Elkhart lost one of its finest raconteurs, fish wranglers, and all-around good guys on Saturday, February 8, 2025, when Todd Arthur Genth, 61, peacefully cast off from this life in the comfort of his own home. After a years-long battle with various health issues, Todd, ever the fisherman, reeled in one last deep breath, muttered something about "the big one that got away," and set sail for his next great adventure.

Born on February 11, 1963, in Elkhart to Bobby Royce and Marilyn J. (Mishler) Genth, Todd spent his life accumulating stories, laughter, and an impressive collection of fishing gear—some of which may or may not have actually been used. He is now reunited with his parents and his brother, Ricky K. Genth, an Elkhart City Firefighter who made the ultimate sacrifice in 1981 while heroically attempting to save another life. No doubt, the two are already arguing about who gets the best fishing spot in the hereafter, and Todd's long lost sidekick, Hogan the German shepherd, is happily jumping up on Todd's broad shoulders and licking the expression right off of his face!

Todd leaves behind a lively and loving crew who will keep his tales alive, including his life partner of nearly a decade, Cathy A. Bennett, who remains at home, likely shaking her head at yet another one of Todd's antics. He also leaves his daughter Jennifer (Scott) Maike of Walkerton, brothers Kevin P. (Janelle) Genth of Westerville, Ohio, and Matt Humphrey of Florida. His grandkids—Katamina Genth, Ricky, Joshua, and Evan Chapman, and McKenzie and Rylee Maike—will forever be regaled with legendary (and possibly exaggerated) fish stories. His favorite nieces, MacKenzie Williams and Meredith Keyser, will continue to roll their eyes at his classic "back in my day" quips.

And then, of course, there's the extended family: the in-laws, the outlaws, the fellow fishing liars, the honorary cousins, and the downright nefarious acquaintances that made up Todd's beloved "posse." If you ever shared a boat, a beer, or a bait bucket with Todd, congratulations—you were part of his inner circle, and there's a good chance he's told at least one tall tale about you.

Todd spent over 25 years as an engineer for Lippert Components of Elkhart, though he would have much preferred to have been professionally employed as a tropical fishing guide, beachside philosopher, or maybe even the guy who gets paid to test hammocks. Work was just the thing that funded the real passions of his life—warmth, water, and as much fishing as humanly possible. He meticulously arranged his schedule to allow for maximum time on the water, proving that where there's a will (and a fishing pole), there's a way.

If you ever met Todd, you likely walked away with a story to tell. His deep, raspy voice was as signature as his larger-than-life laugh, and if you were lucky, you got to hear him belt out "Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog" in a way that could only be described as unforgettable. He had a knack for making people feel like old friends within minutes of meeting them, and if you were in his presence, you were guaranteed to be laughing—whether at him, with him, or because of something he cooked up just to see your reaction.

One of Todd's favorite phrases was, "Do what you wanna do!" It was more than just a casual saying—it was his way of encouraging everyone around him to chase their own dreams, live with a little mischief, and never take life too seriously. He was, after all, a man who joked about being an only child just to get under his brothers' skin.

Todd's faith was as steady as his fishing hand, and he had an undeniable love for all animals, great and small. A loyal San Francisco 49ers fan and a devout son of "Our Lady of the Golden Domers," he cheered on Notre Dame football with the same passion he applied to landing a trophy bass.

Per Todd's wishes, Billings Funeral Home and Cremation Services of Elkhart is assisting with a simple cremation. But don't be surprised if there's a gathering in his honor soon—one filled with laughter, stories, and maybe even a few fishing poles propped up in his memory. If you want to honor Todd, find a warm patch of sunshine, cast a line, and tell a good story—bonus points if it gets just a little bigger each time you tell it.

Rest easy, Todd. May your waters always be calm, your bait always be fresh, and your fish tales always be just believable enough to make us smile.