To Kay, Roseanne (& Bay and Ansel, whom we look forward to meeting) & all of James' friends on the Mythical East Side & elsewhere,
Di and I were as stunned as the rest of you when Sydni Scott called us out of the blue and told me Kay had asked her to let us know that James had passed. We had just driven through back in mid-April, where we fed James and Kay breakfast in our little travel trailer there at Brown's Town. These two were obviously comfortable with each other and still deeply in love.
When someone so vital suddenly drops away, it is just hard to believe he is gone. Since that fateful call, so many memories of James have come flooding out of my mind and even now I am learning more interesting things abut him - like his middle name: Kepler. Kay, is this a family name, or was James' father (or mother) an astronomer?.
I first met James when I began working winters as the ski mechanic at the Ski Hut in Berzerkeley back in the early '70s. His personal integrity was already legendary there. The walls of his Mail Order department were filled with cards and letters testifying to the friendly, straight forward, efficient and utterly competent way he ran the show there. Later we all saw the same commitment to excellence at Wilson's Eastside Sports.
His sense of humor wasn't far behind: I once saw James and Peter Noone chasing each other around the store in a knock-down, drag-out shoot-out with those little plastic pistols that shot tiny Frisbees instead of water. I was still finding those little plastic discs around the shop months, even years later. And I always thought it was James who, when the restroom walls had been repainted (several times), started the next round of graffiti with the words: "Clean Walls?"
James and I did not see each other very often, but always followed each other's careers with interest: mine at Sawyer Paddles and Oars (James loved wood working); his at Wilson's. We always made time to see each other at the Outdoor Retailer Summer Market show in Salt Lake City. James turned me on to a wonderful Vietnamese restaurant there, to which we returned year after year. He loved seeking out well run small businesses with special offerings. He especially appreciated honest, capable, committed people. Every time I saw them together, James would brag openly about his manager Chris, saying his business wouldn't be what it was without her. He was seven years younger than I, but he was still a mentor when it came to fostering and maintaining enduring relationships. That's the kind of guy he was.
I have loved the Sierra Nevada since my first back packing trip out of Mineral King in 1945 at age 4 and I took my bride Di on her first back packing trip into the Virginia Lakes, but James was In Love with the Sierra. I doubt if he could have lived anywhere else. Just imagine the number of trails he knew back in the fastness of those mountains. We mainly saw James & Kay when we passed through Bishop on that incredible route 395. Showing up at Wilson's for a visit became even more important than standing outside Schat's with a quarter pound of butter waiting for the bakery to open. Once we had the pleasure of showing James & Kay around our own corner of paradise: Ashland, Oregon (in The Mythical State Of Jefferson) when they were passing through looking at colleges for Roseanne. The four of us loved swapping stories about boots, paddles, teaching, climbing, nursing, gardening, daughters, nieces & nephews, and of course, the back country out yonder.
We never joined James & Kay on any of their trips, but we all enjoyed hearing about the others' adventures. We shared a few of them - like time in Death Valley and canoeing Labyrinth & Stillwater Canyons on the Green River, just not at the same time.
James' family, his friends, his colleagues, the desert, the birds - and the mountains- we're all going to miss him, but as long as we live we will hold him close in our hearts.
We are honored and blessed to be counted among James' many admirers,
Dick & Di McKinney/Sly
Ashland, Oregon