One Long Song

"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 15^th 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 18^th green.

See 'ya, Wheels.  We will all, most definitely, meet again!"