It is with fondness that I recall (and have often reflected upon over the years), the last time we encountered one another. It was on the steps inside the union at Western, one of us ascending and the other descending. A chance encounter, but one that has remained vividly with me ever since.
We were both relatively fresh from the military. You from the Army, and me from the Air Force. Our military experiences were remarkably dis-similar, yours in Viet Nam carrying an M-16 and mine in Illinois carrying a clarinet. You had suffered a grievous injury to your foot, yet your sense of humor was fully in tact. To set me at ease, you good naturedly told me that, with your cane and the "boot" on your foot, your only problem was that of frequently finding yourself walking in circles. I treasure the memory, and its recollection always brings a smile to my face. Your hallmarks were always that warm, friendly disposition and self-efacing humor.
When we were in high school, I must say, Jim, that your driving terrified me. Only your cheerful bonhomie caused me to set aside my fears long enough to get in the car, when you were at the wheel. The image comes readily to mind of you driving that 1958 Chevrolet station wagon. Your hands seemed to roam around the steering wheel aimlessly in that casual way unique to you, whilst chatting away animatedly with your passengers. Looking in the rear view mirror to make eye contact with someone in the back seat was never sufficient for you. No, you would've considered that far too impolite. Only direct eye contact would suffice for you. So there you are, cheerfully hurtling down the highway at break-neck speeds, your hands roaming aimlessly about the steering wheel giving only scant attention to the traffic, carrying on the most lively of conversations with your terrified passengers. It only surprises me that I never left permanent indentations of my fingers gripping the passenger-side dashboard. (Oh, well. Perhaps I exagerate, but you will forgive me for doing so.)
It did not surprise me in the least to learn that you earned your PhD, and that you were well beloved by those whose lives you enriched and on whom you made a very positive impact. I miss you, Jim, and am saddened that I won't see you at the reunion. You will never be forgotten.
I don't remember Jim very much, but I am impressed by your remards, Marty, about your dear friend. If only some of us could go back and see classmates for who they really are. You where both blessed to have known each other. RIP Jim and God Bless you, Marty.
Marty, Your testimony in memory of Jim made me cry. He was so fortunate to have you as a dear friend. It sounds as though you both had a lot of great times together. I remember Jim and his talent for singing. He had a wonderful voice. I often wondered what it would be like to do a duet with him in one of the Follies. I was so saddened to see that he had passed away. Jim had so much to offer. May He Rest in Peace.
Martin R. Anderson
Dear Jim:
It is with fondness that I recall (and have often reflected upon over the years), the last time we encountered one another. It was on the steps inside the union at Western, one of us ascending and the other descending. A chance encounter, but one that has remained vividly with me ever since.
We were both relatively fresh from the military. You from the Army, and me from the Air Force. Our military experiences were remarkably dis-similar, yours in Viet Nam carrying an M-16 and mine in Illinois carrying a clarinet. You had suffered a grievous injury to your foot, yet your sense of humor was fully in tact. To set me at ease, you good naturedly told me that, with your cane and the "boot" on your foot, your only problem was that of frequently finding yourself walking in circles. I treasure the memory, and its recollection always brings a smile to my face. Your hallmarks were always that warm, friendly disposition and self-efacing humor.
When we were in high school, I must say, Jim, that your driving terrified me. Only your cheerful bonhomie caused me to set aside my fears long enough to get in the car, when you were at the wheel. The image comes readily to mind of you driving that 1958 Chevrolet station wagon. Your hands seemed to roam around the steering wheel aimlessly in that casual way unique to you, whilst chatting away animatedly with your passengers. Looking in the rear view mirror to make eye contact with someone in the back seat was never sufficient for you. No, you would've considered that far too impolite. Only direct eye contact would suffice for you. So there you are, cheerfully hurtling down the highway at break-neck speeds, your hands roaming aimlessly about the steering wheel giving only scant attention to the traffic, carrying on the most lively of conversations with your terrified passengers. It only surprises me that I never left permanent indentations of my fingers gripping the passenger-side dashboard. (Oh, well. Perhaps I exagerate, but you will forgive me for doing so.)
It did not surprise me in the least to learn that you earned your PhD, and that you were well beloved by those whose lives you enriched and on whom you made a very positive impact. I miss you, Jim, and am saddened that I won't see you at the reunion. You will never be forgotten.
Your friend, Marty
Barbara Grimm (Brown)
I don't remember Jim very much, but I am impressed by your remards, Marty, about your dear friend. If only some of us could go back and see classmates for who they really are. You where both blessed to have known each other. RIP Jim and God Bless you, Marty.
Sandy Valentine (Fleming)
Marty, Your testimony in memory of Jim made me cry. He was so fortunate to have you as a dear friend. It sounds as though you both had a lot of great times together. I remember Jim and his talent for singing. He had a wonderful voice. I often wondered what it would be like to do a duet with him in one of the Follies. I was so saddened to see that he had passed away. Jim had so much to offer. May He Rest in Peace.