Honoring the Life of Joe

JOE STELMACK, JR. MEMORIAL VIDEO

CELEBRATION OF LIFE VIDEO

Due to exceptionally high winds exceeding 60 MPH in Tolland, our Starlink dish was overturned, causing the connection to the Zoom live stream to be lost. Fortunately, we had a backup camera recording the event.

TRAVIS’ WELCOME

Good morning, class—

Welcome to Tolland, Colorado, on the eastern slopes of Rollins Pass and the mountains around Nederland that Joe loved, and thank you for joining us today as we gather to remember Joe—Dad—or, as many have recently said with tears on the phone to Kate, “My sweet, sweet friend from kindergarten.” Even doctors noted in his medical records that he was “a pleasant patient in no acute distress.”

My name is Travis, and I’m Joe Stelmack’s son-in-law. In the nearly 17 years that I knew Joe, he wasn’t one for formalities. He would have loved the idea of all of us coming together. Joe never sought the spotlight and wouldn’t have wanted anything overly ceremonial. Instead, what he would have cherished is exactly this: friends and family sharing stories, laughing over old memories, and appreciating the beauty of Colorado that he so deeply loved.

In June, I spent a full day taking Joe to a series of medical appointments. Knowing there would be long waits, I brought my laptop to share some of the content that Kate and I present across Colorado about Rollins Pass. As we sat together, I introduced him to the work of historian Marshall Sprague, who once described mountain passes as “Great Gates”—natural corridors that funneled both humans and animals from one side of the Continental Divide to the other.

That idea resonated with Joe, and we talked about how this landscape is a true layer cake of history—each era leaving its mark, yet slowly being reclaimed by time. From the earliest Paleoindian hunters to the Native American tribes who followed, from the first wagon roads to the grand age of the railroads, and now to the present-day visitors who come seeking adventure or solitude, every chapter is still visible if you know where to look.

I stood in this very schoolhouse two and a half years ago, sharing the rich and layered history of this valley in a presentation titled Tolland as Trunnion. A trunnion is a pivot point—a mechanism that allows movement, rotation, and change. And in so many ways, this valley has served as just that: a turning point in history.

Time has been quite kind to this valley in a way that’s rare in Colorado: there is far less infrastructure here today than there was a century ago. Just a stone’s throw from where we stand, there was once a brick train station the final stop before passengers were taken to the top of the pass, known as the top of the world. And where you parked your vehicles this morning? That was once home to the “finest dancing pavilion in all of Colorado.” Yet while the physical markers of the past may have faded, the impact of this place has not. Decisions made here, innovations tested on—and under—these slopes, and the people who passed through this valley sent ripples far beyond these mountains, shaping not only Colorado’s history but also the trajectory of American and even world history.

The echoes of the past linger in the air here, quiet but undeniable, reminding us that history is never truly gone—it simply waits to be remembered.

Just behind me is a railroad and terrain feature known as Giant’s Ladder—a stretch of rugged landscape where the earth itself seems to rise in great steps toward the sky. It’s a place that has long tested those who pass through it—a fitting reminder of both the endurance this land demands and the resilience that defined Joe’s life. Today, as we stand here in Tolland Valley, in the shadow of these peaks, we honor a man who faced his own climbs with quiet strength and determination.

While Joe has now joined his brother Larry and both of his parents, there are others who can’t be here today—strangers who experienced Joe’s generosity firsthand. We will never know who all of those people are because Joe never sought recognition for his kindness. A recent example from just this past summer: after firemen made multiple visits to assist his mom, Helen, Joe quietly sent several pizzas to the fire station as a heartfelt token of gratitude. It’s just one example of how, even with so little, Joe always found a way to give so much. I had to pull that story out of him, it wasn’t something he was wanting to brag about. Without hesitation or expectation, Joe truly would have given you the shirt off his back.

When Kate and I launched our first book about Rollins Pass, Joe couldn’t have been prouder. His support went beyond words—he generously funded the vast majority of the event, allowing us to celebrate this milestone in a truly remarkable way. The event featured a rare screening of a silent film shot atop Rollins Pass in 1922, brought to life with live piano accompaniment, creating a unique and unforgettable experience for everyone present. Joe’s spirit of generosity and connection to Rollins Pass not only made that event possible but also reinforced the profound ties that bind our family to this special place. It is yet another reason why we’ve chosen this location today—a testament to his enduring legacy and the love he shared for these landscapes and the stories they hold.

Joe’s bigheartedness and openhandedness continues even after his passing: his prosthetic leg has been donated to a medical nonprofit that transforms the lives of amputees in economically challenged regions worldwide. Recipients—shopkeepers, teachers, and hairdressers—gain mobility in their daily lives, enabling them to achieve their goals and improve their futures. Through this act of posthumous generosity, Joe’s impact will ripple across the globe, offering hope and opportunity to yet another anonymous stranger whose life Joe will have profoundly touched.

As we gather to remember Joe today, let’s honor him with love, gratitude, and warmth. Let’s share stories, laugh, cry, and reflect on the ways he touched our lives. As you listen to the eulogies, see them as an invitation to carry forward part of his legacy—filling the void of his absence with extra kindness and extra love.

The Stelmack family has experienced a great deal of loss over the past decade, and especially in these last six months. In fact, it was exactly six months ago that we gathered for Helen’s service. Loss is something I’ve come to know well—my brother has a tombstone, and my dad’s ashes have rested near the shores of Lake Michigan for nearly twenty years. And so, when I reflect on the loss of Joe, what comes to mind is that the heartbreakingly sad irony of his life was that he spent much of it believing he was unlucky simply because he was born on Friday the 13th. In truth, he was among the luckiest. He was surrounded by a family who loved him deeply, friends who cherished him, and an extraordinary daughter who carries forward his kindness and spirit. He was fortunate in ways that truly mattered—enduring and overcoming countless health challenges that could have claimed him far sooner.

Perhaps Joe’s story invites us to reflect on our own lives: How often do we overlook the quiet abundance of our own good fortune? How many gifts—relationships, experiences, moments of grace—do we fail to recognize because they don’t fit our expectations of luck? His life reminds us that fortune is not always found in windfalls or grand victories but in the simple, steadfast presence of love, resilience, and the ability to persevere. How can we train ourselves to see and celebrate these blessings, not just in hindsight, but in the present moment?

Thank you for being here today to celebrate Joe’s memory and honor the legacy of his kindness, generosity, and humor. Today, we connect past, present, and future, reflecting on the ways he touched our lives and the impact he continues to inspire. Your presence—both here in person and online through Zoom—means so much. Thank you all for your love, support, and friendship of Joe.

And so, welcome to the Yellow Schoolhouse—where lessons still whisper through time and in the creaking floorboards in the heart of the Old West. Welcome to the timeless landscapes of Rollins Pass, where history is carved into the mountains, where echoes of the past meet the present, and where earth is nearly indistinguishable from heaven.

Welcome to Joe’s Celebration of Life.

KATE’S EULOGY

Lessons from my Dad

. . .

At just 37 years old, I hoped that I would have more time with my Dad. I also know I’m exceptionally lucky to have had him in my life for as long as I did.

Some phrases are easily overused, and sadly an overused phrase in our household lately is ‘that chapter closed’—Grandma, my Dad, and Denali, my horse of a lifetime who passed just last week. The natural sedative that comes after trauma and loss is starting to fade. My heart is starting to thaw… and now ache. As a person who feels and cares deeply, the absolute numbness I’ve felt recently has been unsettling. Trav you told me to enjoy it while it lasted, and you were so right.

Travis and I have been running—this family has been running—for the past 8 months, as we did our very, very best to care for Grandma and Joe during their decline. And now, as we honor my Dad—just six months after Grandma’s service—it feels as though more than a chapter has closed. Knowing the realities of their cancer diagnoses, our family has been anticipating this for years—asking ourselves when will Part I and Part II come to a close, and how? Praying that it would end as peacefully as it could. This was the book we all knew the ending to, we’ve reached the last setting and turned to the final page.

And now, I feel as though I’m staring at a blank notebook, which feels appropriate, given this schoolhouse setting. I want to fill those pages with stories of family, adventure, faith and caring for others, self-discovery—surrounded by easily lovable characters, with friendships that last a lifetime. My Dad would want that for me, and for all of us, and I’ve been reflecting on his life, what he has taught me, and what I’ve learned since he departed.

In this blank notebook, I suppose I’m the heroine of that story, forever shaped by Joe Stelmack. As a child, I remember feeling exceptionally loved—I suspect that’s what any parent would want. I credit this to my incredible Mom, for showing me that love AND also, for falling in love with my Dad, and finding a man with such a huge heart. I know I was my Dad’s world.

At a very early age, and as perhaps a bit of foreshadowing, I started to worry about my Dad and some of his habits, worrying that this day would come, sooner than it should. I vividly recall Whitney and I as kids on Easter, we were at great grandmas playing in the dirt, not really for fun, but to hunt for worms. Why? Well, we thought we could teach our Dad’s a lesson by emptying their cigarette boxes and filling them with worms. Uncle Rick, I actually don’t know how your experience went down, but I can still remember my Dad’s reaction when he opened that box driving home. I was the only one laughing.

Things didn’t really change as the years went on—I was a forever Daddy’s girl. He loved me and showed up in every way he could. I loved him and always tried to protect him. In some ways, we grew up together, cheering each other on. I don’t know if he realized how intently I was watching as he navigated the various chapters of his life:

⁃ My Dad was an entrepreneur by way of several restaurants and a tile business—he was a natural—able to whip up incredible meals, never a recipe in sight. He installed stunning floor to ceiling tile work in multi-million dollar homes, again—no “recipe” to follow. He was talented, endlessly creative, and a perfectionist. As an adult, I now realize the pressure he must have been under to stay afloat—and I admire him for having the courage to open the doors to his restaurant, and to keep going when things got hard. I joked with my Dad in recent years that I was partially to blame for putting him out of business. He loved to serve me, my childhood friends, and even our dolls with crab, steak, and lobster dinners in the private dining room while he worked his restaurant. He was in his element. So, for our notebooks—Lesson One—Chase your dreams, and it’s okay if you fail.

⁃ My Dad was also very much a ladies man. Clearly a stud, he caught the eyes of Joan—and has remained close friends with her especially in recent years. He married Sue, and of course my Mom, and was later engaged to Tiffany’s mom, a beautiful woman also named Sue. My Dad has now had quite the heavenly reunion as both Sues were sadly lost to cancer. My Dad didn’t get to marry Sue, and for the first time in my childhood experience, I saw someone grieve, as I crawled in his lap that Halloween night after he learned of her passing. I recall his howls of pain in my ear, and his tears streaming down my neck, and I remember thinking that I wanted to be as strong as him someday, and to love someone that much. Lesson Two—Love fiercely, even if it hurts.

⁃ My Dad LOVED sports—and as you saw, was quite the athlete himself. He would schedule appointments—even surgeries–around Rockies opening day and Broncos games. Two months ago, I sat with my Dad in the hospital, with Tom, Brooke, and the palliative team. They asked him to share a bit about himself and who he is as a person, and he quickly responded, “athleticism.” While we think he was talking about his Wild Cats days of 1971, he was very much an athlete off the field, too, up until the end. Even in a wheelchair my Dad managed to garden, build ramps and platforms and things to make Grandma’s everyday life easier. He overhauled the garage, painted walls, refurbished floors, and even moved himself—managing all of the packing and moving out of Grandma’s house—mostly by himself, just less than three months ago. As I sat in that hospital room, I became a different type of cheerleader…one where I wasn’t cheering for the return of my Dad’s superhuman strength, but for the palliative team, hoping they would get through to him so that he’d accept comfort over prolonged pain. They weren’t successful, he chose rehab and pain, and I hope my Dad realizes that during his decline, I was putting into practice his second lesson: love fiercely, even if it hurts.

⁃ The final lasting lesson I learned after my Dad’s death? Blinded by my desperate desire to see the man out of pain, I lost sight of his spirit, and how beautiful it was that he wanted to live, that he wanted more days—wheelchair, cancer, and all. My Dad had a beautiful voice, and as we danced at my wedding, he sang in my ear “when it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May” and “I don’t need no money, fortune or fame, I’ve got all the riches, one man can claim.” Yes, I was his “My Girl”—but in his final year, it was more than that. My Dad was grateful, and he had faith in himself, in his care team, and in God. Ten years ago we grieved the loss of my Grandpa, and my Dad took it very, very hard. He really stopped caring for himself, and I wondered if I did my Dad a disservice by forcing him to go to the ER when he had a blood clot, resulting in his above knee amputation. As I saw his struggles and hardships, I felt immensely guilty. Fast forward a decade later to my Dad grieving the loss of Grandma, his best friend, yet he was a new man: grateful for the opportunity to live a new life, in his new apartment. Although he was very sick, the man unpacked… he organized… he ordered furniture and a headboard and prepared that apartment to become his home. My Dad was in the apartment for less than a month before his final trip to the ER. The headboard was still sealed, Amazon boxes sat with neighbors. Whitney, my Dad’s dear friend Larry, and I undid it all… hand in hand, we walked through that door and threw out pages of a chapter left unread. My Dad wanted that chapter so badly.

In the book of Job, we learn of a man who, like my father, faces endless hardships and challenges. It brings into question, why is there devastating suffering in the world, and why is there suffering among people of faith? In his final weeks, my Dad couldn’t shift in his bed, eat, drink, or bend his fingers. He couldn’t get into his chair, and when he did assisted, his blood pressure tanked and he became exceptionally dizzy. Yet, he was grateful—he wanted more days like that, more days to try to heal, to be with loved ones. This was a parting gift to me, clearing any feelings of guilt or sadness I felt for my Dad. Despite it all, he wanted this life. I realize now when he told the palliative team, “let’s check back tomorrow,” it wasn’t because he was pushing off a hard decision—it was because he had faith in tomorrow, and what it might bring.

So that final lesson? To have faith, and to be grateful—for all of it.

The Stelmack angels have been busy since his passing, and have shown up in ways I cannot even begin to articulate. Call it spiritual—call it energy—call it God—I feel my Dad’s presence and my grandma’s influence constantly. I’m grateful to have met my Dad’s childhood friends—new lovable characters in my notebook. I’m grateful this service helped course-correct important relationships that had lost their way. I’m grateful for Travis, my family, and the outpouring of love and support from everyone in this room.

Most of all, I’m grateful and honored to be Joe’s daughter.

TRAVIS’ EULOGY

Joe, in his own way, was part of the enduring legacy of this magnificent slice of Colorado. As a young man, he spent countless days immersed in the wild beauty of this region—hiking its rugged trails, camping under a vast canopy of stars, and fishing the serene waters of Lost Lake, just west of Nederland, and just over the mountain behind me. It was here, in the shadow of these peaks, that he found joy and strength, shaped by landscapes that demand both resilience and reverence.

The terrain comprising Rollins Pass has always been a place that tests those who love it. Long before railroads or marked trails, Native Americans walked these mountains, hunting and seeking to thrive amidst their challenges. Their stories remind us that life in this wilderness has never been easy. Joe, too, learned those lessons early. The mountains taught him perseverance and grace, offering moments of breathtaking beauty even in the face of adversity.

In his later years, Joe’s life shifted to the city, where he faced a different kind of wilderness. Illness, including cancer and other health challenges, tested him in ways that no mountain trail ever could. Yet the spirit of this area—the resilience and peace he had found here—remained with him. Even as his body grew weaker, I like to think that his memories of these landscapes gave him strength: the clear waters of Lost Lake, fast-moving and frigid summer waterfalls, the feel of a well-worn trail underfoot, the snapping and crackling of a campfire, the serenity of a mountain sunrise, and the majesty of a mountain sunset.

What made Joe extraordinary was not just his ability to endure but his capacity to give. He had a generous spirit, often thinking of others and finding ways to give, even while facing his own trials. Like the streams that flow from the heights of the Continental Divide, Joe’s kindness touched those around him, leaving behind a gift of connection and care.

I believe Joe loved these mountains not because they were easy, but because they were authentic—unyielding in their demands yet boundless in their gifts. Like the Native Americans, pioneers, silver miners, railroad workers, and those who built the nearby Moffat Tunnel before him, Joe knew struggle. Life brought him trials, but his spirit mirrored the eternal landscapes and communities of this region, standing strong and steady through it all.

It feels fitting to have celebrated Joe’s life in a place that holds so much history and meaning. This area is not just a backdrop; it is an open-air chronicle of human perseverance—a place where countless lives have left their mark. Joe, in his quiet and unassuming way, added his own story to this legacy because he grew up here daring to embrace its challenges. His connection to this region serves as a reminder to all of us of the continuing power of nature to teach, to heal, and to inspire. In these mountains, we find the lessons of resilience and grace that shaped Joe’s life—lessons we, too, can carry with us as we face our own challenges and cherish the beauty around us.

Today, we celebrate Joe’s life here, at the foot of the pass—a timeless setting nestled along the Continental Divide. As we stand in Tolland Valley and gaze up toward the towering peaks, we are reminded of his adventurous start, his quiet strength, and the profound lessons he leaves behind. It feels fitting that we say goodbye to Joe near Giant’s Ladder, where the terrain itself seems to honor his journey. A giant in his own way, Joe made his final ascent—not scaling these peaks he once admired, but climbing toward eternity. Here, where the rugged beauty of Colorado reaches for the heavens, Joe’s spirit finds its resting place. Though he is no longer with us, Joe’s memory lives on, his presence lingering in the crisp mountain air, the shimmering waters of alpine lakes, and the enduring beauty of the Colorado views he cherished so deeply.

Rest easy, my friend. Your climb is complete, your effort inspiring, your soul deeply loved… and we’ll see you out there.

TRAVIS’ CONCLUSION

As we draw this Celebration of Life to a close… even in death, Joe remains part of this place—woven into its history, its landscapes, and the lives he touched. And those of us here today are now part of that story, ensuring his memory lives on. Even this old yellow schoolhouse still has something to teach—not just about history, but about love and the ways we hold on to those we’ve lost and those of us who are still here. It reminds us that remembrance is only half the lesson—the other half is action.

After all, Tolland is—and always has been—a Trunnion. That’s why we’ve brought you here today. May now be a turning point—a moment that deepens our gratitude, strengthens our connections, and inspires us to carry Joe’s spirit forward in our own lives.

Kate spoke of My Girl and the moment she shared, dancing with her dad at our wedding. I spoke of the dance hall that once stood just down the street—a place where people didn’t just gather—they moved, they laughed, they lived. And today, we’ve done the same in our own way—coming together, sharing stories, and celebrating Joe.

Here’s the twist: a celebration isn’t something you watch—it’s something you do.

So now, pencils down, please stand, grab your closest loved one or friend you just met, and join us in one final tribute. After all, you have to earn your A+ in today’s course to transform remembrance into movement.

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MEMORIAL SERVICE

To honor Joe’s life and his deep connection to the region, we hope you can join us on Friday, January 10, 2025, at the historic Yellow Schoolhouse in Tolland, CO. Please plan on arriving around 11:00am, with the service beginning at 11:30am.

RECEPTION

Please join us at Toss in Rollinsville, located just a short drive away, to continue our celebration of Joe. Here you’ll experience a private restaurant nestled in a historic town, ours from 12:45 – 2:45pm. We hope you’ll enjoy a delicious spread of appetizers, salads, and wood fired pizzas—along with sodas and wine. We love this restaurant and wished we could have shared it with Dad. We look forward to spending time with you and hearing more of your fond memories of Joe.

RSVP

If you plan to attend in person, please add your name to this RSVP spreadsheet. The event is an intimate setting with a cap of ~35 people. We hope Joe’s many friends from afar will join us on Zoom.

If you are attending virtually on Zoom, there’s no need to RSVP, and Zoom instructions are provided further below on this page.

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ATTIRE CONSIDERATIONS

The one-room schoolhouse will be warmed by several portable electric heaters, and Kate and Travis will arrive extra early to start warming the space. However, we want to make sure you feel comfortable throughout the event. We recommend dressing warmly in layers that can be adjusted as needed and wearing sturdy, insulated boots to keep your feet warm. This is a casual gathering, so no formal attire is needed—come as you are! An outdoor restroom facility will be available for use, and paths will be cleared of snow for easier access.

DRIVING DIRECTIONS—THE YELLOW SCHOOLHOUSE

The Yellow Schoolhouse does not have a physical address. However, you can use Google Maps and search for “Tolland School House” in Tolland, Colorado, which will take you to the correct location. The schoolhouse is a bright, ‘Hawaiian Pineapple’ yellow building that stands out along Tolland Road and is visible as soon as you cross the first set of railroad tracks.

Please note that Tolland Road ends at the East Portal of the Moffat Tunnel, so you’ll know you’ve gone too far if you reach that area and run out of road. Be aware that the roads are winding and can be icy at this time of year, so allow extra travel time and drive cautiously.

• From Denver/Boulder: Take either Coal Creek Canyon Road or Boulder Canyon Drive to Highway 119 toward Rollinsville. Turn right at Rollinsville onto East Portal Road (Tolland Road) toward Rollins Pass.
• From I-70: Take the exit for Central City, then continue north on Highway 119 toward Rollinsville. Turn left on East Portal Road (Tolland Road) toward Rollins Pass. Please note that I-70 has intermittent traffic holds due to rock blasting operations on Floyd Hill. Be sure to check cotrip.org for the latest information.

The Yellow Schoolhouse will be on your right after ~5.5 miles on Tolland Road.

If your mapping software cannot find the Yellow Schoolhouse, use Google Maps to navigate to the East Portal of the Moffat Tunnel, and backtrack approximately 2.5 miles along Tolland Road.

MORE ABOUT THE LOCATION

We recommend arriving slightly early to take photographs and enjoy the charm of this timeless building and its scenic surroundings. Built in 1906, the Yellow Schoolhouse is a beautifully preserved example of early rural schoolhouse architecture. Its iconic color and setting among open landscapes reflect its original purpose as a school for children from Tolland and surrounding areas during the transition from mining camps to permanent communities. It was recently celebrated with a State Honor Award for historic preservation.

PARKING INFORMATION

Parking is limited, and parallel parking on Tolland Road is prohibited. In true Old West fashion, the local sheriff, Joel, and his son, Tristan—close friends of Kate and Travis—will be providing valet service, parking your car at their nearby home. If you prefer to park yourself, Joel and Tristan will gladly shuttle you to the schoolhouse. Should you wish to park yourself, the address for parking is 4871 Tolland Road, Rollinsville, Colorado, 80474—please park to the west (the open area to the left of the home and garage).

DRIVING DIRECTIONS—RECEPTION AT TOSS

Following the ceremony, lunch will be served at Toss in Rollinsville, a short drive away. You’ll backtrack, driving East Portal Road (Tolland Road) and cross Highway 119 to enter the small town of Rollinsville. Go straight through town (0.1 miles) and look for Toss ‘Wood Fired Pizza’ on your left. If you pass the Rollinsville post office on the left, you’ve gone too far.

IMPORTANT NOTE ON CELLULAR SERVICE & A LIVE STREAMING VIRTUAL ATTENDANCE OPTION

Cellular reception is very limited in the area. If you encounter any difficulties finding the location, we regret that we may not be able to assist by phone.

For those attending virtually, the indoor gathering will be live-streamed on Zoom. Please note that while you will be able to view and listen to the event, audio input from online participants will not be available. Join this Zoom link at 11:25am Mountain Time to watch. A recording will be made available at a later date for those who are unable to watch live.

DO YOU HAVE PHOTOS OF JOE TO SHARE?

If you’d like to contribute photographs to be part of a video carousel during the event, please add them to this Dropbox link by 8pm on January 7th.

GIFTS

In lieu of gifts or flowers, please direct your support toward initiatives that prevent other families from facing such premature loss. Please donate to the Neuroendocrine Tumor Research Foundation to fund research to discover cures and more effective treatments for neuroendocrine cancers.

JOE’S WISHES

Joe’s wishes were for his ashes to be spread on Rollins Pass near the lakes where we’d always visit and remember him. Given the high elevation, access to this area will not be possible until late June or early July. If you’d like to join us in honoring his wishes, please reach out to Kate using the contact information below.

QUESTIONS

Contact Kate Wright at [email protected] or 303.726.7238.

Cards only; no packages/flowers: PO Box 1061, Fraser, Colorado 80442

The primary purpose of our work is to inform the public.

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