The Life of my Incredible Friend, Russ Johnson

Russ was born in Buffalo during the Great Depression, a time that forged a generation marked by ingenuity, patience, and self-reliance. As Buffalo grew between World War I and World War II, Russ grew alongside it—learning life not only in classrooms, but on the banks of the Niagara River. As a boy, he learned to fish there, catching blue pike in the powerful currents, developing an early respect for water, wildlife, and the quiet discipline required to succeed outdoors. That discipline stayed with him for the rest of his life.

From a young age, Russ showed an extraordinary aptitude for electronics. He built crystal radios and ham radio transmitters when most kids were still figuring out how things worked. He didn’t just want devices to function—he wanted to understand why they worked. That curiosity matured into a career that placed him at the center of some of the most important technological efforts of the 20th century.

Russ became a highly respected electronic technician at Bell Aerospace, where he worked during the early days of the American rocket industry. There, he collaborated with Werner von Braun and other pioneers whose work laid the foundation for modern space exploration. Russ was never one to talk himself up, but those who knew his work understood his value. He brought calm logic, careful data collection, and practical problem-solving to complex systems where failure was not an option. Later, at Moog, Inc., his reputation only grew. When engineering teams hit a wall, Russ was often the one who quietly solved the problem—definitively and without drama.

That same inventive mind followed him into the outdoors. Russ was a life member of the East Aurora Fish and Game Club, a dedicated deer and pheasant hunter, and an accomplished dog trainer. He approached hunting and fishing the same way he approached engineering: observe carefully, collect data, and respect the system you are working within.

Among his many innovations was what is believed to be the first electronic crow call. Russ didn’t just mimic sound—he studied crows, learned their language, and figured out how to communicate with them. He could call them in at will, not as a trick, but as the result of patient observation and understanding. He also invented an underwater temperature probe capable of detecting light penetration, allowing identification of thermoclines and mineral layers—tools far ahead of their time and deeply useful to serious anglers.

Lake Erie was one of Russ’s favorite classrooms. He loved trolling for walleye and smallmouth bass, especially with artificial lures he modified himself to dive deeper, emit underwater sound, and produce a wobble that fish found irresistible. He believed fishing was never random—it was patterned, timed, and knowable…if you paid attention.

One of his favorite sayings became legendary among those who fished with him: “They start (hitting) at 22 minutes after sundown.” Remarkably, it was often true. Evening after evening at Waverly Shoal, the bite would turn on right on schedule, as if the fish themselves were keeping Russ’s clock.

Waverly Shoal was special to us in another way too. We loved fishing it in the early mornings before work. The routine was simple and relentless: up at 3:00 a.m., launch the boat in the dark, troll Hot-N-Tots for an hour, and be back on shore by 6:00 a.m.—often with a limit of walleye—just in time to head off to work by 7. We did that twice a week through mid-summer for years. It was hard work, great fishing, and time spent with a best friend doing what we loved.

Russ also believed deeply in service. He was a Merchant Marine during WWII and member of the VFW. He volunteered there, providing taxi services for fellow military veterans who needed help getting to appointments or events. As always, he did it quietly, without recognition, because it was the right thing to do.

His greatest legacy, however, was with kids. He and his wife, Marianne, had three kids, all girls, and he loved them dearly. He was so pleased that they grew up with families and grandkids. He loved the family gatherings. For about the last 25 years in summer, Russ devoted some of his time to teaching young people how to fish through “Teach-Me-To-Fish” events at East Aurora Fish and Game, Bison City Fish and Game, Tifft Nature Preserve, and other places in Western New York. He had a gentle way about him—especially when teaching kids how to tie fishing knots. Knots that held. That simple success built confidence, and kids kept coming back to learn more. Through fishing, Russ taught patience, problem-solving, and respect for the outdoors.

Russ never raised his voice. He never argued. He was unfailingly logical, kind, and calm. Even at 96 years old, he had unending energy and a curiosity about life that never faded. He learned to eat healthy—favoring fish, fruits, vegetables, and steam cooking. His favorite meal was fittingly simple and perfect: poached or baked Lake Erie walleye.

For more than 50 years, Russ Johnson was one of my best friends. Last week, he departed for that happy hunting ground in the sky. He’ll be raising walleyes at 22 minutes after sunset to show St. Peter before the rainstorm. Even at the ripe old age of 96, his passing is deeply felt. Russ lived a life defined by positivity, invention, generosity, and a quiet commitment to sharing knowledge with others—especially kids. His legacy lives on in every knot tied, every lure modified, every young angler inspired, and every problem solved with patience, data, and grace. His conversations between us will be missed, always.

Fair winds and following seas, old friend!

Your buddy,

Dave Barus, AKA Forrest Fisher