Uncle Jim

Everyone should have an uncle like Jimmie.  Today marks the one year anniversary of his passing and he’s surely missed by many.

My earliest memory of Uncle Jim is when I was 5 or 6 years old.  In those days, summer meant kids were outside, barefoot, and free to figure out what mischief they could get into.  We were quick to learn that you could fling a green apple a good distance if you push it just far enough onto the end of a sharp stick and whip it.  Or that if you poke that stick into a yellow jacket nest in the ground, you’re likely to get stung.  Things like that…

On this particular day, Uncle Jim arrived to pick something up from our garage.  His activity there interrupted our exploration of the natural world long enough to check out what he was doing.  It was a quick visit just to pull something out of the garage, load it into the bed of the pickup, say goodbye and hit the road.  I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but as he closed the door, I stepped up onto the running board on his side of the truck (perhaps to see what was in the truck bed).  Unable to see me in the side or rear view mirrors, he had no way to know I was there.  He started the truck and pulled out of the yard, onto the street, and down the road we went.  Fortunately, we didn’t go far as he heard my knocks on the back window of the cab and stopped before we got on the main highway.  I still remember the shocked look on his face when he saw me but I don’t remember any scolding.  I always thought that maybe Uncle Jim was understanding of my mischief because he had a little streak of mischief in him too.  I suspect that those of you who read this and knew him could share a tale or two to support that statement.

I recall a cold Sunday night (the night before the opening day of PA buck season) working under Uncle Jim’s truck.  In those days, you spent a fair amount of time working to keep a vehicle running properly but, in this case, the truck wasn’t broken down, it was stuck.  Turns out my cousin Randy and Uncle Jim had gone somewhere together in Jimmy’s truck and got into a discussion about the performance of four-wheel drive vehicles.  As they neared home, they set about seeing just how well his Chevy could do on a steep, snowy trail.  The path was a narrow old mine road that hadn’t been used in many years and was now covered in a foot of snow.  With no snow, they may have fared better but in a deep snow, not so well.  Fortunately, it was a fairly short walk to the house.  Not wanting to miss a little mischief myself, I trailed along and helped ratchet the come-along that we brought to pull the truck back onto the trail from it’s precipitous perch over the bank.  There was no damage, not even damaged pride, just laughter.  Jimmy’s laugh was contagious.

His laugh was at it’s best when he managed to “snooker” me on a bet.  And it happened often, along these lines:

JIm:  Where you going?

Me:  I need to get a bottle jack to put in the back of that truck.  Those screw jacks don’t  work well.

Jim:  It probably has a bottle jack in it already.  (His use of the word “probably” suggested that he was speculating.)

Me:  I don’t think so.

Jim:  I’ll bet you it does!

Now I’m thinking that I know the truck came with a screw jack because I had used it before and complained to Dad about how it worked.  I took the bet (usually for a Pepsi or a candy bar).  What I didn’t know is that after I complained about it, my Dad (as good a Dad as there is on the planet) went to Jimmie and asked if he had a spare bottle jack, could he put one in the bed of that truck for his nephew.  As I went to the door to show him the screw jack behind the seat, he pointed into the bed and (as was always the case) offered a reminder that “You still owe me one from last time Nephew!” and let loose that hearty laugh.  Snookered again.

We were fortunate to have several fine uncles on both sides of our family that mentored us in many ways.  Perhaps though because Uncle Jim was only 13 years older than me, he was as much a friend as a father figure.  A kinder, more personable friend you won’t find.  Rest in peace Uncle.

JC