Curtis Calhoun Cato was born on January 21, 1932, in Red Top Charleston, SC, where he spent nearly all of his life, save for a brief stint in the Army as a draftee in the Korean War and less than a year in St. Paul, Minnesota in the 1950s before firmly deciding that he preferred the warmer climate of the Lowcountry.

Curtis grew up during the Great Depression on a family farm in then rural Red Top, Charleston. He was the fourth child in a family of 10 children, 9 of whom survived to adulthood. A quiet, hardworking farm boy who always described himself as "never a big talker."

From his earliest memories, there was always work to be done: helping his mother gather wood to start the morning fires, hauling water, milking the cows, or tending the land with his beloved horses Prince and Big John, a mule or two, and his trusty dogs Skippy (a well-trained bulldog) and Brownie (a brown-coated mutt) trotting along to help herd chickens and pigs and generally keep the family farm in order. His idea of a perfect lunch was a freshly picked tomato he'd grown himself, eaten with a little salt while relaxing in the fields.

Curtis was no stranger to injury. There was the time his favorite horse Prince allegedly kicked him while he was tending the field alone as a boy, leaving him nearly unconscious with a broken leg. Curtis would have you know that Prince was the gentlest horse that ever lived and the adults must have been wrong as the hay rake he had been riding was entirely to blame, even though his lifelong scar seemed to be in the shape of a horseshoe. There was also the tumble off a truckload of haystacks that his older brother, Farris, was driving, which earned him a broken arm. Scrapes, scars, and bruises were the costs of being a farm boy.

He attended and sang in the Spring Street Methodist Church alongside his family, and he spoke warmly all of his life of his Mama's beautiful singing voice. He graduated from St. Andrews High School and spent treasured time with his maternal grandparents at their store in Moncks Corner. He carried fond memories of going to the theater with his father to watch picture shows for just a few cents. His memory was sharp to the end and he could say exactly where he was when learning that Pearl Harbor was attacked, how rationing affected their lives during World War II, how his mother transformed flour sacks into dresses for his sisters, and when his mother drove out to a field on Highway 17 that he and his father were clearing for someone to tell them that FDR had just died.

Curtis wanted to stay on the farm. He loved farm life, but life, in the end, had other ideas. The family's small, humble house burned to the ground after WWII, and feeding so many mouths grew harder by the year. Older siblings left to start their own lives and families. They kept as much of the family farm as they could, his father working at the Naval Yard and other odd jobs. Curtis soon found himself working alongside his father in their family auto shop, learning engines and transmissions of every kind of vehicle like the back of his hand.

It turned out he had a gift for mechanical work. That gift sustained him as a mechanic for the next eighty years of his life, including working on vehicles in the Army and a brief stint with the SC State Highway Patrol where he was the youngest mechanic in their employment.

And yes, Curtis worked until the day he became ill. Even from the ICU at Roper downtown, he insisted he didn't have time to be lying around in a hospital bed and that there was a propane gas truck still waiting to be worked on by him. Since 1989, Curtis did contract work for Blue Flame Gas Company, keeping their trucks and equipment running because, as he put it, those trucks delivered propane for families to stay warm in the winters. Helping others was not something Curtis Cato took lightly. Neither did he take lightly the idea of leaving any job unfinished.

Music was a language he spoke fluently as well. He learned to play guitar in the Army and never put it down, playing in a band for years afterward and writing, singing, and recording songs. He kept a collection of vinyl records, sheets of hymnal music, acoustic and electric guitars. Gospel, the Blues, Bluegrass, old school Country, and Honky-Tonk music played frequently in the house for years. He spoke fondly of Hank Williams, Chet Atkins, Elvis Presley, B.B. King, and Jimi Hendrix with reverence, and he admitted he nearly came undone the day he learned Stevie Ray Vaughan had died. He also had a particular appreciation for Prince and his extraordinary hands on a guitar.

But Curtis's most devoted musical relationship was with the Lawrence Welk Show. Everything had to stop every Saturday at 5 PM so he could sit and enjoy the show uninterrupted. If you dared to interrupt or stand in front of the TV, his rare ornery side would come out. In his final days in the hospital, when he had made up his mind that he was ready to go home and wasn't much interested in being treated by doctors and nurses anymore, he made sure to watch it intently one last time from his hospital bed. When the last note played and Lawrence Welk's smiling face appeared as a send-off, that was that. It was time to go home, and he made that clear to everyone, especially to his daughter.

He spent his whole life in Red Top, knowing everyone and minding his own business at the same time. He always tried to quietly help neighbors, friends, and strangers when they needed it and never made a fuss about having done anything. He believed in putting people before money, worried about the local wildlife, fed stray cats, and took in abandoned dogs. He once helped rescue a snake from drowning, because he said that, like all people, all creatures deserved a fair chance and their existence recognized.

Neighbors, friends, and colleagues knew him as quiet, hardworking, and reliable. A gentle and good man with a quiet, deadpan sense of humor and a habit of doing everything slowly and carefully. His family will forever remember him standing at the end of the driveway waving goodbye until they turned off his street; his love for shrimp, oysters, and instant grits, the last of which he would only eat after meticulously spooning out every questionable speck, his yearly holiday cards, his twinkling blue eyes, and his soft laugh.

In the last two years of his life, he became a cat dad, doting on a spirited little tabby named Sami whom he called "my little boy" and "that little hard head" with full sincerity and zero embarrassment. He loved his coonhound mix, Buddy, with equal devotion and called him the smartest dog in the whole neighborhood. Above all else, Curtis was a devoted father. He loved his daughter "Misty" with a deep, unconditional love she will carry with her for the rest of her life and pass on to her own children.

Curtis Cato is preceded in death by his beloved parents, Meta Alcine Myers and Jabez Farris Cato; his siblings baby Rodney, Gwendolyn, Farris, Ophelia, Derriel, T'lene, Elizabeth, and Roberta; his wives Rita and Ora.

He is survived by his cherished nieces, nephews, grandnephews, grandnieces, and cousins, and his baby sister Brenda. He is also survived by his daughter, Alexis Michelle "Misty," who misses him more than words can express.

Curtis passed peacefully in his home on April 28, 2026, surrounded by loved ones, on the last piece of the family farm he tilled with his own hands, and on the land he loved from his very first breath to his very last. His final resting place will be in the family cemetery in Goose Creek, resting alongside his beloved parents and many siblings.

A Celebration of Life service will be held on Saturday, May 16, 2026, in the J. Henry Stuhr, Inc., West Ashley Chapel, 3360 Glenn McConnell Parkway, at 12:00 pm. Visitation will be held an hour prior to the service, starting at 11:00 am.

In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made in Curtis Cato's memory to either the Red Top Improvement Association, a registered 501(c)(3) nonprofit and the community he called home his entire life (mail donations to 750 Hughes Rd, Johns Island, SC 29455, or Zelle to 843-327-4855), or to GrowFood Carolina, a Charleston-based nonprofit dedicated to supporting local South Carolina farmers, in honor of Curtis's lifelong love of farm life that began in his childhood (donate at coastalconservationleague.org/projects/growfood).

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