Joseph Nicholas Godec

Joe Godec was born in Pueblo, Colorado, on December 6, 1938, to Sicilian and Slovenian immigrant parents. Over the course of his life he accumulated an improbable collection of interests, skills, hobbies, friends, tools, records, cars, facts, and projects in various stages of completion. Curiosity was less a trait than a permanent condition.

While everyone else was listening to whatever teenagers were supposed to listen to in the 1950s, Joe was already somewhere else entirely, absorbed in Dave Brubeck, Miles Davis, and Thelonious Monk. He raced (and upholstered) cars. He was such a gifted sharpshooter that the Army put him on its rifle team, sending him around the country to compete during the Vietnam era. He taught himself things for the pleasure of knowing them. And he somehow persuaded a bright young nursing student named Alice Nelson to take a chance on him.

She did.

What followed was a collaborative and happy marriage of more than sixty years, three children, four grandchildren, countless adventures, and enough projects to occupy several lifetimes.

Joe approached the world the way some people approach a puzzle: if it existed, he wanted to know how it worked. His stated goal was to learn something new every day, and he did. His quiet confidence took him down diverse avenues: programmer, entrepreneur, upholsterer, mechanic, stained-glass artist, woodworker, audiophile, cook, and quasi-expert in whatever captured his imagination. New interests did not replace old ones; they simply joined the collection. The time it took to learn, a testament to his infinite patience, only added to his enthusiasm. If something was worth doing, it was worth understanding, improving, and enjoying.

He had a personal computer before most people knew what one was. He had arcade games in his garage, which made his three children the most popular kids on the block by far. He approached broken machines with optimism, not caution. To Joe, a malfunction or project was just another way of asking a question.

He loved things that were well made: jazz records, furniture, tools, sound systems, food, Rum and Cokes, (Cuban rum please!), and cars. Especially cars. His garage hosted a procession of collectible rides, ending with a vintage El Camino that was still receiving improvements with his own hands only weeks before he died. Joe never seemed especially interested in the idea that a project was completely finished.

His family remembers many endearing qualities, but one appears in nearly every memory: his wit and humor. He was damn funny. The kind of funny that can't be taught. Not rehearsed, not performative, not dependent on punchlines. He noticed details other people missed. He found connections nobody expected, but he didn't announce it. Joe was, at bottom, a deep thinker, and it was evident to everyone who knew him that there was a brilliant mind behind his insightful, often hilarious economy of words. If it came out of his mouth, it was original and spot-on. He teased mercilessly, though never unkindly.

His grandchildren—Noah, Eli, Lydia, and Charlie—understood this better than anyone. They found in him what everyone eventually discovered: a man genuinely interested in the world and the people in it. He paid attention. Children recognized this and gravitated toward him. He radiated playfulness, so much so that neighborhood kids, even into his eighties, would come to the house asking “if Joe can play.”

In later years when he wasn’t snowboarding or paragliding, some of his happiest days were spent on cooking projects with family. Tamales. Green chile. His mother's ravioli. The food mattered, but the gathering mattered more.

Joe spent his life making things: businesses, furniture, engines, sound systems, traditions, friendships, conversations, a family. In his woodworking shop, where he spent countless hours, he crafted the ravioli roller. The fact that he designed and perfected his own ravioli rolling pins tells you nearly everything you need to know about him. Nothing was ever too ordinary to deserve attention.

He made difficult questions seem approachable and ordinary moments more entertaining than they had any right to be.

The stories remain. So do the things he taught, repaired, made, and passed along. And somewhere, if there is any justice at all, there is a garage full of tools and projects, loud jazz blasting on the speakers, and Joe explaining to someone exactly how it all works.

Joseph Nicholas Godec, born December 6, 1938, died October 3, 2025

Born from Vita (Eva) Godec (nee Buccola) and Joseph Frank Godec

Survived by his beloved wife, Alice Marie Godec (nee Nelson)

His children, Monty Godec (July 27, 1962-June 21, 2025), Judy Godec, Carla Godec

Grandchildren Noah Rosen, Eli Rosen, Lydia Potter, Charles Potter