A week ago we lost Joe Kukura. He was the associate editor of SFist and a longtime contributor to this site and others, but he was also a great friend to many and a true bon vivant of San Francisco.

A celebration of life for Joe is being planned, it will likely occur in the Mission District in the coming weeks, and you can check back on this page to find details about the date, time, and place.

Below, we have collected memories of Joe that have been coming in over the last week. If you have one you'd still like to have added here, email it [email protected] with the subject line "Joe Kukura Memories."

From Todd Golling:
I am writing to share some memories of Joe Kukura and to express my deep appreciation for the person he was.

Joe and I met in the 7th grade and attended junior high together. I’ll always remember him for his Hawaiian shirts, his love for Weird Al Yankovic, and his accordion playing. We even started a band together called DPZA (Dead Petting Zoo Animals). In high school, Joe played the tuba in the marching band. I remember when he broke a weld on his instrument after practice; my dad was able to take it home and solder it back together. Joe never forgot that gesture and always spoke so highly of my father.

Although we lost touch after high school, I felt a sudden urge to reach out to him last September after my father, who is now in hospice, asked about him. Despite not having spoken for nearly 30 years, I found Joe on Facebook and relayed the story. Even while Joe was privately battling cancer, he took it upon himself to call my father several times. He spent 45 minutes on the phone during each call, patiently speaking with a man dealing with hearing loss and dementia. He had no obligation to do so, but he treated it as a priority. I am grateful that fate brought us back together, even briefly, to remind me of the immense kindness he possessed. Rest in peace, Joe.

From Brian Grinnell:
I went to high school with Joe (West Geauga High School in Chesterland, Ohio, Class of 1989), and at the time he was one of my closest friends. Although we lost touch during/after college, I still very much value that friendship, and appreciate the lasting impact it had on my life. Reading the remembrance [on SFist], it is clear to me that the people who shared their lives with him in recent years would immediately understand why — from that description, it seems he remained the same warm, fun, smart, exuberant, goofy, creative person, the same reliable friend I knew almost 40 years ago.

Joe had a big influence on the music, books, and movies that mattered to me, from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy to Catch-22, They Might Be Giants to Camper Van Beethoven, Buckaroo Banzai to Midnight Run. I remember going to the 24-hour Sci-Fi Marathon at Case Western with him and heckling the slow pace of 2001 in the early hours of the morning. He always had a great sense of humor (one of my first conversations with him, around Thanksgiving in our 8th grade year, was about a wickedly dark and funny story he had written for English class about turkeys rising up and wreaking bloody vengeance) and could appreciate the fun available in almost any situation.

I remember an AP English class in high school where, being forced to read aloud the Arthur Miller play, The Crucible, we wrote alternative dialogue to derail the proceedings and take the death of Giles Corey in a new, absurdist direction. On many of the bus trips back from marching band performances (where Joe played the tuba, of course) at away football games, we would amuse ourselves by singing, as loudly as we could manage, a medley of TV theme songs — Gilligan’s Island, Silver Spoons, The Greatest American Hero, The Jeffersons, and crowd favorite, The Love Boat. For his friends, I am sorry for your loss. Joe was exceptional, and I’m glad I had the chance to know him.

From Elizabeth Steiner:
I first met Joe in Ohio in the 90s. He was known as Elvis then, had huge sideburns, and worked at the worker-owned hippy Mexican place in town. He would come into the coffee shop where I worked and we would talk about his students as he was studying to be a special education teacher at the time. He was charming and kind of crazy and oddly our friendship grew after we both left Athens. I moved to New York. He sent me postcards from his hitchhiking to California. We stayed in touch as we were sweet on each other a bit and Joe had a way of looking at you like you were the only person in the room.

When he invited me to visit for Thanksgiving one year,  he introduced me to San Francisco and I knew I had found my new home. I stayed with Joe while I got settled and he introduced me to his large circle of friends who immediately accepted me with the same generosity that Joe had. He was caring and thoughtful and kooky as hell. He loved San Francisco like it was a living breathing being and embraced every opportunity to explore its culture. When I started The Cock-Ts, a burlesque cheerleading squad in the 2000s, I knew immediately that we needed Joe to be our emcee. He was a natural showman, created his character, wrote his own material, and when we performed, God only knew what would come out of his mouth for the intro. He cracked me up. He had a great delivery style when telling a story.

He loved making appetizers with Ritz crackers. He surprised me by sending me a new skirt and blouse after I had lost my clothing in a fire. We shared a love of Freddie Mercury’s and Montserrat Caballé’s duet “Barcelona”. His David Hasselhoff with cheeseburger burlesque number to the Knight Rider theme was epic. At a 2005 New Years Eve party he ran into the room at the stroke of midnight dressed as a baby. He was so smart and a great writer. He could work a pun or double entendre into any headline. We fell out of touch after I left San Francisco, but I’m grateful that I got to visit with him this past December. I spoke with him two weeks ago and while he was struggling, he was fighting. Joe was a lover and a fighter and he changed the trajectory of my life. I’m sure I’m not the only one. I am forever grateful for his friendship. Love you, Joe.

From Carli McGovern:
My buddy, Elvis. Love you always.

From Tiffany Sherman:
“Elvis” Joe Kukura and I were worker-owners at Casa Nueva in Athens, Ohio. (Look it up.) Everyone there shared all responsibilities — we washed dishes (by hand at the time) we cooked, we stripped chicken from local farmers, we served customers, we cleaned. We created handmade salsas, meticulously. Everything was by our hand. It depended on the shift. We had a bar with open-mic night. It is still a mainstay in our sleepy college town. (Not so lax as before.)  It is a hub in our little  community of radical community endeavors. Elvis would light up the room every time he showed up to a party. He would wear glorious costumes and light up the room with his PURE joy and laughter. His love and light will never be forgotten.

From Kat Robichaud:
Joe was the kind of person you would be relieved to see at a party or community event — you knew you'd be safe with him, that you didn't have to put on airs, that you could anchor yourself to him to stave off social awkwardness or feeling alone. He was always kind, always charming, and always colorful. I feel lucky to have known him. Joe, you will be missed.

From Eveline Darroch:
Joe was the best. He was an Ohio school teacher who headed west and landed in SF at the same time as me. He became a journalist that had a good bit of sway, yet, always represented the arts scene, the working class folks, and he even celebrated them.

He held Thanksgiving dinners at his house, and he had a Billy Carter annual 4th of July softball tournament, with a bar set up in the outfield and noise musicians and a band set up on the side lines. He was so proud to share that this past summer, the teenagers playing were all kids of the people who had met at the annual Billy Carter tournament and became couples.

He hosted a live stream watch party of the Greatful Dead show in Golden Gate Park with lots of friends one day then the next it was me and him sharing stories of being in the same place at the same time and taking decades later to meet across the country. He called it that Bob Weir may be on his last show. Sadly, he was right.

We went to see Godzilla on Christmas Day a year or so pre-Covid with Bob Evil at the Metreon. Joe had a goofy Walgreens Christmas lights head band on and the disco ball jacket. Yeah, “THEE” Disco Ball Jacket. The one he got off of Amazon for twenty bucks, that had seen more parties in its lifetime than some small town populations in middle America would ever see. That one. Joe Kukura was my friend...

A few years back, I had become quite ill and I didn’t know if I was going to make it through. I had asked if he would write a nice article so my neices and nephews would have something to remember me by. He agreed. I didn’t expect to write my recollections of Joe in his passing.

From Jennie Kay:
Two years after the first time we met, where his reporting grossly misrepresented my words in a very public forum, I moved to the Bay Area, and he is one of the first guests in my home, at a potluck I was hosting. Not only does he shock me when he shows up, he shows up with something like twenty jars of apple butter for everyone there. Granted, he didn't can them right and half of them got mold, but for some reason, that detail feels equally as Joe as the action of him walking through the door announcing this was a peace offering and letting everyone in the room know "We met because she told me I was wrong! I love this woman!"

What I loved about Joe was his curiosity, willingness to be wrong, and thirst to always learn more. When his storytelling took a sideways turn, he heard me with an open heart, and corrected the error. He didn't argue. He didn't fight back. He was genuinely humbled in the wake of what he misunderstood in the moment, and offered questions over accusations. This humility and shared sense of finding common ground led us to develop a personal relationship, where I eventually found him in my home passing out apple butter, and making sure no one left a stranger. Our last text exchange was ironically a few days before one of my own best friends passed away from a terminal illness, and his upbeat attitude and hopeful optimism of his own diagnosis brought me great peace at a critical time.The Bay Area lost a legend in Joe, and I'm sure there are countless people today who lost a treasured friend. Rest in Power, Joe. You are loved, and you will be deeply missed.

From Justin Neisuler:
I have so many memories of JoeK, he really was the bridge between different worlds and could hang with anyone, any time.

He’s the only guy that I, a straight man, ever kissed — with tongue anyway — on E on New Year’s Eve sometime around Y2K. To know Joe is to know he was the perfect man for this kind of gambit. Also... he was a die hard the-more-they-suck-the-more-I-love-them fan of Cleveland teams — the Browns and the Indians (Guardians now but when I lived in SF they were the Indians). And he knew EVERYTHING about sports and saw them through a satirist’s eye. Like, he could have 100% written Why Your Team Sucks if Drew Magary hadn’t gotten there first, or MMBM if they hadn’t turned totally MAGA. He dies without either team winning a championship in his lifetime, which sucks.

From Deborah Neisuler:
Joe was the oddest sweetheart. You could count on him every year to drop the Dlisted birthday sluts list on your Facebook page. He did the SF AIDS Walk every year, often walking in memory of my uncle, who he never met. I also just found out today that Joe is the only guy my husband I both kissed. How’s that for “kiss-met"? It’s so Joe. I feel like I don’t deserve that parting gift from him.

From Tara Ramroop and Muni Diaries:

The Muni Diaries crew is incredibly sad to hear of Joe's passing. He was a wonderful writer and performer who embodied so much about what we love about the city. We know he fought hard to the end.

Above is a photo of Joe at Muni Diaries Live in 2018. He told a story and participated, with his signature flair, in our Muni Haiku Battle.

Fun fact, Joe was also at our second Muni Diaries Live in 2009 at the Make Out Room as the creepy coach in a burlesque cheer squad called the Cock-Ts.

From Eve Batey:
A couple years ago, I was rolling out my trash cans when Joe appeared on the sidewalk in front of my building. He knew I made custom iron-ons for t-shirts, and he was hoping I could quickly make him one to wear at Bay to Breakers, which was the next day. Earlier that week, the Supreme Court’s decision to overturn abortion rights had been leaked, and he was ticked. "I want to wear something that shows women we’re not giving up, that we’re not forgetting them," he said. We iterated a couple messages that would work on a shirt, before he paused and said, "Wait, do women need another man telling them things? Maybe we scratch this. There are other things I can do."

That’s Joe, often overtaken by enthusiasm and passion, so strongly that he felt compelled to make an immediate and flashy statement. But after a beat, he’d often start to redirect his energy into resistance that was more sustained. Here’s hoping there are other fighters rising up to take his place.

From Doug and Heather Brown:
We first met Joe in 2007, around his birthday, watching Cleveland football at the Kilowatt. Since then, we have watched the weekly games together (all of us die-hard Browns fans). At the Kilowatt, you had to be there by 10 am to get a TV. No one wanted to watch the Browns besides us, Ohio transplants. The owner, Peter, would always reserve our spot on the stage, which we referred to as the kennel club, aka dog pawnd. We were a loyal group until the ill-fated day that the Browns acquired a rapist, sexual predator as their franchise QB. Joe denounced the Browns and swore off professional football for good.

The last time we saw Joe was in Dec. for his 55th birthday at the Teeth bar watching Ohio State football. Lots of his friends were there, and he made chocolate peanut butter buckeyes, an Ohio ritual. It's hard to believe that would be the last time we saw him, but it was a joyful time, and Joe was definitely in his element.

From Rosie Atkins:
Joe loved wearing his signature Christmas suit to our annual holiday party. We could count on him to entertain everyone in his path with a dirty joke and an arcane San Francisco fact. He turned up one year bleeding profusely from what he claimed was a shaving accident. "At least the blood stains match my suit," he shrugged as I patched him up in the bathroom. He prided himself on being the last person to leave every year. One year, he returned an hour after his departure looking for his lost wallet. We found it and he made me fix him another drink before he'd leave again.

From Stacey Corso:
Joe wasn't just a member of our community; he was a creator of community. He always stood up for the rights of the marginalized, oppressed and underrepresented, often in the face of adversity. That's one of the reasons I loved him. (Well, I also loved him because he was an outspoken feminist and die-hard Cleveland fan!)

We met in the early 1990s at Ohio University during a Casa Cantina LGBTQIA dance. Those weren’t easy times for queer folks living in Athens, Ohio: We were struggling to make our voices heard in a rural area. Joe deeply empathized with our struggle, embraced it, and did everything in his power to support us. After graduating from college, we went our separate (but coastal) ways: Joe moved to San
Francisco, and I headed to New York. But a combination of community-making ethos and a mutual adoration of Cleveland sports led us to each other again — more than a decade later in San Francisco.

It happened one Sunday morning in the Mission when I was looking for a place to watch the Cleveland Browns game. I certainly found it – and much more – when I randomly bumped into Joe at the Kilowatt. That chance meeting rekindled a friendship that lasted decades. It also sparked new friendships with Heather, Jessica and many others. Together, we spent Sundays in the "Kennel Club" at the Kilowatt, commiserating over the Browns’ horrendous on-field performance, and growing our community.

One of my fondest memories of Joe was the day in 2016 we spent watching Game 7 of the NBA championship game (at my apartment in Oakland)! For the first time in history, the Cleveland Cavaliers knocked off the Golden State Warriors to earn the title of NBA Champions. It was hard to be a Cleveland fan in the middle of Oakland, but we were brave. We risked life and limb to douse each other with a bottle of cheap sparkling wine outside my apartment building while Warriors fans shut their doors and windows, shut their eyes and crawled back under their covers. That’s a memory I will cherish for the rest of my life.

Thank you for sharing so much joy, love, creativity and community with all of us. Having you in our lives made us all better humans. I love you, Joe! Go Bobcats, Go Cavs, Go Guardians and Go Browns!

From "Broke-Ass" Stuart Schuffman:
Joe was a maniac in the absolutely best way possible, and we had so many shenanigans together. I first met him in 2014 when he popped by the bar when I was working at Monarch and told me, "Hey, I'm writing for you now" and for the next 7 years he was one of the best, most consistent, and cleverest writers we ever had. While he wrote for many publications he spent most of his writing years with SFist and contributed to them until the very end.  

Beyond that though, he was a great friend. He always showed up in an insane outfit for any event, from birthdays to Folsom Street Fair, whether it be in little tutu and a tiara, or a ripped wedding gown.

He was naughty, randy, hilarious, loquacious, extremely smart, and down for anything. He always posted on your FB wall on your bday letting you know which other "birthday slut" you shared the day with. And after a few drinks he would invariably brag about how nice of chest he had like "I may be in my 50s Stuart, but I've still got this great chest" while showing it off.

No event we threw was complete without Joe showing up on the early side and staying till he was one of the dwindling few.

Joe Kukura was my friend. I loved him very much. Almost as much as he loved Ohio sports teams. I already miss him deeply. San Francisco will never be the same without him.

Top image: Photo courtesy of Pat McAvoy/Facebook