Albuquerque Journal Obituaries For Today

Okay, so you’re here because—let’s be honest—you either need to know or you’re just here for the free people drama. Either way, welcome to the Albuquerque Journal’s obituaries for today. Think of this as your daily dose of "Who even was this person?" with a side of "Wow, they lived a life."

First up, we’ve got Margaret "Maggie" O’Connor, who passed away at 89. Now, I’m not saying she was a superhero, but if she were, she’d probably have a cape made of all the coffee she drank. Maggie was a local librarian for 30 years—yes, that long—and apparently, she could find any book in the system faster than you can find your keys in the morning. The world lost a bookworm today, folks.

Next, Earl "Big Earl" Thompson left us at 78. The name alone sounds like a character from a Western movie, and honestly, his life probably was. Big Earl was a retired mechanic who could fix anything—cars, lawnmowers, or that mysterious squeak in your ceiling. Rumor has it he once rebuilt an engine with duct tape and sheer willpower. Rest in peace, duct tape hero.

Then there’s Dr. Linda Chen, who passed away at 72. She was a pediatrician who made kids feel like they could conquer the world—one checkup at a time. If you ever had a kid who walked into the office crying and left with a sticker and a smile, there’s a good chance Dr. Chen was the reason. The medical field lost a legend.

Now, let’s talk about Carlos "El Loco" Rodriguez, who went to his eternal rest at 65. Okay, fine, "El Loco" might’ve been a nickname, but it still sounds like he was the fun uncle at family gatherings—except instead of telling stories, he was probably telling you to "chill out, abuelo." Carlos was a musician who played in local bands, and if you’ve ever heard a song with a little extra flair, there’s a chance he was the guy adding that flair. The music scene is quieter without him.

Over in the arts world, we’ve got Susan Whitaker, who passed away at 75. She was a painter who made Albuquerque’s walls look like they were part of a dream. Her work was all about color and emotion—basically, she turned sadness into something pretty. If you’ve ever walked past a gallery and thought, "I wish I could feel that," thank Susan.

And then there’s Jack "The Fix-It Man" Dawson, who left us at 82. Jack was the kind of guy who’d show up at your door because your toilet was making weird noises, and then he’d fix it while you sipped your tea like, "Wow, I didn’t even know it was broken." He was a handyman, a neighbor, and probably the reason your house still stands. Albuquerque’s losing a real-life MacGyver.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: "But what about the fun stuff? The stories? The inside scoop?" Well, hold onto your mug because here’s a little tidbit—Margaret O’Connor used to host a book club that was so popular, people brought snacks. Like, actual snacks. Not just the sad crackers you find in the library snack machine. Full-on cookies and wine. She turned reading into a social event, and that’s something.

And speaking of social events, Carlos Rodriguez had a habit of showing up at local festivals unannounced, just to play his guitar and sing off-key. The crowd would cheer anyway because, let’s be real, nothing’s more New Mexican than a random street musician who’s way better than you think.

Oh, and Dr. Linda Chen? She had a secret talent—she could make even the most terrified kid laugh by pretending to be a giant, fluffy cloud. Yes, you read that right. She’d float around the room, all soft and airy, and suddenly, the kid who was crying over a scraped knee was giggling. Pediatricians don’t get enough credit for their superpowers.

Now, I know some of you are probably thinking, "But what about me? How do I honor these people?" Well, first off, don’t just scroll past. Drop a little note in the comments section of the obituary—something like, "Remember when you helped me with my car, Big Earl?" It means more than you think. And if you’re feeling really ambitious, bake something and bring it to the next family gathering. Trust me, it’s the universal language of love.

Also, if you ever find yourself in a conversation about "the good old days," just drop one of these names. "Oh, you should’ve known Margaret O’Connor—she could find any book in the library faster than you can find your phone." Instant credibility. Or, if you’re feeling extra, "Carlos Rodriguez used to play at the plaza—you should’ve seen him go." Suddenly, you’re the local legend.

And hey, if you’re feeling a little down after reading this, don’t worry. These people lived full lives, they made a difference, and now they’re just getting started on whatever’s next. Plus, think of it this way: if they could live their best lives, so can you. Maybe today’s the day you finally start that hobby you’ve been putting off or tell that one person how much they mean to you.

So, grab your coffee, take a deep breath, and remember: life’s too short for small talk. Or at least, it’s too short to not know the stories of the people who made it brighter. Cheers to the ones who went before us—and to the ones still here, making Albuquerque the weird, wonderful place it is.