Erving Kozlowski, 88, of Kingston, Illinois, passed away Thursday, July 10, 2025, at OSF St Anthony Medical Center in Rockford, Illinois
He was born December 16, 1936, in New England, North Dakota, the son of Anton and Delma (Anderson) Kozlowski.
If you ever heard a rumble of an engine on a quiet street, chances are Erv Kozlowski was behind the wheel. Born with the soul of a speedster and the hands of a craftsman, Erv didn’t just live life; he built it, fixed it, and occasionally told it where to shove it if it didn’t cooperate.
From the start, Erv had a fire under his boots. Growing up in the city of DeKalb, he learned early how to move fast, think faster, and always have the right tool in his belt. Cars weren’t just a hobby, they were an extension of who he was. He had a lifelong love for classic muscle and knew the language of pistons and polish better than most folks knew the alphabet. If you needed to know what a ’71 Chevelle should sound like, Erv could tell you without even turning his head.
Professionally, Erv was a carpenter by trade and a builder by blood. He could eyeball a two-by-four and tell you where it came from and how it wanted to be shaped. He owned his own home-building business back when you had to earn trust with a handshake and your word. Later, he took his skill to the union, and when the time called, he became a machinist; never stepping too far from sawdust or steel shavings. There wasn’t much Erv couldn’t build, fix, or figure out.
Of all the things Erv built in his life, and there were many, the home he created with his wife Jerri stands out as one of the most enduring. Two city kids with more grit than money, they carved out a place in the country where their family could take root. Erv brought the tools, the muscle, and the craftsmanship. Jerri brought the vision, the ideas, and the endless push to make it better. If there was a new project, a remodel, or another room to dream up, she was the spark, and he was the steady hand that made it happen.
The house wasn’t just walls and a roof. It was a workshop, a stadium, a stage, a gathering place. It was always filled with the sounds of kids running, hammers pounding, grass being mowed, and on occasion, the sharp exchange of two people figuring out how to keep building something even when life got hard. Their marriage wasn’t without challenges (then again who's isn't), but the home they created together was always for us, their family. A place to grow, to learn, to fight, to come back to.
He was the father of six: Barry, Kurt, Amy, Adam, Alex, and Arin. Six kids, three generations, and no two quite the same. From road trips to life lessons in the garage, he raised his kids the only way he knew how: through hard work, high standards, and the occasional growl if you weren’t holding the flashlight right.
His children remember family road trips. Pilgrimages to Disneyland and Disney World with a life-sized Winnie the Pooh strapped to the roof and detours to Mount Rushmore, Don Garlits Museum of Drag Racing, the Corn Palace, the National Corvette Museum, and pitstops for a Pepsi and Pecan log. Because if you were going to cross the country, you might as well see something interesting along the way with a cold soda and sweet snack. 
His sons learned cars and carpentry under their dad’s watchful eye; hands stained with grease and sawdust, learning how to change oil, swing a hammer, and mow a lawn so clean it looked like a golf course.
The shop, Dad’s Shop, was sacred ground. A place where lessons were handed down in the sound of a drill or the pop of a soda can. Later came the grandkids, who’d sit cross-legged on the concrete floor, cheese balls in one hand and a Big 

Red in the other, watching Grandpa work like they were at a live show. If you were lucky, you’d score a ride on the mower, bouncing across the grass while Grandpa steered with one hand and fixed something in his head with the other.
He showed up. Sometimes late from work, sometimes with dirt still on his jeans, but he was there at games, at practices, on the sidelines yelling at refs who dared to miss a call. He wasn’t subtle, but he was loyal.
He was the guy everyone asked for advice on engines that wouldn’t turn over, on drywall that wouldn’t stay put, on houses that leaned a little too far left. If he didn’t know how to fix it, it probably couldn’t be fixed.
And while his words could sting, sharp as a chisel edge, he taught through doing. He built shelves, fixed brakes, poured foundations, and left a trail of lessons behind him, even if he didn’t always say “I love you” out loud. You knew it by what he did, not what he said.
Erv is survived by his wife, Jerri, who shared in the dream of building a life and a home together; one board, one room, one project at a time. Together, they raised a family, planted deep roots, and created a place where memories were made and stories took shape.
He is also survived by his six children Barry, Kurt, Amy, Adam, Alex, and Arin. Each carrying pieces of him in their hands, their stubborn streaks, and the work they do. His grandchildren, too, now carry the lessons they absorbed in quiet moments by his side: how to work with your hands, how to pay attention to the details, how to stand firm, and how to keep moving forward even when something doesn’t go right the first time.
His family may still crave Big Red soda or smile at the smell of fresh-cut grass, but more importantly, they’ve inherited the grit, pride, and practicality that Erv passed down without ever calling it a lesson. What he gave them wasn’t just knowledge, it was a way of moving through the world.
Erv leaves behind more than memories. He leaves behind a family shaped by hard work, a house that still stands strong, and a name that might not have been famous, but in the worlds of home garages and backyards and sideline bleachers, it meant something. He wasn’t always easy to love, and he didn’t always make it easy. But he showed up, he built, he fixed, and he stayed. And in that way, Erv Anton Kozlowski left his mark the only way he knew how: one project, one calloused hand, one perfectly aligned two-by-four at a time.

A Celebration of Life will be held at a later date and announced.

In lieu of flowers, memorials can be made to the Kozlowski Family in care of Anderson Funeral Home, P.O. Box 605, 2011 South Fourth Street, DeKalb, IL 60115.