My Son Jimbo
For those who never knew him …

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.

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 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.

A note from Jimbo’s sister about this blog…

In 1979 my “baby” brother Jimbo was killed. He was just 18 years old, soon to go off to college and then to join his five siblings in the “adult” world. He wasn’t sure, did he want to be an architect or a star hockey player? What would college be like? How badly would he miss the dogs he was saying goodbye to? 

No one knows truly what thoughts he was thinking on August 10, 1979. He didn’t get the chance to share them. There is so much he didn’t get the chance to do and we didn’t get the chance to notice.

We were all devastated, my parents undoubtedly most of all. For myself, “just” a sister, I remember so much about my reaction. I went back to Denver and back to work, as a young associate in a law firm. At first, I was completely disoriented. I remember struggling to finish thoughts, as I would lose track of the beginning of a sentence before I reached the end. Not good for a lawyer!

But I also was angry, so angry, at everyone and everything. I remember thinking that what I was working on or what other lawyers were concerned about was just so trivial, it did not bear a moment’s attention. When a female partner for whom I was doing work said to me 3 weeks after his death, “But you’re all over that now, aren’t you?” I could only look at her in disbelief. 

It’s hard to really “get” it if you haven’t been there. You can read about grief, but what does it mean to lose someone you know so well, someone whom you expect to be part of your life forever? How can you tell people what someone was really like after he’s gone?

It’s said, “No parent should lose a child,” and any parent who has knows what that means. My parents know. And several years after his death my mother produced a spiral-bound book, titled “My Son Jimbo,” for those who never had a chance to know him. She thought to write it for all of Jimbo’s nieces and nephews who were very young or yet unborn when he died. But I have given her book to countless friends, and every one is touched by it.

So I’ve decided to let more of the world know, through this blog. I plan simply to go through the book, copying excerpts here. Perhaps I’ll add a story or two of my own, or add what my brothers and sisters might want to say. It’s just a tribute and an offering. I hope you get to know him as we have.

Jimbo’s sister, Sherry