Stephen Charles Patterson

Stephen Charles Patterson passed away on July 18, 2026.

My dad was a storyteller. He loved to have a group fixed on him as he rolled out a story of bravery, of fulfilling a destiny, or of a hilarious mishap. Embellishing the good parts and glossing over the boring details was standard practice when spinning one of his tall tales, so it’s only fitting to write his story in the same fashion.

Stephen was a true Montana native, born and raised in the same place he died – Great Falls, MT. (Compulsive fact checkers, this is the point where I’m going to tell you what Steve would say, and that’s to “Lighten up, Francis!”) If he claimed that he was born in Great Falls instead of Seattle, that’s the story he wanted out there, so that’s the story I’m telling.

Born July 27, 1959, to Bob and Rita Patterson, it was clear early on that he was both a troublemaker and a mama’s boy. My grandma often told a story about their poor neighbor coming out her front door, decked out for a big event, topped off with a bouffant that had taken her hours to style, when Steve peaked over their fence with a hose in his hands and doused her. Grandma Rita always told this story with a twinkle in her eye; she definitely had a soft spot in her heart for him, and he for her. For Grandpa Bob, Steve’s shenanigans might have been a little more exasperating. One of my dad’s favorite stories was about a time that Grandpa took him along to get his little brother Pat out of some teenage trouble with the Neihart police. I think Steve loved that story because, for once, he wasn’t the one in the hot seat.

My dad was the second of six kids, but it seemed he didn’t get the memo that the oldest should be in charge. He was always the one who led his siblings and neighborhood kids astray with plans for no good. Once he concocted a scheme to dig their entire backyard into tunnels. Another time, he oversaw the digging of a hole and the burying of a boy to his neck in it. Another time, he saw a shortage of inner tubes for floaters on the Little Belt Creek as a business opportunity. He had his friends and siblings collect tubes from people coming off the creek and then sold them to the next crew ready to embark on the trek.

When he was in high school, he and Greg Campanella decided that they needed to earn some serious money, so they took jobs at Taco John’s, but they quit when they were told to clean up vomit in the bathroom. Steve decided that he could make more money by throwing parties and letting girls in for free. Everyone came because they knew that the excitement always happened where Steve was. He took that entrepreneurial spirit to college at MSU, fully aware at that point that he needed to be his own boss.

While still in college, he started his own business, Patterson Company, selling mechanical engineering equipment. It took him seven years to graduate, he’d say with pride, explaining that he had to work a lot more during school than all the rich boys did - plus, he was having a lot of fun. Given his stories about riding the model horse atop the Country West store and stealing a room key at Huntley Lodge by distracting the receptionist, I’d say the reasoning is heavy to the fun side.

Steve had known Kari Torstveit since high school when they ran with the same circle of friends. According to Steve, he had a friend tell him that he planned to ask Kari out and Steve said, “That’s fine, but just know I’m going to marry her someday.” Several years later, he had a ring made to match a sketch he had drawn on her finger, and they were engaged.

Steve worked tirelessly at Patco, taking on big projects and representing many of the industry’s most respected manufacturers. He won many awards for sales and was often called upon to troubleshoot problems on jobs. There were certainly struggles, but his intelligence and charisma helped the company flourish. Always wanting to keep family close, he joined forces with his father, Mike and Mollie, and others to build the company. The relationships my dad made with people in the business - contractors, architects, and engineers - were some of the closest in his life.

In 1987, Steve and Kari moved to Fairfield. The first night in their new home was the night they brought their first child, Hannah, home from the hospital. In 1989, came Chas and in 1992 came Matt. We were a close family, and that proved invaluable when Chas was diagnosed with leukemia.

Growing up with Steve as my dad was one great adventure. My friends always joked that he could stretch time because no one else could fit as much into a day as he could. It would not be uncommon for him to lay out a plan for the day that entailed fixing a fence in the morning, a horseback ride that led to fishing in the afternoon, dinner at the Buckhorn, finalized with turning out a bid for work in the middle of the night.

Steve’s work entailed a lot of travel; there wasn’t a town in Montana, or a backroad to it, that he didn’t know, and he brought his family along for a lot of it. One quarter in school, Chas somehow had perfect attendance, and Chas was pretty proud of it. My dad, however, thought he had failed as a parent because he was clearly not taking the time to show us enough of the world. We missed plenty of school after that, including a month spent in Hawaii. “Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou” was Steve’s endless playlist for that trip.

Steve loved music, but he wasn’t one who appreciated a variety of genres and bands. Instead, he fell deeply in love with a song and didn’t let it go. One time, he convinced Matt and me that, since he had work to do in Targhee, WY, we should ride along with him and ski for the day. We left at 3 a.m., and I fell asleep to “Turn the Page” by Bob Seger on repeat. When I woke up in Targhee over 5 hours later, he was still listening to it. “Long-Haired Country Boy” was another one of Steve’s favorites, and he would tell the string of riders behind him that we had to sing it to keep the bears away, so we’d follow his lead through the few lines that he knew.

Steve had a tendency to have mishaps in the wilderness. When he’d rant and rave about things going wrong, we’d remind him that this was another good story to tell, he would reply that near-death experiences weren’t adventures until after they were done. Many of our troubles would lead to the necessity of riding out in the dark. Sometimes I wondered if he caused these mishaps intentionally because it was worth it to make a good story. When he started calling himself the Moonlight Outfitter, my suspicions were strengthened. Regardless, they always made good stories and he was always John Wayne in them. In fact, the last time I spoke with my dad, when he knew he only had days left, he ended up telling me one last story, one that I had never heard before, about Rowdy (his trusty black horse) spotting a bear when they were riding out alone together and, instead of spooking like most horses would, he said that “Rowdy reared up and charged at that bear! I’d never heard of a horse doing that!” And that’s how I’d like everyone to remember my dad: as an incredible story worth telling.

He was preceded in death by his parents, Bob and Rita Patterson and his sister, Lynn Donnelly.

He is survived by his children, Hannah (Ryan) Haffemann, Chas (Dusti) Patterson, and Matthew (Tessa) Patterson; grandchildren, Leo, Ada, and Finn Haffemann, Wyatt, Tate, and Dayne Patterson, and Lenci and Bo Patterson; siblings, Suzanne (Brad) Bauman, Michael (Brenda) Patterson, Mollie (Wes) Secord, and Patrick (Shannon) Patterson; brother-in-law, Peter Donnelly; and many beloved nieces and nephews; and great-nieces and great-nephews.

A rosary will be held at 10:30 a.m. on Friday, July 24, 2026, immediately followed by a funeral liturgy at 11:00 a.m., both at Holy Spirit Catholic Church.

In Steve’s memory, please send memorial donations to the Fairfield Food Pantry.