My Son Jimbo
For those who never knew him …

Little guy (cont’d)

[Written by Jimbo's mother in her book "My Son Jimbo"]

When you gotta go….

Not wishing to stop every hour or so on our trips [with numerous kids], we always carried a tennis ball can with us. It was just the right size (or usually was, although there were times…..), had a cover so it could be empited later if the urge struck in the middle of heavy traffic, and was always available to this tennis playing family. Now how does a small boy tell the tennis ball can in the car from the one at the Columbus City Tournament where we’d gone to watch Holly play? You guessed it….

*     *     *

About that same time on a trip he had to “tinkle” so somebody held the can for him while he lowered the elastic top of his shorts. When we had to stop suddenly, I turned to see if everything in back was okay–just as Jimbo lurched, let go his hold on his shorts, which promptly snapped up deflecting his aim … right into my face!

*     *     *

It was two years later, at the Ohio State fair, that Jimbo went into the ladies room with me for the last time. It was at that moment that it suddenly dawned on him that there were no men there. Like all little boys, when you gotta go, you gotta go, so he dashed into a stall, and there he stayed. Every few minutes he opened the door a crack, but seeing ladies in the room he closed it quickly. As they left, new ones entered, and it looked like we’d be spending the day in the ladies room until I explained the situation to some incoming ladies, who waited outside for a minute. When the coast was clear, Jimbo burst forth and bee-lined for the door in mortification.

Little guy

[Written by Jimbo's mother in her book]

When you gotta go…

[Cousin] Sari’s baby Sally Sampson was born when Jimbo was just four. We were all invited to her Christening, and the service was a little long for Jimbo’s bladder. Finally we emerged into the churchyard, where a little reception was planned.

As I was greeting Sari and the other relatives, I chanced to hear a lengthy and noisy splashing sound. Jimbo, who decided he wasn’t about to wait any longer, had modestly stepped behind a tree–with a diameter of about 4 inches.

I pretended I didn’t know whose kid he was.

Birthday

[Written by Jimbo's sister Sherry]

Today Jimbo would have been 48 years old.

Hard to believe. Would he have been overweight? Losing his hair like his famous great-grandfather?What would his chosen career have been?  Surely he would no longer be called “Jimbo.” Where would he be living? What about a wife? Children, perhaps even grandchildren? We’ll never know.

In our minds and hearts he will always be that tall, lanky teenager, whom people so loved that they broke attendance records at his memorial service.

Others remember Jimbo

[Written by those who knew Jimbo, right after his death]

“… When you all came here from Washington for Sherry’s graduation, there weren’t enough tickets to take care of everybody, so it was decided that Jimbo, then four, should stay at our house with me.

“He was a very bright youngster, and definitely had a mind of his own. When you all left it was pretty clear that Jimbo wasn’t at all sure that he approved of the arrangement, but he tried to make the best of it. As the evening progressed he slowly began to accept me as his friend, until finally he fell asleep squarely on my feet as I sat in my big chair. 

“The way in which his suspicions turned to trust was a heart-warming experience which remains vivid for me after fourteen years. Though we have followed his growth from a distance far greater than the length of my legs, I shall remember Jimbo as a beautiful child, asleep on my feet….” 

–Ned Laylin

Babe (continued)

[Written by Jimbo's sister Sherry]

Doll

Jimbo’s four oldest siblings were quite a few years older when Jimbo was born. Rick, his only brother, was 18; Sally was 16; Sherry was 14; and Holly was 12 (the fifth child, Marion, was 6, the “baby” for six years until Jimbo appeared). 

The girls, Sally, Sherry, and Holly, had never been much for playing with dolls — we were a very active group, and much more prone to outdoor activities and sports. When we were inside, we had each other, which led to games, challenges, and (of course) teasing matches.

When Jimbo arrived, we found ourselves with a new, extrememly “fun” toy — he immediately became our “live” doll. We dressed him up in costumes, applied make-up (lipstick, clown nose, a mustache — we were nothing if not creative), carted him around in a wagon, showed him off to our friends. The fairy princess and the cigar-chomping reporter were immediate hits.

And he seemed to enjoy the attention as much as we enjoyed doling it out. He was a happy little fellow.

Babe (continued)

[Written by Jimbo's mother in her book My Son Jimbo]

Mr. Charm

He was a joyful preschooler, my little Renaissance man, his active curiosity only exceeded by his total charm.

I can still see him sitting in a circle of [sister] Sally’s Pi Phi friends on their pledge runaway weekend, regaling them with his cute baby/grown-up conversation. [Sally adds: I just remember that he was having as much fun as all the girls -- mutual admiration and entertainment.]

Milkaholic

One day in desperation I put Jimbo in his playpen and by way of bribery handed him a bottle, in those days made of glass. In a fit of pique he threw it over the side onto the flagstone floor … and for the first time found something about his playpen that really delighted him. From then on he preferred smashing to drinking. So it was that Jimbo was weaned from a bottle to a cup.

Dick appropriated the two remaining unsmashed bottles to store in his liquor cabinet to use in measuring drinks.

One day two years later Jimbo was drinking a glass of milk when he spotted one of the bottles sitting next to the sink. He poured his milk into it, then gleefully announced, “Look at me, Dad, I’m drinking my milk out of a whisky bottle!”

Babe (continued)

[Written by Jimbo's sister Sherry]

Announcements

Even before Jimbo was born, he was making his mark. I remember how Mom let us five kids know that we would be getting another family member. She created a combination cryptogram-treasure hunt. Each clue was in the form of a cryptogram that we had to solve before we could read it. Then, having read it, we had to solve the puzzle of where the next clue was hidden. 

The final message, once translated was a poem that focused, one couplet at a time, on each of our birthdays, which came (respectively) in May, July, February, March, and June. I don’t remember any of the first five couplets, but I remember the punch line of the last one: “But wait’ll you see the crazy April showers next year!” 

Even more unusual was how Mom let friends in the community know. Every Halloween, the country club we belonged to (Manor Country Club) held a big costume party for all members. Mom and Dad, sometimes with a group of friends, routinely won, with her creative ideas and outlandish execution. 

In October 1960, six months before Jimbo’s due date, Mom made a 4×4-foot “brick wall” out of cardboard, painted with bricks, just thick enough for her to stand inside of and hold up by two handles attached to the inside. Dad of course went as the “brick-layer.”

And that’s how she announced her pregnancy to the world.

Babe

[Written by Jimbo's mother in her book "My Son Jimbo"]

Surprise

We always told Lem Showell that it was his fault I got pregnant. They had invited us to a party for Robert Weaver, Secretary of Housing. Weaver got held up and arrived two hours late. In the meantime, we all kept drinking martinis. I can barely remember Weaver, let alone getting home.

When a few weeks later it became apparent that number 6 was on the way in spite of our always taking every precaution … well, it turned out that “always” didn’t include after Lem’s party.

On the delivery table, as I watched the breech proceedings in an overhead mirror, the doctor said as he pointed out an emerging shape, “Hey, know what that is? … It’s his balls!” That’s how I found out I had a second son.

He weighed all of 4 lbs, 8 oz. and wanted to be fed every two hours. He would only sleep if he were wrapped up tight in a blanket. He wasn’t ready to be in the world yet.

Why?

[Poem written by Jimbo's mother in her book "My Son Jimbo"]

What divine hand chose two out of countless
cells to join and create a spark of life?
A single cell bearing the total blueprint
of a unique individual.
And after countless divisions and divisions
a perfect baby, unlike any ever born
before.
And then a child, a boy, a man.
Surely even God must weep to see his
magnificent creation gone at the dawn of his
adulthood.
What can the anguished survivors do
but cry out, “Why?”

August 10, 1979

[Written by Jimbo's mother in her book "My Son Jimbo"]

On August 10 Jimbo got up, had breakfast, ran, joked, played tennis, talked on the telephone, promised to sell his car and clean his room, and waved as I drove off to [volunteer work at] the National Revenue Tennis Classic tournament. At 2 p.m., he sat in a crotch of a sycamore tree 75 feet above the ground, talking with his friend Rick Hergesell of the future, but also expressing the bittersweet nostalgia for the boyhood that was ending. And then in a moment it was over and he was no more. A life of youthful vitality and health, seemingly invulnerable, in one instant obliterated.

From the Columbus Citizen-Journal:

Youth Killed After Shock, 75-Foot Fall

An 18-year-old Upper Arlington youth was killed Friday afternoon when he stepped on a power line as he was climbing in a tree and fell 75 feet to a blacktop surface, Upper Arlington police said.

James Sherman, son of Virginia and Richard U. Sherman, was pronounced dead at Riverside Hospital about 3:30 p.m. A June graduate of Upper Arlington High School, he was to attend Miami University in the fall. He was on his high school varsity [hockey] and tennis teams, a neighbor said.

Sherman’s next-door neighbor, Rick Hergesell, who was also in the tree when the accident occurred, was jarred loose by the shock, said his father. … The youths were climbing down when Sherman stepped on the power line.

Hergesell said his son and Sherman sometimes camped overnight by a pond near the tree and frequently climbed it. “They’re just adventurous kids who wanted to do something,” Hergesell said.

Hergesell said his son told him that Sherman fell limp after he touched the wire and made no attempt to break his fall as he fell through the branches to the pavement. Sherman landed on his back.

Sherman had been working at the National Revenue Tennis Classic [the week of his death]. He was the youngest of six children.