John Matuszeski

“Don’t waste time on the work stuff; talk about the real stuff.”

John Matuszeski passed away on June 14, 2024.  He was 87, and if he was writing this, he’d skip over so much.  He probably wouldn’t mention that he was a chemical engineer, an officer in the US Army Reserves, or an accomplished intellectual property attorney.  He’d skip over the pioneering book he co-wrote on software licensing that is still in print more than 30 years later, or that he was a General Council for a Fortune 100 tech company.

He’d probably rather talk about the wonders of the latest sub-atomic particle research, or any of the many backpacking and rafting trips he took through remote and wild places. Or the dogs he loved through the years. Or the good that came out of his volunteer/philanthropic work for the Nature Conservancy,  as a board member of the Santa Barbara Symphony and the Ensemble Theater, and for so many other groups and individuals.  He’d rather we tell funny stories from the old family station wagon trips to National Parks. Or the joy he got from meeting and befriending people from all corners of the human experience.

He’d surely want to mention that he is survived by the love of his life, Ruth Matuszeski, whom he married in a snow storm in the hills of Virginia and then spent the next 62 years keeping her equal parts entertained, flustered, and loved; his sons, of whom he was extremely proud, Alex (Rob) Matuszeski, Steve Matuszeski, and Andrew (Chey) Matuszeski; his grandchildren Josh and Tatiana—his partners in secretive trips for ice cream; and his brother-in-law David Craft.  And he would surely tell stories about the several dozen relatives who always came to raucous Thanksgivings at John and Ruth’s place in Westport, CT:  his brother Bill (Mary) Matuszeski and sister Grace Matuszeski, his sister Alice who predeceased him, her husband Charlie Hober, and an incredible troop of nieces, nephews, and their families, all of whom he adored for their humor, intelligence, and good looks.

In his telling–he’d laugh a lot, and occasionally get choked up.  And he’d be sure to end it with a joke, and tell us all to go look at the stars—and spend serious effort as he did, wondering about the universe, laughter, beauty, art, music, what it means to be a good person, nature, and everything. And he’d surely tell us to be respectful of each other, but never avoid challenging subjects like religion, politics, or how to hit the perfect top-spin backhand.

The real stuff.