David Keith Jarvis

David Keith Jarvis was born on April 21, 1969 to Donald Howard and Judith Kay Jarvis. Six weeks later the infant repaired a broken slat on his own crib, then went into the bathroom and shaved for the first time. His dad thought it was fine woodworking, although his mother was upset with the sawdust he left on the floor.

Dave grew up in Hilliard with his big siblings Tamara Kay and Daniel William (Tammy and Danny), who would often put a coonskin hat on his unusually ginormous toddler head while singing along to “Davey Crockett” on the record player. From there he had a classic Gen X adolescence: playing outside, amassing a huge Lego collection, drinking from the water hose, building decks, listening to James Gang and Bob Seger, repairing the neighbors’ roofs, learning to drive a stick shift, pouring concrete driveways, babysitting his big sister Tammy’s kids, installing kitchens for friends and family… You know. Typical teenager stuff.

By the time he graduated high school, he had already built two houses, was driving his second 4x4, and was having to shave up to six times a day. (Two of those things are true.) He then met Heather Leffingwell, who eventually became his wife of over 34 years. They built a family together in Westerville, with children Tristan Daniel, Cheyenne Rose, and Logan Shane. Thanks to Heather’s genes, the kids are (slightly) less hairy.

Dave and Heather also built a family of close friends, some of whom called him “Chunk” or “Chunkmeister,” partly because of his penchant for quoting the Goonies, and partly for another reason only they know about but will never tell. Speaking of movies, he could quote Armageddon and Tombstone entirely from memory, along with every Mel Brooks movie ever made.

Dave had an open-door policy on Buckeye football Saturdays, where autumn after autumn, friends and neighbors would pass by the giant inflatable Brutus mascot on their way into the house, grab one of Heather’s famous chocolate Buckeyes, and watch OSU beat the snot out of *ichigan on TV screens that seemed to grow in size every season. Ohio State was his passion, and the ‘Shoe was his second home.

Along the way, Dave kept building. Homes, decks, office buildings, houses of worship, doghouses, playhouses, roads, highways, and bridges. Dave worked in concrete the way that Ralphie’s dad worked in profanity, which (as all good plagiarists know) was the way other artists might work with oils or clay. If you have lived, worked, or driven anywhere in Ohio, there’s a near-certain chance you have Dave to thank for at least part of your everyday world. If you have lived or worked in Vegas whenever his construction crews had conferences there, we apologize on his behalf.

The things he built will last forever… not in a metaphorical way, but Will. Literally. Last. Forever. Dave didn’t believe in shortcuts, or half measures. Frost line is 32”? Better go down 100” to be safe. C’mon, git ‘er done. Deep in the post-apocalyptic future, it is likely that Keith Richards and his box of pet cockroaches will be stumbling across the nuclear winter wasteland, come across something Dave built, and still be able to use it as shelter from the marauding zombies.

Yet the same meaty and scuffed Sasquatch-hands he used to wield obnoxiously violent power tools were steady and nimble enough to precisely trim the delicate, tiny fingernails of his prematurely-born niece, or braid his daughter’s fair hair for her first day of kindergarten. Or his sons’ hair. Or his own beard hair, assuming he had missed shaving that day. Dave’s brawniness was only matched by his tenderness. No half measures.

In late 2018, super-industrial-strength-metastisized-everywhere-stage-99 pancreatic cancer made the dumbest decision ever and chose Dave to mess with. The statistics indicated a four-month prognosis, but those statistics don’t include people like Dave who once taught Chuck Norris how to roundhouse kick. (Maybe.) Year after year he survived - and even thrived at times - which continuously amazed his army of medical professionals, who clamored to witness this rare beast and perhaps even learn enough to publish case studies of this rare phenomenon one day. “Dave, this is amazing, even historic,” they would say, to which he would quote Tombstone again with “ohhh, I wadn’t quite as sick as ahh made out.” On one occasion, he showed up to his chemo treatment and noticed some of the clinic’s roof flashing was loose. It took several nurses to convince him that they were NOT going to fetch a ladder for him so that he could “fix it right quick,” and to sit down for the chemo.

He kicked cancer’s ass for years, until, like that evil team up north, it grew tired of losing and knew it couldn’t win without cheating. So it teamed up with severe Parkinson’s, and they STILL took over FIVE YEARS before earning their hollow victory. In the meantime, Dave was able to keep building a beautiful life with Heather, see his kids grow up and become wonderful young adults building bright futures of their own, and be there for his father and big sister as best he could when they all lost Judy.

Sometime in the early morning of December 17^th, 2023, Dave drew his last breath. Not because of the cancer, but mainly, we think, to spare himself from having to watch *ichigan in the playoffs.

Heather builds floral arrangements for a living. (Of course Dave would choose someone who builds things that make people happy.) And Dave did not want a funeral or memorial service. So, in lieu of flowers, we ask that you honor Dave in a way that he would most appreciate:

Build something for someone else. Even if you’re not good at it - do it. Build. If you can’t build something new, help them repair something. Find a family member, friend, or stranger who needs something built or repaired, roll your sleeves up, and Git ‘er Done. And if you can’t do that, then build a family of some sort, whether of blood or of close friends. Or reach out and repair a wobbly friendship that needs strengthened. Dave taught us all that the world is better when we find ways to build for one another.

Dave is preceded in death by his mother Judy and his brother Danny - who we are all convinced would be so proud of his little bro. He is survived by Heather, Tristan, Chey, Logan, Don, and Tammy, along with his in-laws, nephew and nieces, family and friends, and the countless people who inhabit the homes he made, the places they worship, the buildings they work in, the decks and patios they entertain on, and the roads, highways, underpasses, and bridges they drive upon. The Jarvis family wishes to send their condolences to everyone that didn’t have a husband, son, brother, or father as staggeringly remarkable as theirs.