Creve Coeur, Missouri — Donald Robert Kotur, 71, of Manchester, died peacefully in the arms of his wife on March 7, 2025, of cancer. He was born January 8, 1954 in East Chicago, Indiana, son of late George and Margaret Kotur, younger brother of Thomas Kotur. He grew up in Lansing, Illinois, on the outskirts of Chicago. He studied mechanical engineering at Valparaiso University, graduating in 1978. There he met Krista Jutzi. They married in 1982 and enjoyed 42 years in sickness and health. They raised two children, Kelsey and Kevin, born in 1989 and 1992.

Don is survived by wife Krista Kotur, daughter Kelsey Lanier (son-in-law Asher Lanier, granddaughter Charlotte Lanier, and grandchild due May 2025), son Kevin Kotur, and brother Tom Kotur (sister-in-law Sue Kotur). A celebration of life will be held on Friday, April 4, at the Museum of Transportation’s Lindburg Automobile Center, 2933 Barrett Station Rd., in Saint Louis County between 3:00 and 7:00 p.m.

Out of college Don worked in Florida for Pratt & Whitney, testing rocket engines. He moved to Saint Louis and worked for Brown Shoe Company, Watlow Electric, then MEMC, manufacturing silicon wafers for the emerging semiconductor industry. He later worked at Sears for a time, before finishing his career at the Missouri Department of Natural Resources, retiring from the air inspection division in 2019. He met his first grandchild in 2022. He renovated a house in 2023. He was diagnosed with lung cancer in December 2024. He smoked for much of his life. Despite advanced treatments, expertise, and the steadfast care of his wife and son, his decline was sudden. He was surrounded by loving friends and family during his final months and final days.

Don Kotur was intelligent, sensitive, kind, fastidious, and generous. He could be the quietest person in the room, yet he had the loudest laugh. Those who knew Don were always learning more about him. He was full of stories waiting for an occasion to be told. He was a man of secret talents and achievements. He could ride a unicycle. He had a patent. He studied judo and jiu jitsu for years, which a few bullies found out. At social gatherings he might be found on the sidelines, talking to the wisest person he could—to veterans, craftsmen, elders, or the one other engineer. And if he started talking about cars, he’d be the last to leave.

Don loved machines, machines of all kinds. Big or small, simple or complex, land, sea, air, or space. He loved watching them, using them, making them, understanding them, maintaining them, improving them, and sharing them. He had an engineer’s eye for beauty, the beauty of precision, of efficiency, of elegance. The beauty of a problem solved, of human ingenuity and perseverance, of genius. Don had taste, just not in food or drink. He had taste in cars: the fast, the old, the extreme, the well designed. He kept a list of every vehicle he’d owned, from the motorbike he made as a child to the new Mustang. They were more than possessions; it was about the people he shared them with. Driving out to the family farm in the NSX. Local parades in the 1934 Ford. Twenty years of riding his Harley with Krista, with his brother Tom and wife Sue, with the local riding group of retired firemen, and, more recently, with his son Kevin.

Don spent much of his life in the garage, and the garage made Don who he was. It’s where his father, a machinist, taught him how to work, with integrity and patience and skill. Don knew how to do a job to the best of his abilities and was always improving his abilities so he could do a better job. Because he delighted in a job well done, whether it was a custom back scratcher or rebuilding his cousin’s living room. His garage was an expression of himself. Every tool and every toy had a story, purpose, and place. Between a milling machine, a couple of lathes, a bandsaw, multiple sanders, and a painting booth, he could make just about anything in his workshop. And often he was making things for others: science fair projects with Kelsey, Pinewood Derby cars for Kevin and later the neighborhood kids, pneumatic snakes and zombies to scare the Halloween trick-or-treaters, polished wooden shot glasses for his riding friends, and guilloché patterned earrings for coworkers. He was quick to lend his expertise, his tools, and his time.

For what he did and what he knew, for who he was and who he helped, and who he raised and who he loved, Don Kotur will be missed. But if it’s up to him, he’s riding his Harley in the sky, or watching movie marathons of Sean Connery’s Bond, or tinkering in the celestial garage.

In lieu of flowers, please consider donating to the Plumier Foundation (Join Us – Plumier), the Mercy David C. Pratt Cancer Center (Donate to STL – Cancer Match), or a charity of your choice. And because it will become a family keepsake, we especially invite you to post/share photos, stories, and favorite memories here Kudoboard for Don Kotur | Kudoboard

If you’d like to honor Don or his family, please consider listening to The Rolling Stones, Rod Stewart, or Pink Floyd. Maybe watch American Graffiti. And in all things, remember to measure twice and cut once.