When we were upperclassmen at Illinois
we all moved out of the dorms and into apartments or rented houses. It was
tradition that if you lived in a house you named it. My favorite house was the one where some of
the guys I knew well from the dorms lived.
It was called The Shipwreck Lounge.
It was where I first met Jim.
One of the guys at the Shipwreck, Lenny, played rugby and so
a lot of the guys from the team and their girlfriends would come to the parties
the guys would throw. The rugby team
was an open club so anyone could play even if they weren’t still in school. Jim worked nears the university as an IT guy and
was older than us, but initially I didn’t know how much older. He took a liking to the crowd that hung out
at the Shipwreck and one time brought them an old Philco refrigerator that he
had a drilled a hole into and turned into a makeshift kegerator. We called it Phil. There was a magnet sign
someone made that could be flipped over that either said “Phil is full,” or “Phil
is empty.” Jim started spending a lot of
time at the Shipwreck Lounge, and I got to know him well.
Some of the crowd we hung around with graduated one year and
then the rest did the next. The
Shipwreck changed hands. I stayed at Illinois
to finish some studying I was doing and to work at the university. I had a ground floor apartment on the main
floor of the apartment building I lived alone in an apartment on Green
Street behind an optometrist’s office and a flower
store. You accessed it through a door in
the alley next to a parking lot. I had
never lived before alone but I kind of liked parts of it. Everything was exactly where I wanted it.
There was a lot of time to be by myself to listen to my music, work on papers,
and to write. Some nights though it was really
lonely.
I wasn’t always alone.
Karen and other of our friends would often visit me on the
weekends. On Tuesdays my friend, Cecily,
would come over and we would watch “Moonlighting” and eat Chinese food. One night early into my stay there I heard a
car pull up in the alley. It was Jim in his Saab. He had just gotten back from Europe . I opened the screen door before he could
knock and said, “Welcome home.” He said
“Thanks. Do you want to go to Murphy’s?” Murphy’s was just across the street. I said,
“I can do that.” That night he regaled
me of all the things he had done in Europe and we talked
about a bunch of other things. We closed the place, and although we weren’t
drunk, he slept on my couch.
After that I started seeing Jim more and more. He would stop by occasionally during the week,
and when Karen hadn’t come down for the weekend, he would invite me to go to
rugby parties. I was still trying to
play soccer then but he converted me into a rugby groupie and had me play at
the lowest level when someone couldn’t make it.
One of Jim’s roles on the rugby team was to coach the freshmen when they
were first starting to learn the game.
One Thursday night he invited me to dinner. He said, “I want
you to go to the store and buy this wine.
I will do the rest.” I went and
when I entered his apartment I thought someone had broken in. The place was a disaster. There were clothes and stuff everywhere. Phil was in the corner. On one coffee table
was a stack of every James Bond book ever written. I thought to myself, “Whoa,
what kind of dinner is this going to be?”
It ended up being one of the finest meals I have ever had. Turned out
Jim was a gourmet chef and when he was in Europe that
was what he was working on. Every
Thursday after that, me, and a guy named Mike, who was a sports reporter for
the Champaign News-Gazette
would go to Jim’s house for an exquisite meal from some different culture. It
was always fantastic. If the wine was good he would say, “That’s a keeper,” and
rolled the empty bottle under his sofa where he kept the wines he liked for
future reference.
One day Jim asked me to meet him at Murphy’s because he had
a job interview. He came in a suit that
looked like something out of Miami Vice. He asked me to look at his
resume. I took a copy and then he
grabbed it right back again. He tore off
the top part of it. He handed it back
and said, “This is all you need to look at.”
I had seen what he tore off. It
was the part that showed his age. Jim
was well over twelve years older than me. He had gone to college from
1969-1973.
I worried about Jim. He
was an entertaining guy but not always good in larger social situations. The
freshmen he coached seemed to like him but there was always a hint that they
thought he was somewhat of a joke. You could tell by the way some of the older
guys talked to him that he was not appreciated; they didn’t want to get to know
him. Sometimes they would outright insult him.
He always let it roll off his back. One night a bunch of them turned his
car on its side where it was parked. We
righted it with the help of some passing people. We went to my apartment and started
playing records on my stereo. We were
listening to Harry Chapin, who we both liked a lot. A song came on and he suddenly said, “I have
to go.” He left swiftly. The song was called “A Better Place to
Be.” It is a song about loneliness.
One day I ran into a friend of Jim’s from when they were in
high school. He owned a popular Chinese
restaurant on campus that served a thing called the Volcano, which was some
kind of liquor concoction that spouted things and you drank it with
straws. We started talking about
Jim. I said that I thought it was
interesting that Jim still spent most of his time with younger college kids. He
said, “Jim had a good life here growing up.
He was a tennis star in high school. He had a great student career at
the university, a lot of friends. I think after his parents died and other
people left him as they went on with their lives he decided not to let go and
grow up. He found a comfort zone, as strange
as it is, that he wants to stay in, no matter what. I‘m not sure connecting with a new class
every couple of years is such a good idea, but at least he’s not alone.”
After I left school Jim would frequently appear
spontaneously at our house; sometimes with young friends and sometimes
alone. He bought a beautiful old house
with a solarium near the university. We would
visit him there sometimes. It surpassed
the disaster that was his apartment. He
had the front end of a Saab as a living room ornament. After one visit Karen
asked me, “Do you think Jim is lonely?
He must be.” I said, “I think he
is but also I think Jim is one of those guys who spends a lot of time not allowing
himself to be lonely. I think that is why he does what he does, as odd as it is. He’s always fishing for someone to connect
with and, generally speaking, he gets lucky…for awhile at least. Until they grow and move on like we did. Then
he goes fishing again.”
Jim was always an odd man out. I like to spend time by myself, and there have
certainly been times when I felt alone. I am fortunate that I have never felt
true loneliness, so I don’t know how I would handle it. Jim handled it in unusual ways but he always
did, to the mutual benefit of a lot of people who he reached out to, and who
let him into our lives for awhile, so that he wasn’t lonely and neither were we.
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