John Raymond Sullivan 75, of Lake Geneva, WI was born in Chicago, IL to the late Raymond and Jeanette (Scott) Sullivan and passed away July 29, 2026. Beloved partner of Kim Schwartz; loving and devoted father of Kelli (Michael) Hurley, Christopher (Brittany) Sullivan, Austin (Jamie Sue) Schwartz, Shari (Ian) Saratovsky, and Brandon (Jordan) Schwartz; proud grandpa of Logan, Colin, Jackson, Bennett, and Hayes; papa John of Weston, Zachary, William, and Caleb; dear brother of Gail, Kathy, and Judy.

A Celebration of Life will be held at Kurtz Memorial Chapel 102 E. Francis Rd New Lenox, IL on Monday August 3, 2026 from 3-8pm. 

A chapel service will begin at 7:30pm (we encourage and welcome all to attend).

The measure of a life isn't found in what we accumulate (honorable mention to the "stuff" that he accumulated as well), but in the lives we leave better because we were there. If that is the measure, John R. Sullivan lived an extraordinary life.

In Loving Memory of John R. Sullivan

Some people leave behind memories. Others leave behind a way of living.

John R. Sullivan leaves both.

John was a true gentleman, a steadfast leader, and the unwavering captain of his family. He lived by a simple but profound philosophy: always do the right thing and leave every place you go better than you found it. Those weren't simply words he repeated—they were the standard by which he lived every day of his life.

To those who knew him well, John was affectionately compared to MacGyver—a true Swiss Army knife. (Since 1897, the Swiss Army Knife™ has been an iconic symbol of versatility and resilience. Blending expert craftsmanship with intelligent functionality, our Swiss-made knives provide smart solutions in every situation) 

There was seemingly nothing he couldn't repair, build, invent, or improve. Boats, cars, go-karts, engines, electronics, home projects—you name it, he could figure it out. But what made him extraordinary wasn't simply what he could fix; it was how willingly he used those talents to help others. If someone needed a wheelchair ramp built, something repaired, advice offered, or simply an extra pair of hands, he showed up. Every single time.

His professional career reflected that same commitment to excellence and integrity. After decades in the warranty and claims industry, John retired from Protective Insurance in 2019, having traveled extensively across the country, mentoring colleagues, solving problems, and sharing the wisdom that only years of experience can provide. He earned admiration not only for what he knew, but for the character with which he led. Many careers—and lives—were made better simply because he crossed their path.

His desire to leave the world better extended far beyond his career.

John generously gave his time to countless charitable and community organizations, including the Jaycees, where his creativity flourished designing elaborate haunted houses (which turned into yet more memories in creating home haunts at the Sullivan home, long before it was trendy and commercialized) and attending River Rat Races. As an active member of the Windy City Corvette Club, he organized the club's first-ever caravan to the National Corvette Museum, culminating with a lap around the legendary Indianapolis Motor Speedway—a memorable accomplishment that even garnered national news coverage.  A memory he built and shared with his precious son, inspiring a lifelong love of motorsports early. 

He believed community wasn't just something you joined—it was something you built.

His remarkable work ethic and "hustle" led him down countless side adventures. Whether working on movie sets, assembling bikes at Toys "R" Us, appearing in commercial projects, or even portraying Colonel Sanders, John embraced every opportunity with curiosity, humor, and determination.

He was a lifelong bargain hunter. Garage sales, flea markets, swap meets, and visits to I-80 became legendary family outings. Finding a hidden treasure was exciting, but spending the day together sharing interesting tidbits about the curiosities along the way was always the real prize.

John loved history—especially stories of military service (being a son of a veteran) and Native American culture—and loved learning fascinating facts. He loved his red truck, his project cars, the '36 ford, the ZR-1 and the Camaro.  He believed there was no greater investment than creating memories together. Travel wasn't simply a vacation; it was time intentionally spent with the people he loved most.

The cabin he shared with Kim in Lake Geneva became his sanctuary during his retirement years after the pandemic, but even there he could never stay away for long. No drive was too far if it meant attending a birthday party, an award ceremony, a soccer game, a baseball game, or simply spending another afternoon with his family. Rain-soaked tournaments, scorching hot summer afternoons, long drives between the north side and Wisconsin to the SW suburbs —he never missed the moments that mattered.  

Because showing up was who he was.

Some of his family's most treasured memories were made fishing together in Eagle River, sharing meals at Paul Bunyan's in Minocqua, tinkering in the garage, working on cars, pine wood derbys, talking through car problems or his kids accomplishments, exploring new places, and gathering around breakfast while Grandpa proudly made what became affectionately known as "Grandpa's bacon." It wasn't really about the bacon at all. It was about making ordinary moments unforgettable.

John wore many titles throughout his life.

He was a businessman.

A mechanic.

An engineer.

A mentor.

A craftsman.

A problem solver.

A loyal friend.

But to the lucky few who called him Dad, Grandpa, family, or one of his closest friends, he was infinitely more.

He was our rock.

Our superhero.

Our first phone call.

Our moral compass.

Our safe place.

Our best friend.

There was simply nothing he wouldn't show up for.

His greatest lesson wasn't spoken—it was lived. Family comes first. Do the right thing, even when it's difficult. Pay kindness forward. Use whatever gifts God has given you to improve someone else's life. Leave every place, every project, and every person better than you found them.

John is survived by his loving family (above), including his former wife, Susan, with whom he shared many years of marriage, raising their family, and the enduring joy of being grandparents together. Though their paths changed over the years, their shared devotion to their children and grandchildren remained a lasting bond.

Alzheimer's disease slowly stole pieces of the man we loved long before it took him from us physically. That heartbreaking journey only deepened our appreciation for the extraordinary life he lived before the illness. While we grieve beyond words, we are comforted knowing he is no longer suffering and that the very best parts of him remain alive in each of us—in the lessons he taught, the traditions he created, the integrity he modeled, and the love he gave so freely.

As we somehow learn to navigate life without our Captain, we know exactly how he would expect us to move forward: with purpose, with gratitude, with hard work, and with kindness.

If you wish to honor John's life, don't simply send flowers.

Hold the door for a stranger.

Offer a compliment.

Pick up someone's coffee.

Volunteer your time.

Build something for someone who can't.

Cheer on a child at a Miracle League game.

Call someone you've been meaning to call.

Show up.

Leave this world just a little better than you found it.

That would make John smile.

Memorial donations may be made to Alzheimer's and dementia research in hopes that one day another family will be spared the heartbreak of losing someone they love twice—first to the disease, and then to goodbye.

John's life was never measured by what he accumulated (though we will spend years fondly looking through his sentimental keepsakes and parts), but by what he gave away.

His greatest legacy lives on in the people who will continue to carry his mission forward.

"The one we could always count on"