Audrey and I have known Jim for over 20 years. When we lived in Toronto, Jim came up from the Games Workshop HQ to run our trade sales department while I was in mail order. AT that time, there weren't a lot of church-going family types at GW, so we made a point of having him over to our little apartment in Etobicoke for pizza or a home-cooked meal or popcorn and a movie.
Jim has a yet-unmatched capacity for telling stories and a wealth of nerdly lore that encompasses tabletop gaming, comic books, period movies, antique firearms, history, the art deco period, pulp novellas, book collecting, and many others. Now, many of my friends have similar and similarly varied interests, but Jim's characterful work experience in the games industry and his gentle Kentucky accent (where the h's precede the w's in words like "white" and "where") make him a delight to listen to. And I say that as someone who has been known to spin a yarn or two.
It's difficult to say whether we exoticized him or not, (as the sole American in an office full of Canadians and Brits, I delighted in tormenting him with the name "El Diablo Yanqui") but our simple homeliness made quite an impression on Jim. When Fenya was born, his grandmother sent up a beautiful christening blanket that we have to this day. But before Fenya turned one we had returned to Edmonton in search of a lower cost of living (and closer proximity to grandparents), and the following year Jim followed a girl out to Seattle before getting married to her and starting his own family.
We would touch base periodically, most commonly when he had a mutual friend in his home or car (Hi Aaron!) or after he'd read one of my blog posts that prompted a memory of something. When Dad passed, he was very quick to email me, and to post responses to blog posts written by a man with a broken heart so that not only I but others would know I had his support.
(And when his dad passed after a surprising and terrible encounter with cancer, I was flattered to be someone he wanted to talk to. Both of us believe in God, but not magic, and that can put people at odds in terms of discussing the end of life and how we face it, regardless of what might come next.
Three years after Dad passed, Jim called me from Minnesota to ask what I thought about Calgary as a place to live because his wife was being considered for a CEO position there.)
Audrey, Glory and I met Jim, Carol and their son Jack in Calgary for dinner while they were up looking at houses prior to the move. I' hadn't met Carol before, but for someone with such a capacity for focus and intensity, she was delightful and friendly. Jack was a wonder: smart, curious, and polite, with his dad's charm and humility in plain view.
Calgary is not next door, and both our families are intensely busy, so there weren't as many opportunities to get together as we might have liked, but we got down there a time or two, and they came up to visit us as well. Jim even managed to make an appearance at my 50th birthday, at which he made me look better by charming all my guests. Who am I to have such intriguing companions from such faraway places?
As a birthday gift, Jim hosted the girls and I at the Calgary Comic Expo the following year (and myself the year after, where he amiably chatted up Star Trek Discovery's Anson Mount before having our picture taken with him). His ability to make connections with people and put them at ease within seconds of meeting them amazed all of us. Walking into the Cluck N Cleaver to pick up dinner, he shouts "Hello, chicken people!" and they are delighted to hear his voice.
But Carol's success in her CEO role has led to her being sought after and headhunted by a larger company in Illinois for a senior VP position, which is not only an extraordinary career opportunity but brings them close to both their families.
And so it was that we went to Calgary for a final visit with Jim, Carol and Jack having already relocated to Bloomington in time to start her new job and Jack's school year. In many ways, the simple interactions of the visit tell the tale of the man.
We picked up dinner (Cluck n Cleaver again) and shared a meal together.
He shared his dog, Sidney, for cuddles with both girls (which was especially appreciated by Glory, stricken as she was with a nasty cold).
He got Glory to model the Calgary Police buffalo jacket he got for a pittance by offering the cash he had left to a gentleman tired of carrying it.
We watched a delightful French comic book movie (The Extraordinary Adventures of Adele Blanc-Sec by Luc Besson, highly recommended!) and the next day, he took us out for breakfast at the Ladybug Cafe.
How do you know Jim, they asked us?
Oh, gosh, we said, we've known him for over 20 years, going back to our time in Toronto in the '90s.
We're going to miss him, they said, genuinely, and sadly, and without exception.
So will we, we replied.
And we will. Me most of all.
I know we won't fall out of touch, because we are both at a stage in our lives where we recognize the value of good friends (of which Jim is one among an astonishing number) as well as the importance of maintaining relationships, but knowing he is no longer a moderate drive away is a tough pill to swallow. It also underscores the fundamental mystery of friendship: what is it that we do that could possibly justify the inclusion of amazing people in our lives?
I can at least take comfort in the fact that this is a good, if difficult, move for Jim, Carol and Jack. And I am confident we will cross paths again before too long.
In the meantime, I will console myself by celebrating their good fortune and remembering good times, well spent.
Good luck and safe travels, Jim!
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