Henry S. Kimmel

Henry Slabaugh Kimmel, 59 of Danville, Indiana, passed away peacefully, September 11, 2025, in his home surrounded by his loving family. 

The following is a loving tribute written by Henry's brother, Neil Slabaugh.

Let me start by saying that Henry is my brother. Period.
Henry is not related to me by blood in any way, whatsoever. Our brotherhood was forged in the flames of intimate proximity. Steeped in the swamps of teenage hormones (mostly his!). Tested by prototypical American male competition. And strengthened by a love and respect that were nurtured and grown throughout our lives.
I have fuzzy memories of Henry in my early childhood years. A few memories of Christmases in Kendallville and Lagrange, Indiana, up north. One memory that I do recall was early when we were adding onto the house to accommodate Henry and Elizabeth moving in with us. Henry had the misfortune of sharing my room. I was neither impressed with Henry nor happy with the situation. So, from my crib I threw a Weeble Wobble at his head, hitting my mark, then quickly feigning sleep. When Henry was finished looking for a culprit, I launched another of the egg shaped, weighted, hard plastic toys from my crib. Again, a hit, and a quick, fake sleep. I waited a bit, grabbed a little more ammo, then came out of the covers to hurl another missile when Henry popped up from his sleeping bag on the floor and caught me red-handed, with my arm up, ready to throw. He had some words for me, obviously. I have always marked that as the beginning of our brotherhood.
Henry and his sister Elizabeth were thrust into our lives by circumstances both tragic and unfortunate when I was 5 years old. He would have been 11. Henry would spend the next several years getting even for the Weeble Wobbles affair by hitting me in the eye with an F-14 fighter jet model and again, in the eye, with a baseball, and later, again, in the eye, with a leaf.
We treated each other like brothers would at that age. We became brothers by being brothers to one another. Good and bad. And I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I don’t think Henry would, either. Neither of us had a say in the matter, but we were both made better people because of it.
Henry let me hang around with him and his friends, even though I was quite a bit younger than they were. I am sure I was an annoying, little pest at times, but he tolerated me. He walked me to the movie theater at Castleton Square Mall to watch James Bond 007 in A View to A Kill. My first Bond movie. When he got his new BMX bike he let me have his old Mongoose with the cool, aluminum wheels. There are a thousand memories: throwing footballs and baseballs, doing the house chores, jumping in piles of leaves, riding on the back of his mini-bike around the neighborhood, Henry trying to destroy my Tonka dump truck by throwing it as high in the air as he could and allowing it to crash down onto the concrete patio. The Tonka withstood the punishing treatment. And we survived each other. We grew up together. But we were no less brothers than those joined by blood.
That is what brothers do. Torture each other. Push buttons. Embarrass one another. Cover for one another. Help one another. Care for one another. Love one another.
We grew apart, obviously, when Henry moved out of the house and started his adult life story. But he made an effort to come visit me and take me out and have dinner and a movie or a trip to an arcade every so often.
He grew into an empathetic and caring man, starting a family of his own and pouring his heart and love into his wife and children. Henry’s oldest daughter, Cassie, was my first niece, and Julie and I have grown close to both Cassie and Cadey. I officiated Cassie and Sam’s wedding as a proud uncle. There was little that meant more to Henry than family and if physically able, he was always at the family events. Henry had a passion for music; he was heavily involved in music all through school and in church, he sang at our wedding, Julie and I saw him play with his band at several gigs and he was always willing to play his newest musical creations for you. He loved all his pets and lovingly cared for and was proud of the plants in his yard around the house in Danville.
He was human, like the rest of us, and had his share of trials and tribulations, also like the rest of us. Maybe more trials than the rest of us, in some circumstances. He was by no means perfect, but perfectly human. He was a great man. He was a great son. He was a great father. He was a great husband. He was a great brother. He tried every day to be the best version of all those things that he could possibly be.
I’ll miss you, big brother. As will we all. I am grateful that your suffering is now over. Time for a well-deserved rest.

All are encouraged to keep the family in your thoughts and prayers during this difficult time, and to share thoughts, prayers, and memories with Henry's family on his memorial page found on the funeral home's website.

Arrangements are entrusted to the care of Eric M.D. Bell Funeral Home and Cremation Services of Hendricks County, Indiana.