William Claude Keating

William was born on March 1, 1936, in Ottumwa, Iowa to Elin Rolfe Keating and Donald Jeremiah Keating.

A dedicated surveyor of over 60 years, William spent many years as the owner of Allied Surveying. Throughout his life, however, his greatest accomplishments were not measured by his profession, but by the love, generosity, and faith with which he lived his life. He had a genuine passion for helping others and was always willing to give to those around him, especially when someone was in need.

William is survived by his daughter, Lori Mendelsohn; his grandchildren, Alyssa Pereira, Alexis Pereira, Taylor Mendelsohn, and Camron Mendelsohn; his brothers, Donald Keating and Richard Keating (Laura Keating); as well as many nieces, nephews, extended family and friends that will miss him dearly.

He was preceded in death by his parents, Elin Rolfe Keating and Donald Jeremiah Keating, his brother, Robert Keating, and his children, Tammy Montesano and Billy Keating.

A visitation will be held at Sylvan Abbey on Friday, October 2, 2026 from 6:00 - 8:00 PM. A funeral will take place at St. Patrick Church on Saturday, October 3, 2026 at 10:00 AM. A graveside service will follow the funeral mass at Sylvan Abbey Memorial Park with a reception to follow at Sylvan Abbey Funeral Home from 12:00 - 2:00 PM.

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Our Patriarch

To the world, he was Bill Keating. To his daughter, Lori, he was Dad. And to his grandchildren, he was simply Papa.

Those names carry a lifetime of memories, and no formal obituary could ever fully explain what he meant to our family.

Bill was one of the kindest men we have ever known. His generosity was not something he spoke about or expected recognition for; it was simply the way he lived. If someone needed help and he had a way to provide it, he did. He would give whatever he could to make life a little easier for someone else. Taking care of the people around him was simply part of who he was.

His faith was just as much a part of him. Bill had an unwavering belief in God and a faith stronger than anyone we have ever known. It guided the way he lived, the way he loved, the way he gave, and the way he faced life.

Above everything else, though, was his family.

He loved his children, and his grandchildren with his whole heart. We were his pride and joy, and he made sure we knew it. To be loved by him was to know a love that was steadfast, generous, protective, and unconditional.

He was not a grandfather who simply watched us grow up from a distance. He was there. He never missed a Grandparent’s Day celebration at school. He attended all school events and supported the things that mattered to us because they mattered to him, too. When there were sets to be built for school productions, he was there to help build them. When something needed to be built, repaired or worked on around one of our homes, we knew who to call.

Even his office had a place for us. While Papa worked, there was a play area set up for his grandchildren so we could be there with him. Looking back, it is one of those small details that says so much about the man he was. He did not separate his life from his family-he simply made room for us in it.

Some of our most treasured memories are not of grand occasions, but of the simple traditions that became part of the rhythm of our family.

Sunday breakfast with Papa was one of those traditions.

Week after week, year after year, Sunday mornings meant being together. And there was Papa, with his cup of hot tea. At the time, it may have seemed like something ordinary—a breakfast, a cup of tea, another Sunday together. Today, we understand just how extraordinary those ordinary moments really were.

Those Sunday breakfasts gave us something we did not realize we were collecting at the time: a lifetime of memories.

There will always be something about a Sunday morning that belongs to him. A breakfast table will feel a little different. A cup of hot tea will bring him to mind. And we will remember how fortunate we were to have all of those Sundays with him.

For Lori, there is also the profound loss of a father—a man who had been part of her entire life. No matter how old we become, there is something irreplaceable about the person we call Dad. His love, guidance, faith, generosity, and presence became part of the foundation of the family she would raise and the generations that followed him.

For his grandchildren, he gave us the gift of being able to say that we truly knew our grandfather. We sat at the table with him. We shared Sundays with him. We laughed with him, learned from him, watched his faith, and experienced firsthand the enormous heart that made Papa who he was.

And although saying goodbye leaves an emptiness that cannot be put into words, there is comfort in something he believed so deeply throughout his life: this goodbye is not forever.

We can only imagine the reunion that awaited him in Heaven.

His parents welcoming their son home, his brother there to greet him once again, and perhaps most precious of all, Bill once again embracing two of his children, Tammy and Billy.

There is peace in knowing that after carrying the love and memory of those who went before him, he is now reunited with them in the presence of the God he so faithfully loved and served throughout his life.

For those of us who remain, Bill's legacy will not simply be measured by the 90 years he lived. It will live in the people he helped, the kindness he showed, the faith he demonstrated, the family he cherished, and the traditions we will continue because of him.

It will live in Lori.

It will live in Alyssa, Alexis, Taylor, and Camron.

It will live around our family table.

And it will live in every Sunday morning when a cup of hot tea reminds us of the man sitting at the table who helped make our family what it is.

We will remember his giving heart.

We will remember his unwavering faith.

We will remember our Sunday breakfasts.

We will remember how deeply he loved us.

And we will forever be grateful that we were the people he called his family.

Until we see you again—

We love you, Dad. We love you, Papa.