Adventure 461: Eulogy for a Friend

The Doctor at the Helm

"The Doctor", James Valentine, was laid to rest today with full military honors. He will be missed. At the rosary, our eldest brother John commented on Jim's generosity. At the funeral mass, his daughter, Tina, talked about his kindness. I want to speak to his constancy. Our acquaintance goes back to the early seventies. We both had similar interests in young Irish girls, although we did choose different sisters. Along with Roger Shute, Jim and I began the parade of Son-in-laws welcomed into the O'Brien family. We've all been bathed in family love since then. Jim chose a path as a young man that not only included a spot in the O'Brien photo album, but also included a stellar career in the military and a lifetime of service to others in his career as an Oral Surgeon. As for his constancy in my life, I must be excused if I mis-remember details or even make things up. I simply want to play forward the spirit of Jim's constant love for his country, his family, and his friends. Recently, I've come across a concept which is new to me in the way buying a used car is. It's not really new, but I've been slow to realize the idea. That idea is that the universe is constantly seeking me out to bath me with good will, and that good will comes in the form of relationships, compassion, and tenderness for all things. It's as Elizabeth Barrett Browning says, "The Earth is crammed with heaven." That's what I most feel when I think of Jim Valentine. He was a man who constantly spread a gentle good will, a man of honor, a man who you could count on. After our lives mingled in the early seventies, we began to intersect  at times directly connected to Jim's Army career. I clearly remember baby sitting my son Steve and Jim's daughter Tina when they were in their "crawling" years. I don't remember why or where Jim and Rita were, but I remember caring for the two pre-toddlers. There was time missed as well whenever Jim and Rita were out of country, or stationed somewhere distant, be it Beirut or Italy or El Paso or Ft. Lewis. We connected enough during the Ft. Lewis time for Rita to be Godmother to my daughter Elizabeth, and along the way I stood as Godfather for young Tim Valentine. And, of course, there were family  connections. In recent years, say the last twenty, after Jim retired from the military,  while he built his private practice in Spokane, he and I have been ship mates aboard two craft. We were part owners in a four way deal on a boat called the "Cat Bilu" and later, Jim and I shared ownership of the Eagle. I remember clearly, the day we bought the Eagle. Judy and I saw an ad in the paper. On a whim, we called Jim and Rita to see if they wanted to go for a ride to the lake. It turns out they were home, their schedule was free, and a couple of hours later we had agreed to buy a sailboat and a club membership on Lake Couer d' Alene. The date was April 15, 2000. It turned out that while Judy and Rita enjoyed the boat, it was really my and Jim's "Man Cave". We had many voyages. We did everything from practice sailing maneuvers to spend weekends on the boat. The voyages run together, but what stands out for me is that Jim was always there. He had my back. One sailing story should be mentioned because it speaks to Jim's poise under pressure, his steadfast courage, and his skill. We had spent the night in Harrison. On the way back the wind kicked up to over thirty-five miles an hour. It was the strongest wind we'd ever sailed in, and what's even more rare is that it was coming out of the North. We turned the corner at Rockwood Bay into the full face of the wind. Jim was at the helm and he held the boat into the wind as I scrambled up to the mast to reef the mainsail. Suddenly, a gust lifted my hat off my head. I reached to catch it, but snagged my glasses in the process. They flipped off into the water: "Shucks". We had no other issues after that. Once we got the boat properly set up for the conditons, we literally flew up the lake. It was the first and only time we were able to sail in a straight line north. We took turns on the helm, and both of us felt a sense of competence when we ended that voyage. I have many other memories that are washing over me at the moment, but the feeling I'm most encouraging in myself is the warmth of memories with my friend over the years. Like I told Rita upon hearing of Jim's death, "I'm glad, but I'm not happy." I'm also reminded of the words of Henri Nouwen who speaks of how beloved we all are. He says we should consider four words: Chosen, Blessed, Broken, and Given. I feel lucky to be chosen in friendship by Jim, I feel blessed to have known him, I admire his courage as he endured the brokenness of his failing body, and I welcome the chance to spread as much of Jim's love and constancy as I can to others. He would want it that way.

 The shards of the Eagle, fond memories nonetheless.

 The ad that started it all.