Courtney Bogan Terry was born on August 27, 1963, in Chinon, France, to Elroy Terry and Beatrice (Bea) Terry, while Elroy was serving in the U.S. Army.

He had four children: Whitney Devon Wright (Terry), Brock Bogan Terry (wife, Kylie), Blake Raymond Terry, and Brett Jordan Terry. His relationships with them were unique and sometimes complicated, but filled with joy, laughter, and life lessons. With his sons, he tossed the ball, coached, cheered from the sidelines, and analyzed games with his signature intensity. His passion for sports shaped his life. It gave him joy, identity, and an endless source of debate. If you knew Courtney, you knew he always had a game on, a stat to share, or a take you didn’t ask for, and that was part of his charm.

He adored his granddaughter, Mia Amoré Wright (13), who he lovingly asked to call him “Grandpappy.” He often reminded Whitney that she was his “favorite daughter,” though she was, of course, his only daughter.

As the youngest of his siblings, Courtney proudly claimed the title of the “baby boy” of the family and never let anyone forget it. It was a badge he wore with pride and joked about until the very end.

Courtney had a magnetic personality. He was outgoing, funny, and always ready with a story, a joke, or a strong opinion. A natural salesman, he could talk to anyone and made connections wherever he went. He could sell salt to a snail and probably make the snail laugh while doing it. He was always the life of the party, even when there wasn’t one; he simply made it one. A loyal St. Louis Cardinals fan and lifelong sports enthusiast, he could talk games, stats, and strategy for hours, whether others wanted to or not, and usually with a smile, even when he knew he was wrong.

He also appreciated the little pleasures in life. He liked to look good, took pride in his style, and enjoyed sharing food with the people he loved. While he may not have claimed the title of chef, his grilled ribs were so good they turned a vegetarian’s head. The chili he made often alongside Shelly was a favorite, and his fried potatoes were unforgettable. They weren’t fancy, but they were his, and you could taste the love in every bite.

Music was another love. Some called him “C Note,” a nickname that just seemed to fit, even though he could never carry a note if he tried. He collected memories from concerts, enjoyed every genre, and never passed up a chance to hit the dance floor. He couldn’t dance or sing and he knew it but that never stopped him from trying and entertaining everyone around him in the process.

In 2018, Courtney suffered a life-changing spinal cord injury that left him a quadriplegic. Over the final years, he moved between several nursing homes that could accommodate his needs, enduring physical pain, hospital stays, and periods of deep personal struggle. He often asked people not to visit, not out of bitterness, but out of pride. He didn’t want to be remembered in that condition. Still, he was never forgotten.

The most devoted presence during that time was Shelly Terry, his loving partner of 37 years. Through every hardship, she remained by his side, visiting often sometimes daily bringing him comfort, conversation, and his favorite treats like soda, ice cream, St. Louis-style food, and candy bars. Her love, loyalty, and unwavering care were a lifeline and a powerful reflection of the bond they shared. She didn’t just act as his wife. She showed up for him in every way that truly mattered.

Courtney had a way of drawing people in. His laughter, his stories, and his energy left a lasting imprint on everyone who knew him. He will be remembered for his resilience, his charm, his humor, and a heart that was somehow even bigger than his personality.

He was preceded in death by his father, Elroy Terry. He is survived by his mother, Beatrice (Bea) Jordan; his children and granddaughter; his siblings Joan Simpson (Van), Lisa Terry, and Christopher (Chris) Terry (Lisa); his devoted partner Shelly Terry; and many nieces, nephews, cousins, and friends.

No formal services will be held at this time. A celebration of life may be planned for a later date, a time to share stories, laughter, and maybe even a few off-key songs and questionable dance moves in his honor.

In the meantime, those who knew and loved him are invited to remember Courtney the next time they put on their Cardinals gear or head to a game. Raise a cold Budweiser, fire up the grill, and sing and dance like nobody is watching—just like he would have wanted.