrels. He didn’t’ like all the nuts on his patio - and just didn’t realize the squirrels were picking up the nuts for him.

He loved to hunt with his crossbow for deer. He even got permission to hunt in his heart doctors back yard. It seemed like he shot at a lot more deer than he brought home but he never seemed to mind. He continued to deer hunt until later in his life when he fell trying to get out of tree stand, hanging upside down for a while until he could struggle free. He was only 4 ft off of the ground but that was enough. I would have loved to see the look on his face.

We are blessed that he died at his own home where he was comfortable and had planted those oak trees that now tower over the yard. That was where he built his family. It was where he finally got to be taken care of by some else, like he had done for others his whole life. My mom was his savior and become known as nurse ratchet. If you didn’t know how much they loved each other you would have thought it was a nursing home nightmare movie. One minute screaming for her to be quiet, that he had indeed taken his diabetes shot, only to immediately ask her how many milligrams he needed and could he get her anything when he went to the kitchen.

Dad lasted longer than all of his own brothers and sisters who all died relatively young. He also lasted longer than most tradesmen – he was an electrician with IBEW local 212 for 42 years and one of his greatest days of achievement was when he threw his tool box into the Ohio river. It of course was a fake mock up I made and filled with rocks. I wanted those tools.

I believe his survival was not just because of science but of his courage and will to fight. He overcame diabetes, heart attacks, numerous heart stints, heart bypass surgery, lung disease, COPD, tripping down the steps and landing on his face while on oxygen. The rescue squad knew him by name.

He was a warrior, a deeply religious man, and the toughest man I will ever know. He never missed Sunday mass and would make sure we didn’t by putting wet wash clothes on our faces after our first warning to get up or pouring ice water on our head while we were in bed at the second. I’m not sure this methodology is recognized as current best practices by the archdiocese. But true to his faith, he had my sister and brother-in-law bring communion to his house when he no longer could go, right up until the end.

I find comfort in knowing he no longer has to struggle, no more oxygen, no more nebulizer, no more blood tests, no more injections, no more gasping for air. That when he would continue to ask “god help me”, his prayer last Sunday was answered.

He persevered through all of that to spend as much time with my mom as possible and to see his legacy grow before his eyes. He was proud of every single one of us – and told us often. Although I think he may have had a favorite, but I’m not naming names Julie… he would never let us hit you back.

Jeff… he did give you life - twice.

I am sure my dad has entered into the kingdom of heaven, tearing his white t-shirt off and dancing through the gates just like he did in our family room at his 50th birthday party. So the next time you hear thunder from above, it might be him moving the furniture, getting out pots to cook a batch of his bean soup or beef stew, or him moving 2X4s and drywall around the garage

… or it might just be him throwing someone off of a cloud.

We love you dad. You taught us well.

Enjoy Valhalla – rest in peace great warrior.