I'd call him nights, weekends and holidays to diagnose problems with my cars.
One time I pulled into the lot on Tennessee Avenue with the Charleston Police behind me, lights on. The little sticker on my license was the wrong color. John got a kick out of that.
Years ago, a group of us used to play basketball at my church every week. John Rush was older and slower than the rest of us and hadn't played much basketball prior to that time.
But he was a regular and nobody enjoyed it more than he did.
When we were thinking we'd played our last game of the evening, John would look at us younger guys and say "one more." We couldn't say no.
He is gone but not forgotten.