Johnny Paul Bryant

Johnny Paul Bryant lived a life defined by resourcefulness, craftsmanship, and an unshakable belief that anything worth doing was worth over engineering. He was born in Birmingham, Alabama, on October 5th, 1948, baptized at Ruhama Baptist Church, and graduated from Woodlawn High School, where he sang with the Warblers — a fact he mentioned just often enough that we suspect he was pretty proud of it.

He earned his Bachelor’s degree in Mechanical Engineering from UAB in 1972. After unexpectedly flunking his Air Force enlistment physical (a result he accepted with remarkable grace), he headed to Mississippi State for a Master’s degree. There he built scale models of concrete fortresses and studied the impact behavior of early bunker busting prototypes — which is to say, he got a graduate degree in blowing things up on purpose. His favorite grad school story involved a course called Wave Motion Through Continuous Mediums and a textbook so thin it could have doubled as a coaster.

After finishing his degree, he loaded everything he owned into his Chevy Vega — a car that was basically a metal shrug on wheels — and drove to St. Paul, Minnesota, to begin a lifelong career with 3M. He spent his early years traveling to nearly all the lower 48 states installing license plate production equipment in prisons. He got to know stewardesses and flight tables of multiple airlines and spent so little time in his own bed that he offered it freely to friends and coworkers who were also living out of suitcases. Johnny was the only man we know who could be considered a frequent flyer on his own mattress.

As the 1970s drew to a close, he met and married Donna Louise Durgin at her parents’ home in North Carolina. They had two children, Adam and Ben, and he was gently encouraged to find a job that didn’t require a map, a suitcase, and a stack of boarding passes. After one particularly brutal Minnesota snowstorm, during which he sweated through his down parka while shoveling snow and clearing the roof, he decided to leave the state by any means necessary. Luckily, 3M offered him a transfer to a new facility in Austin, Texas, where snow was more of a rumor than a threat.

He led innovation teams focused on static control products, opto-electronics packaging, and amorphous materials fabrication. If you’ve ever benefited from reflective license plates, adhesives, abrasives, or filtration masks, you may have been using a patented work of Johnny’s. His love of all things mechanical didn’t stop when he got home. Johnny “dabbled” in military surplus equipment, especially generators. He claimed it was a side business, but everyone knew it was really an excuse to teach his sons small engine repair, the value of hard work, and the importance of never throwing away anything that might someday be useful. The driveway became their classroom, workshop, and occasional fire hazard.

Later, when his granddaughter started showing signs of having “the knack” at an age when most kids are still eating crayons, Johnny immediately began outfitting her for a life of tinkering. He started her off with prisms and math games, then graduated her to trebuchet kits, model building sets, and rope tying gear, eventually presenting her with her own welding gloves and heirloom quality tools. It was obvious he intended to give her the same driveway education he gave his boys — just as soon as she was old enough to operate equipment without accidentally setting anything on fire.

Johnny had many interests. The Rocky Mountains called to him often, and in 1995 he bought a Ford F250 4x4 specifically to haul his sons, and a trailer full of gear that could have supported a small expedition, to the high mountains of White River National Forest. There they discovered a meadow in the shadow of Mt. Massive and a small pond aptly named “Lilypad Lake,” and they brought enough supplies to stay for a week. After all, why wouldn’t you make steak and birthday cake at 11,000 feet? This trip became an annual August tradition for many years, eventually including his granddaughter, who learned early that “vacation” meant “altitude plus tools and fire.”

He was an avid photographer, capturing countless weddings and often refusing payment because he “wasn’t doing anything that weekend anyway.” He loved country western dancing and tango, taking decades of classes to perfect his technique. Tango was his favorite, and he was often caught doing dramatic spins across the smooth kitchen tile while preparing dinner, as if sautéing onions required choreography. Eventually, he taught dance at the University of Texas at Austin, where his students included both his sons and many friends, all of whom can still hear his voice correcting their footwork whether they want to or not. Upon retirement, he moved to a 10-acre farm near Georgetown, Texas, which gave him even more room for upcycled electronics, large machinery, and projects that defied easy explanation. A brother-in-law once said, “I never saw Johnny without a soldering iron, even if he was wearing a tux.” No one ever disagreed.

Johnny died on December 22, 2025, in Austin, Texas, at the age of 77. He battled stage IV kidney cancer that had metastasized to his lungs for six years, surviving 25 rounds of immuno- and chemotherapy before participating in several clinical research trials. He faced his illness with the same stubborn determination he brought to every challenge — the kind that made doctors shake their heads and say, “Well… he’s still going.”

Johnny was devoted to his family and to his mother, Betty Bryant. But he was especially devoted to his two boys, who were his greatest achievements. He is survived by his son Adam Bryant and his granddaughter, Amelia, who live in suburban Boston, MA. His other son, Dr. Ben Bryant, sadly died in 2019. He is also survived by his siblings Catherine Bryant Allen, Len Bryant, Mark Bryant and wife, Ruth Ann, as well as the family of his late sister Alice Bryant in the Los Angeles area.

Johnny leaves behind a legacy built not just from the things he made, but from the people he shaped, the adventures he sparked, and the love he carried with him through every chapter of his life, and those who loved him will keep walking the trail he started, probably carrying more tools than strictly necessary.

A memorial gathering will take place on Saturday, January 3, 2026, at 3:00 PM at Ridout's Trussville Chapel, 1500 Gadsden Hwy, Birmingham, AL 35235.