Quay Johnson

There are some people who leave this world a little quieter than they found it, and there are others whose stories, laughter, and kindness echo long after they’re gone. Quay Johnson was one of those people.

Quay, 93, passed away peacefully at his son’s home in Cincinnati on July 14, 2026, with his son and daughter-in-law by his side.

He was born on June 28, 1933, in Sequatchie County, Tennessee, to Riley Johnson and Lola Hatfield. If you ever sat down long enough to listen, Quay could tell you all about where he came from. He’d proudly tell you he was born in a locust thicket and raised on the Kelly Farm by his beloved grandfather, Frank Hatfield, surrounded by a whole host of aunts, uncles, cousins, and neighbors who all had a hand in making him the man he became. Those were some of the happiest memories of his life, and he never forgot the people who helped raise him. He was proud of his roots, proud of his people, and proud to call those Tennessee hills home.

He was preceded in death by his parents; his first wife of 56 years, Paulie Cooley Johnson; his second wife of 17 years, Melba Green Johnson; and many family members who welcomed him home.

He leaves behind his son, Jerry Wayne (Mary), granddaughter, Christine Johnson-Nouh and great grandson Jeremy Slaten-Johnson, and his daughter, Janice Johnson Steedley; his grandchildren, Douglas Wayne Peyton and Tusha Peyton-Linville; his great-grandchildren, Hayleigh Sheppard, and Austyn Linville; three great-great-grandchildren by Hayleigh; Karter Cotton, Khyrie Sheppard, Kashtyn Sheppard; along with stepchildren, nieces, nephews, extended family, and countless friends who never felt like anything less than family.

Quay came from a big family, and he loved every one of them. His brothers and sisters were Viola, Frank Andrew “F.A.”, Ray, Clayton, Jimmy Lloyd “Shine”, Jack, Reita Bess, William, Lena, Ernest, Sallie, Delbert, James David, Raymond, and Richard. No matter where life carried them, those phone calls between siblings meant the world to him. Hearing their voices always brought him back home. One call he especially looked forward to was from one of his favorite nieces, Sheila Johnson.

For most of his life, Quay made his living as a proud union truck driver. He never tired of telling the story of learning to drive a truck on the mountain with his Uncle Joe Standifer Johnson teaching him every gear and every hill. He was proud of the work he did, but more than that, he was proud that his work took care of the people he loved. If there was one thing you could always count on, it was Quay shouldering whatever burden life put in front of him. No matter how hard things got, he never walked away from his responsibilities. He simply kept going.

Life wasn’t always easy on Quay. He knew hardship better than most. But somehow, he never let it steal his smile. He kept his quick wit, his gentle humor, and his gift for finding happiness in the little things that so many people overlook.

If Quay had one of something, you could almost bet he had three and he’d find a way to share what you needed. That’s just who he was. He never met many strangers, and he never saw much use in letting somebody go without if he could help. He opened his home, his heart, and his hands to anyone who needed them. Whether you were one of his nieces or nephews—especially those in the Hale family—a stepchild, a neighbor, or simply someone who needed somebody to believe in them, Quay had a way of making you feel like you belonged.

He loved the simple things that made life good. You could often find him mowing his yard until it looked just right, tending his flowers, or putting another coat of wax on his truck. He found peace sitting with a fishing pole in his hand, especially if his dear friend and family member, R.D. Christian, was beside him. Those weren’t just fishing trips to Quay; they were some of life’s richest moments.

He was a storyteller through and through. He loved talking about growing up in Sequatchie County, about the old days, a honky-tonk where you could let loose, those infamous stills “hidden up on a guff.” And most especially about his many aunts and uncles, and about the people who helped shape his life. Those stories weren’t just memories—they were treasures he carried and shared with anyone willing to listen. Through them, he passed along a piece of where he came from.

Above everything else, Quay Johnson will be remembered as a man who loved deeply, gave generously, worked honestly, and stood by his family no matter what. He measured wealth not by what a man owned but by the people who gathered around his table, answered his phone calls, and remembered his stories.

The mountains, and the very special Sequatchie Valley where he was born never really left him. They lived in his voice, in his values, in his stories, and in the quiet strength that carried him through ninety-three years of life.

His story doesn’t end here. It lives on in every lesson he taught, every laugh he shared, every helping hand he offered, and every person fortunate enough to have called him Dad, Papaw, brother, uncle, friend, or simply… Quay.

Per Quay’s wishes, cremation has taken place and no services will be held at this time.