"God may be subtle, but he doesn't play dice." (Einstein)
Jim Wheeler, my lifelong best friend, died ten years ago today, January 26 2003. It was Superbowl Sunday.
January 26 2013. Ten years later, I'm on a plane heading back to Milwaukee to attend funeral services for his father, Jim Jr., who died this week at age 90.
A great man, his father. He built a tree fort for us kids to play in and years later we 'graduated' to playing at his lake house -- just like it was one, long song. "Memories will be so thick, they'll have to brush them away from their faces."
Ten years. A number of us were invited to say a few words at Jim's wake. I wrote the tribute below and was honored to deliver it that evening. And I'll remember that occasion this Sunday evening as we say farewell to his father in the very same room. What I read aloud that night hasn't been shared before today. I considered publishing it several weeks ago. There's nothing wrong in remembering your old pal! Ten years gone and we're still telling stories about Wheels. Then Big Jim passed and it seemed like the right thing to do. Now, if you don't know all the intertwined back-stories you might think this is grandstanding. It's not.
I hope that in remembering the son, I also remember the father.
Any day, 1962
A Tribute for Jim Wheeler
January 30, 2003
"Jim, it’s
taken me almost 35 years to admit this, but you remember that day when we scrimmaged with the seniors? It was me who missed that block
which, unfortunately, resulted in you getting your arm broken. Oops! Sorry about that, Wheels!
We’re all here tonight asking, “Why Jim?” I don’t know.
You
see, growing up there was always this whistle. Michael knows it. Remember? It’d
cut through the air on Shoreland Ave. – hoo hoo hoo! – It was Big Jim standing
in your front yard, calling you home. That whistle was the dividing line
between play and home. Jim, I
think that St. Peter must’ve been watching all those years ago and decided to
use it himself. Nothing could ever get Jimmy home – nothing was as powerful as
your whistle.
Jim
brought out the little kid in all of us. It was the mischief without malice.
The delight in “getting away with it”. It was the joy of the gang – the fun
that life can be. That’s why this
hurts so much. Part of our
childhood has died with him.
One
of the Tempur-Pedic Vice Presidents stopped by my office yesterday and
expressed his condolences. He saw a couple of our old golf pictures on my
credenza. I told him Jim was the guy in the brown pants – Wheels always wore
brown pants, I don’t think he owned any other color. Brown pants and a Pontiac!
“Ahh”, says my visitor, “so that’s Jim Wheeler” as if
he’s triggering something in his own mind. “So all you guys are connected?”
That’s
right, we’re all connected. Like the many hundreds of people who showed up in
Marion yesterday. Not because he was their old friend, but because Jim was a
doc and a coach who cared. Sandee, I guess all those people simply connected
with him too.
Isn’t that what Jim brought to the party? You felt connected. You were on the inside. There was a sharper edge. It
was the irreverence that kept us honest. You couldn’t get a big head with Jim.
“Nice par” was a compliment to treasure. With Jim in tow we often found
ourselves doing the improbable. With Wheels as The Enabler, the improbable became memorable. Here now, a medley of Jim’s greatest
enabler hits:
§
Truss going through the
milk chute
§
We combined Jim’s love
of fireworks with a frog and thus begat, Herman the Astrotoad!
§
The People’s Money and
one bucket of chicken that held an infinite number of pieces
§
That a tree fort may be
the best place ever
§
Chaining up the doors at
Dominican
§
The perennial bet on the
15th at Chenequa
§
Going through speed
traps – sideways
§
Bob Hoeller taking over
for Wheels during the US Open Qualifying round
§
And so many more, but
you get the idea
And so time
fades away...
Jim
could still wear his letter jacket, while some of us now have to sew several
together.
He
became an X’s & O’s guy and who knows what his coaching legacy with kids will
become, but I tell you this; I expect to hear about it some night on ESPN.
For
all of us who grew up with Jim, we’re older and for the most part, smarter now.
I think Katie Fischer had it right. Left alone at work, or with our families in
cities far and wide most of us are pretty good citizens. But left alone with Jim,
and now without, we’re still just a bunch of goofy Golden Retrievers knocking
all the wine glasses off the coffee tables in your homes. Jim was our Big Dog.
Ginny & Jim, Mike, Dana, Katie and Sandee;
Jim
was, and will remain, a powerful figure in our lives. A blood-brother to whom we have an attachment so strong that
it still defies logic to those on the outside. The emotional experiences of our days when Jimmy was the
leading man will stay with me forever, without compromise.
Later
tonight, I might drive through the old neighborhood and maybe tip my hat to
Dominican too. Along with all the
Goats here tonight, I don’t regret any of our past, I honor it. For me it’s just one,
long song.
So, sleep well Jim and let us chase your shadow
tonight. The world was a better place because of you. In the end I know you’ll always be there. Maybe it’ll be in the crisp Alpine air you
loved so much, or in the sound of waves lapping at the lake, or perhaps in the
long, lengthening shadows on the 18th green.
See 'ya, Wheels. We will all, most definitely, meet again!"
