Memories and reflections to honor a cherished brother, uncle, husband, son and friend
James Charles (Jim) Gordon
Let me tell you what I wish I'd known
When I was young and dreamed of glory
You have no control
Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?
From Hamilton, by Lin-Manuel Miranda
Everyone in this world has a unique story, many of which will never be told. Unless you’re a famous person whose accomplishments and struggles are part of society’s public record, or you are someone who is compelled to document your own life for personal or therapeutic reasons, it’s likely your personal accomplishments and the impact you had on others will never be known beyond those immediately affected. And when they’re gone, it’s lost.
When Jim was killed, amidst the loss and grief that enveloped me for months after, I felt a need to make a permanent record of his too-short life and what he meant to me and our family. And to include the many messages of condolence and wonderful memories expressed by friends and family after his death. I didn’t want to risk those memories fading, those stories being forgotten, or his legacy going unacknowledged. I want my grandchildren to understand who “Uncle Jim” was and why Gramma and Grampa were so sad when he died. So I wrote this, which could only be written from my point of view and isn’t meant to reflect the perspective of others. Hopefully, it will resonate with those who knew Jim, or those who wished they did.
My desire to write about this loss is not a unique urge but rather a common and often necessary part of the “healing process”, or so I’m told. As such, this document is a rather clumsy attempt to describe a kind-hearted, curious, smart, funny man, who without fanfare or ego, held a meaningful place in my heart and so many others for his entire life.
Perhaps it is exactly Jim’s humility that makes this memoir so important. He would never have imagined his life was worth documenting. In his mind, his achievements were small, his impact modest. But if hard work, a generous spirit and love of friends and family determine the worthiness of a person, Jim was the king of the world.
I’ve never experienced a tragic loss such as this, although others in our family certainly have. I know there’s no predicting how the sorrow will unfold or when the healing will begin, but I trust that putting feelings and memories in writing will help me in that journey. I hope the same is true for those that contributed to this memoir and those whose thoughts of Jim remain in their hearts, if not recorded here.
With love, Mary
Jim’s obituary appeared in the Marin IJ and the East Bay Times on Sunday, September 25, 2022.
James Charles (Jim) Gordon, born Sept 8, 1958, died tragically on Sept 6, 2022, after being struck by a cyclist while walking near his home in Sausalito. He leaves behind a grieving wife and family, and a large circle of friends and colleagues.
Jim was a scholar with an incredible memory. He was a voracious reader and a talented writer, a proud Cal grad who maintained his connection to the university through a 25-year career at the campus library. At the time of his death, Jim worked in the library at Merritt College, where he found ways to help a diverse student body succeed.
His marriage to Felicity Winterbach in 2002 opened up Jim’s world, as they traveled regularly to South Africa to visit her family. In typical Jim style, he researched the country’s history, studied its politics and developed a keen understanding of the culture and world view of his large, extended family.
Jim took extraordinary pride in the achievements of others. He delighted in seeing those he loved succeed and was always the first to help, support and encourage family members, students or colleagues, regardless of their chosen path.
He was inherently funny and loved to tell a story. He always had something to contribute to a conversation, regardless of topic. Jim loved games of all kinds and played enthusiastically whenever he got the chance. His mind was always busy, whether he was reading a book, writing a story, discussing current events or relaying a funny or interesting experience.
A consistent presence at family gatherings, Jim loved to celebrate holidays, weddings, graduations or the occasional little league game with those he loved.
It is impossible to articulate how much Jim meant to those he leaves behind. His untimely death leaves an emptiness in many people’s hearts.
Jim is survived by his wife, Felicity, his parents Cathy Gordon and David Gordon (Ann), siblings John Gordon (Carol), Mary Neilan (Michael), Anne Pelej (Joe), Andy Miles, Libby Miles and numerous nieces and nephews.
Memories
We Gordon kids grew up a family of six, Mom, Dad, two boys, two girls. There was a symmetry to that structure that was weirdly satisfying. We lived a modest life, a standard middle-class existence centered on school, church, and a small group of friends. The four of us kids amused ourselves with board games, backyard play and favorite television shows. The family enjoyed occasional excursions to San Francisco or a summer vacation at Lake Tahoe.
From early on, Jim was an eager game player, and would even play both sides of the board when no one else was around. He loved to play with toy army men, setting up battlefields and moving the pieces as dictated by the scenario he concocted in his head. And he had a favorite “old west” playset, where he would use the cowboys and Indians to bring the stories he invented to life.
Jim was a quiet little brother, small in stature, eager to please. I remember his early years as happy ones; he always seemed content to be with family. But it’s hard to be the youngest as older siblings grow up and leave home. And that transition, compounded by divorce and changing family dynamics, likely made Jim feel quite alone, distanced from the people and family activity that provided him with structure and a sense of security.
Jim’s teen years and early 20’s were difficult, as they are for many young people. He struggled with anxiety and depression and showed little self-esteem or confidence in his abilities. With parents building new lives for themselves and his siblings growing up and moving on, there was no one left to provide the guidance Jim needed to help him discover his gifts or work toward his goals. When an obvious cry for help got the family’s attention, we realized how important it was to keep him close, monitor his mood, make sure he was safe, to help him find a place in the world.
Slowly milestones were met, early dreams were realized. With encouragement from our parents Jim went to community college, then matriculated to Cal. He graduated Phi Beta Kappa, an accomplishment he took great pride in all his life. He once said to me about his status as a Cal grad, “I may not have much, but no one can ever take that away from me.” There were thoughts of grad school, but that avenue was not pursued. I wonder why and can’t help imagining how a different decision might have changed his life. With limited resources and an aversion to risk, expense was undoubtedly a factor, reflecting Jim’s lifelong struggle to feel financially secure.
Jim’s job at the Berkeley campus library was a satisfying option, providing a “decent salary and great benefits”. And while the position itself may not always have been intellectually challenging, Jim excelled at logistical puzzles and was always looking for tasks needing completion. And he loved the academic environment. The library was a familiar, safe and enriching place for him where he made deep friendships, built a network of people he enjoyed that included some he came to love, even as the job became tedious and more frustrating over time.
Eventually, Jim lost patience with the politics and systemic challenges of a large bureaucracy. He pushed himself to leave the library, then struggled to find another great “fit”. Merritt College became his new home and the people he encountered provided new opportunities for him to engage, enlighten, assist and encourage. Not to mention entertain.
Gifts and Struggles
Throughout his life Jim struggled with self-doubt, feared taking risks, then regretted not taking them. He was often critical of his decisions and where his life led him, always hard on himself and seemingly unaware of the positive impact he had on others.
I never thought Jim craved adventure. Instead, he seemed to long for security and predictability; change was not his favorite thing. But that’s not to say he was uninterested in the world. He was endlessly curious about history, politics, popular culture, literature, sports. He dabbled in business systems, investment strategy and game theory. And when he learned something he found particularly interesting, he felt compelled to share it, somehow finding a way to make it interesting to the uninterested. Jim had all the traits of a great teacher; his family, friends and coworkers were his students.
Jim was a talented writer who wrote all the time about the world he observed as well as the worlds he created from his research and imagination. He was so proud when he could share those stories with others through various printed and online publications. And like most writers, he had dozens of ideas tucked away for stories he hoped to tell someday.
A Welcome Presence
When Mike and I married 40 years ago, Jim was already a consistent presence in our lives. He walked me down the aisle at our wedding and when we had kids, his status as favorite uncle was assured by his eager participation in our family life. Jim was always so happy to be with our children, an attitude that didn’t change from the day they were born, through every childhood phase, plenty of school/sporting events, every holiday, graduation and wedding.
Having Jim around was something Mike and I came to count on and sadly, took for granted. Whether by himself when he was young, or with Barbara for a time and then of course with Felicity for more than 20 years, he rounded out our family. He was our children’s most enthusiastic playmate when they were little and always exhibited unending curiosity about their lives and achievements as they grew.
Perhaps because the Gordon household of our childhood was less than fairytale perfect, Jim welcomed the home Mike and I offered and the “normalcy” of our family. Our house was warm and comfortable, filled with kids and noise. There was plenty of food in the fridge, beer on hand. Jim always had a key to the front door, “come anytime, we’re glad you’re here”. As Anne so kindly said to me recently, “you gave him a home”.
And in return for opening our home and our hearts to him, we received unending and unconditional love. As I’ve struggled to understand why his death has affected me so deeply, I’ve concluded that it was this love he had for Mike and me and our family, as much as the love we had for him, that I’m grieving and that will be impossible to replace. He gave us so much more than we could ever have given him. And I doubt he had any idea.
Loss and Grief
That quiet summer night in August, seemingly no different than many others, was interrupted by a frantic phone call from Felicity telling us Jim had been in an accident and was in a coma, could we come? Mike and I made the two-hour drive to the hospital, already feeling the beginnings of what would become intense shock and trauma. Jim was in surgery and we waited with Felicity for hours, trying to support one another in a situation that felt unreal.
What happened? No one knew. Jim had walked to a local bar for an evening beer, was headed home and was found unconscious on a bike/pedestrian path near their houseboat. Had he been attacked on that nearly moonless night? Did he trip and fall? We would find out later he was struck by a man riding an electric bicycle, who then left the scene. A Good Samaritan found him and called 911, but as we would learn, the injury sustained at the moment of impact did immediate and severe damage, from which Jim would not recover.
The conversation with the surgeon that night left us with little hope, and our worst fears were confirmed the next day when a doctor kindly and clearly explained that the Jim we knew was gone. His busy brain was quiet, his body would soon expire. Family should gather.
It’s hard to describe what an out of body experience something like this is. Is this really happening to us? There is so much heartache. It hurts to breathe, to think. I made calls to our children, my siblings, and hardest of all, my parents. I tried to comfort Felicity, my husband, myself.
The days and weeks that followed were strange. The family was all together, but it felt wrong without Jim. There were awkward moments and conversations. So many hugs, never-ending tears. Felicity showed enormous strength, as she made difficult decisions through a cloud of heartache and grief.
And then we parted. Now what?
Six weeks after he died, Felicity hosted a gathering of Jim’s friends and coworkers, where we learned that the man we knew was the same one they had come to love, whether he was interacting with young people, offering to help with a project, encouraging a student or telling a funny story.
Dad arranged a funeral service a few months later, a chance for he and others to find solace in a familiar ritual, a promise of life everlasting. The music, lessons and prayers gave comfort to some, but also felt final, like a last goodbye. Tears flowed.
An experience like this takes a physical as well as emotional toll. Being present that evening at the hospital, having to make the calls to family, trying to help Felicity in the days that followed, left me feeling wounded, angry, traumatized and full of sorrow. But as difficult as my grieving process has been, I certainly can’t claim a more intense feeling of loss than Mom, or Dad and Ann, or Felicity. Nor the rest of our family, or his closest friends. Everyone that knew Jim had a special relationship with him and will grieve deeply, in their own way and hopefully heal, in their own time. I just miss him, a lot.
Gratitude and Love
There are so many moments now when Mike or I will look at each other and think “Jim would have loved that”, or “Jim would know the answer”, or “that reminds me of a Jim joke”. He was such a rare friend, one that enjoyed a serious conversation as much as a good laugh. Jim was always supportive of others’ goals and life choices, even as he sometimes complained about his work, struggled with his writing, or worried about life choices of his own. And as much as he criticized his (perceived) failings, he was always quick to acknowledge and celebrate the achievements of others.
The grief and sorrow over Jim’s death has consumed me for months and will likely be intense for months to come. But along with those emotions I also feel an enormous sense of gratitude for having had Jim in my life. I’m so grateful that I had him as a brother and friend, that we all had a chance to share laughs and life with him, grateful that he allowed us to love him and that he loved us back.
I’m grateful that Jim was such a special uncle to my children, a best friend to my husband. Grateful for his attentive devotion to Mom and Martha, and Dad and Ann. For his thoughtful planning and sacrifice that will provide for Felicity in his absence.
That he was granted a quick, pain free end.
Since Jim’s death, my mind has often wandered to the question of what comes after this life on earth. I don’t have strong religious beliefs to guide me, so I rely on answers that give me comfort. I imagine Jim in a happy place, comfortable, secure, surrounded by people that love him. No worries, no sadness, plenty of books to read, games to play, stories to tell. I picture him relaxed and at peace, free of any stress or strain, happily watching over us and cheering us on. And eagerly waiting for us to join him, when the time is right.
I know we will survive this loss, as Jim would expect us to. But there will be something missing, something that doesn’t seem right. The people Jim befriended, mentored, encouraged and loved during his life, those who witnessed his joy as well as his pain, know that there will never be another. He was a gift, gone way too soon, but loved and cherished always.
EBB
For Jim
Becalmed too long, you caught the ebbing wave
and floated free beyond the bar
until you passed the edge of life into a wider sea.
Distance pulled you farther than you meant to go
on the ripple of death’s exhaling pulse,
unnoticed in night’s complicit secrecy.
In solitude you entered the deep flow,
a captive of the urgent dark that begged to carry you
past the reach of those who held you here.
Your earthly soul, unwilling to let go, flies with the wild scaup
and the heron whose dangling legs stalk the reeds at dawn
delicately feeding from the slow current of receding tide.
The plangent gulls that circle the grey air
will free you at last, and show you how mortality
comes to its end in the gentleness of flight.
We who remain imprisoned by our grief
still comb the shadowed intervals of memory
in fruitless search for a last vision of your receding self.
Our opened fissures cannot heal until we move
beyond the pier and the long lays
of the ocean’s moving lines that churn and roll forward,
to find the place you have already reached.
By Rebecca Green, a special friend and colleague of Jim’s
Digital photography by Anne
From Felicity
I had the privilege of sharing my life with Jim for over 21years. When I met him, I discovered that smart is sexy, and he was the smartest man I knew, and he was the love of my life. He was also witty, generous, hardworking, caring, and the funniest man I know. The longer we were together, the more we laughed together – he told me just a couple of weeks before he died that didn’t need to have the last laugh, his greatest joy was just making people laugh. In that he succeeded greatly.
From Mom
Jim was a great reader. Probably that was what drew him to working at Books, Inc. and at the University Library; to studying his way to a Phi Beta Kappa at U. C. Berkeley; to loading his backpack with volumes to trade at "little libraries" in his neighborhood.
Often he asked me, "What are you reading?" or "Do you know this author?" He took pleasure in loaning me books and receiving my recommendations. And obviously his love of reading influenced his enthusiasm for writing...an activity to which he was dedicated throughout his adult life.
What a joy it was to share with Jim my own love of books
Expressions of love and appreciation from family and friends . . . . .
From Ryan
I was just talking to Abi about how so many of my childhood memories involve Jim. It felt like he went to every little league game, despite neither Dan nor I being the kind of athlete that required attendance. I can recall clear as day hours spent at the kitchen table at Robinson Road, playing strat-o-matic baseball games. We'd go through the entire lineup of my little league team, naming each one of our little fictional players after my friends, then playing out the game, and he'd definitely use a dumbed-down version of the rules so I could run up the score on him. I don't know if today I'm the kind of guy with two different weekly Dungeons and Dragons games if it wasn't for afternoons like that.
I don't know if I'm as big of a reader as I am today if it wasn't for Jim. I remember the year he gave me "The Great Santini" for my birthday, telling me it was a book about "a basketball player", and leaving out the part where it's an incredibly deep story about an abusive relationship between a father and son, the sort of book you *definitely* don't end up reading in school, but the kind that opens your eyes to what fiction can really be.
Jim was more than just the cool uncle, even though that's also exactly what he was. He was the one who saw each of us kids for what we *were*. He knew how to relate to us, to encourage us, to help us grow from weird little kids into weird little grownups. Even though this is all stupid and abrupt I am oddly glad that he was able to see all of us step into adulthood in our own ways, and it will feel so wrong to not explain what I'm doing for work now to him this Christmas, and not be greeted with a "Duuuude" when he walks into the kitchen.
I've never felt further away from home than I do right now, and I miss you both immensely. Take care of Fee, give her my love.
From Dan
To choose one memory of my uncle Jim feels impossible. When I think of him, I don’t think of one moment or one event, one graduation or one Christmas morning. It’s a totality. It’s years of him being an assumed presence at every family event— clapping and whistling in the stands at our swim meets or sitting on the periphery of a pool party with a long neck beer bottle dangling from his fingers. To pick one thing would be to diminish what a beloved constant he was in our lives.
With that said, there has been a scene that’s replayed in my head since the night I found out Jim was gone. I’m probably 9 or 10 years old, leaving Little League practice (where I undoubtedly struck out or maybe even got hit by a pitch) and for one reason or another neither of my parents is available to pick me up. So, Jim is there. In his beat-up old VW Beetle. Rusted and rattling, it either has no AC or Jim refuses to use it to save gas. Either way, it’s about one million degrees inside the car. The sun beats down on the leather seats, heating them up to a skin-melting temperature and Jim has covered them with loose rags and beach towels to protect would-be passengers from harm. When I climb in, already sweating, he shows me how to buckle my seatbelt without touching the impossibly hot metal buckle.
This probably all sounds a bit uncomfortable for a 9- or 10-year-old to endure. But it wasn’t. There was never anything uncomfortable about being around Jim. He was an extension of our nuclear family. You didn’t have to put on an air of forced familiarity around him like you do with some extended relatives. He was one of us. He could always be counted on to ask “So, what’s new? Learning anything in school?” or give a hearty “Dude!” when you shared some news of academic or professional success. Those car rides home, like any time spent with Jim, blended into a larger tapestry of feeling like you were cared for. Like there was someone out there invested in your prosperity.
I have regrets about those feelings, too. Jim was such a constant that I took him for granted. I never considered that our time together would be finite. I wish now that I had talked to him about writing. What he loved about it. What his dream project would be. Whether he would let me read any of the dozens of stories that I now know sat on his hard drive. I wish, too, that I had talked to him about my depression. I know it was something we shared, but mental health is not an easily broached topic, especially across generations. Still, I would have liked both of us to sit in the knowledge that we’re not alone in that darkness.
But I won’t let the regret of what could have been drag me down. I will remember Jim for who he was and what he represents in my life. I will be grateful for the time I got to spend with him. For the warmth and laughter he and Felicity brought into our home. For the companionship and support he gave both my parents. And I will think of him every time I pick up a good book, nerd-out over an esoteric fact, or see an old VW Beetle on a hot summer day.
From Mike
There is much I could say about Jim. About what he meant to me and to our family, but I will keep it short as I know he would prefer.
I loved Jim. I loved him because he loved his sister, my wife, beyond measure. He would have done anything for her without hesitation.
I loved him because he loved our children fiercely. Always there for the mundane or the momentous. He took great pride in their accomplishments as well he should.
I loved him because he made me comfortable, which is no small feat. I think we shared that, a feeling of discomfort in our own skin; I hope he felt the same sense of ease in my presence that I always felt in his.
I loved him because he had an unquenchable curiosity and never stopped seeking.
I loved him because he was a role model for what it means to be a son, a brother, an uncle, a friend, a colleague, a drinking buddy, a human being. I loved him because he was kind, generous, patient, selfless, smart, funny.
I loved him because he was not perfect. He could be moody and was full of self-doubt even though he was almost always the smartest guy in the room.
I loved him as a friend and a brother, and I miss him more than words can say. If there is a heaven, I'm pretty sure he will be there. If he's not, then I'm not really interested.
Memories
Memories remind us that nothing lasts forever,
you can be happy today and sad tomorrow, time is
precious and should not be wasted, enjoy life
and remember, don’t count your days,
make your days count
From Natalie Winterbach-Pridgeon
Our Jim
Blessed, we the Winterbach family are absolutely blessed to have had the privilege of counting Jim as one of our family members.
With the thousands of miles between us in South Africa, it meant that the Winterbach’s spent way too little time with Jim, much less time than we ever wanted. Despite the miles, from the first time we met Jim, we immediately sensed that Jim was an exceptional man. Jim was the first man to put a perpetual smile on Felicity’s face and we know that he made her the happiest woman in the world. Felicity had become one with Jim as he was an integral part of her and from what we witnessed; she was an integral part of him too. They were definitely “married couple goals” as their marriage was admired by many, they complimented each other perfectly.
Losing Jim has been the most difficult thing that Felicity has ever had to do in her life! Leaving her family behind and making a family of her own thousand of miles away in America pales in comparison to the life she now faces, alone and her words “I am never going to see him again” between the sobs, is the most heartbreaking sound any family member can hear especially when we are not able to take her into our arms, hold her and tell her that everything is going to be okay! It is not going to be the same, it is not what she ever could have envisioned her life to be, but we must keep reminding her and ourselves that everything is going to be okay - because that is what Jim would have wanted.
I clearly remember the day that Felicity called me with the shocking news of Jim’s homicide, he was in theatre at the time of her call! I could hear and feel the absolutely devastation, helplessness, and terror in her voice and all I could do, from a distance, was to stand firm despite my own devastation, to be there for her from miles and miles away and tell her that, everything was going to be okay and reassuring her that Jim will always be there, holding on to her, in her heart and soul, forever.
The days that followed were hopeful at first but then the resistant acceptance that our worst nightmares were being realized with every passing day. Felicity had the support of Jim’s family, something we appreciate immensely. COVID had destroyed any plans of us being there for her in person but the daily support via telephone contact has not waivered since that awful day and the days that followed.
Our gratitude for Jim’s family and friends has not been expressed enough and I would like to take this opportunity of thanking each and every one of you for being there for Felicity during this devastating time of her life, in our physical absence. Keeping her close to you, I know, is something that Jim would have wanted, and it also means that Jim is as close to you as he can be, maybe not in body but in soul because Jim and Felicity’s souls are indeterminately intertwined.
Julie has a fond memory of Jim teaching them to play “Texas Hold’em”. When her father once referred to game as “Mexican Standoff” she was able to correct her father with the right name of the game because Jim patiently taught them the game. He also learnt a few South African sayings and the favorite for him and for us to hear in his American accent was “more is nog ‘n dag” (tomorrow is another day) which he used frequently both here and when he was back home.
Jim has not only left a huge void in Felicity’s life but in each and every person who he came into contact with and the void for his family and friends who knew him longer is definitely bigger, more noticeable and a void which will never be filled.
While writing this, I keep thinking I would have loved to have been able to send it to Jim so that he could correct my grammar, sentence structure etc. and provide me with valuable input but alas, that is not to be, so I type from my heart with his void ever present, while I do so.
Jim had such a passion for books and when he came to South Africa or when the family visited there, he would always hand over a book or two to members of the family. Jim’s legacy lives on in his captivating short stories which he was far too critical of, in life, to even consider publishing. They are brilliant! His ability to transport you with every word makes you feel as if you are there in person, an onlooker, on the train, in the middle of the battlefield or on that street corner, witnessing every detail, word by word.
Jim, we love you so much and know that there will never be anyone who will be able to take your place in our hearts, but we are at peace knowing that you are around us all the time, looking out for Felicity, your parents, siblings, and us – we feel your presence and appreciate it immensely.
From Kerry Quinn Ingram
I have many memories of Jim, from many years ago- there was a time when he was like a little brother to me. He was always ready to play board games with me and I often was at the Gordon home. It was actually Jim who started my love of football. He explained the game to me and gave me a football card of Gene Washington from the 49ers. I last saw him 17 years ago and was so happy to see him happy. I send much love to the family and know that I am here.
From Rebecca Green, UCB Library
Jim and I became friends shortly after he joined the Acquisition Department, and our friendship has been one of the most precious gifts from my years at the Library. In 1993, I was privileged to become his manager when I assumed the position of Head of the Order Division. From that point onward,he was my trusted colleague and right-hand man in furthering the mission of Library acquisitions. Together we laughed, labored, joked, worried, strove and occasionally triumphed in the shared venture of our days at work.
We were the best of friends, and there was nothing we couldn't share with one another. After I retired, we continued to exchange thoughts on his writing, on what we were both reading and watching, and on all of the happenings and events in both of our families.
I am sad that no more of his fine stories will ever get to be presented to the world, but even sadder for Felicity's enormous loss, and the huge hole that his passing will leave in all of our lives. May this remarkable man always live on in our hearts and memories!
From Giselle Tanasse, UCB Library
Professionally, I remember Jim as a trusted and highly strategic colleague, who was both brilliant at budgeting and finance, and eager togenerously share his knowledge and learn from others. As a coworker and friend, Jim loved to make people laugh and yet, also offered the most empathetic shoulder to cry on.
His coaching skills were second to none, and I have shared the wise words he once used to push me into my current job, with countless studentsand colleagues who needed a little motivation in their job search:
"Hey! They need you more than you need them!" While that's my favorite Jim-ism which I often repeat to myself when feeling nervous or some imposter syndrome, I carry lots of others with me. "Give it the ol' campus mail treatment'' was classic Jim: a strategy by which you send anydocument that you don't want to deal with to yourself, via campus mail, just to buy yourself a little time (or a lotta time).
Sometimes I'd catch Jim breezing out of Moffitt, putting his shades on with an energy that always seemed to say, 'time to go live my real life!' ... with a manila campus mail envelope tucked under his arm- it still makes me chuckle to think of it.
Jim was my rock through my divorce from my first marriage, his adage- "you spend half the relationship breaking up" (as in, this takes time, and you'll get through it) and coached me through my new adventures with "the boyf." While we ate out A LOT at many places, our favorite "lunchie"spot was always Kip's. The food was... well, food. Anything new we tried, was always "Very good... definitely not Kip's" (ha!) - but Kip's was where we could sit for hours laughing (or shedding a tear), rereading and revising writing, plotting the overthrow of Library administration, and slowly working our way through way too many pizzas to count (honestly, Jim could probably do that math!)- the best part, we never ran into anybody there we knew, except that one time, when all of library administration showed up. On the rare occasion I would show a huge lapse in judgmentand order a Kip's salad for health's sake, Jim would always turn his plate, "I ordered this burger just so you could eat the fries."
Jim has been my friend since I was 19 (I'm now 41). It's hard for me to imagine life without him- and imagine that is the same for so many who knew him. As Jim would say, "You're always welcome in my inbox!" (please keep in touch).
From David Johnson, President of Merritt College
I have been struggling all morning trying to think of how to share this terrible news. For the second time in less than three months, we have lost a beloved member of our Merritt Family. Jim Gordon, our Principal Library Technician, passed away on Tuesday, September 6. He succumbed to injuries sustained after being hit by a cyclist while walking near his home in Sausalito. As his family shared with me, “we can only make sense of this tragedy knowing that the organs and tissues he donated are helping to save the lives of others.”
Jim came to Merritt College several years ago, and immediately became a beloved figure on campus. As many of you can attest, Jim was funny, caring, and extremely intelligent. I got to know Jim much better over these past two years, as we were both on campus throughout the pandemic. I saw his patience and selflessness first-hand, as he would stop to help students who were wandering the campus. While passing time waiting for students to pick up their Chromebooks from the library, we talked often about our days at Cal and our shared love of history. When I spoke with him this past Wednesday morning, I had no clue that would be our last conversation. I take comfort in being able to remember him so fondly as such a dignified and kind man.
I have no further information from the family regarding memorial services, but as a college we will certainly do something in the weeks to come to honor our dear friend. In the meantime, I hope that you find solace in recalling and honoring a life well-lived.
Rest easy, Jim…
From Andy
I have three favorite memories of Jim.
The first, eating dinner at Spengers in Berkeley and a bunch of boisterous Niner fans, excited for their team's victory over their cross bay rivals, were seated at the table directly behind him. Ignoring was impossible as they kept asking loudly to no one and everyone at the same time who the best was. He responded and I joined him declaring the obvious, "RAIDERS!"
Ten or so years later after we damn near lost him, he worked steadily at Books Inc, took classes at CSM and was really hitting his stride; we were drinking beer at the Dutch Goose with my mother. (I know, but it's true.) For the first time I realized that family or not, we all enjoyed each other as people and would hang together gladly, regardless of reason.
About twenty years later when I asked him to be Megan's Godfather, he responded that he'd gladly stuff cotton balls in his cheeks, channel his best "Marlon Brando" and make people offers they couldn't refuse.
From Aija Kanbergs, UCB Library
I was Jim's colleague and supervisor in the Order Division/Acquisitions Department before I moved on to Instructional Services, and RebeccaGreen took over as head of the division. I've been retired since 2009.
Jim was, as everyone has noted, very funny. There were times our whole unit was laughing. He was also very intense, and very invested inbecoming a writer. Jim worked hard - he keyed twice as many orders as anyone else in the unit (yes, we counted). We worked together during adifficult time in the library, as colleagues succumbed to AIDS, and our department underwent various wrenching changes.
It was also a time of colleagues having fun and doing things collectively. One of my favorite memories is of our division's collection of American Presidents trading cards. They came in packages of Mother's Cookies. We all bought and ate cookies (I ate more than my share, all for thecause, of course), and posted the cards on a bulletin board. In the end we were only lacking three or four presidents. Jim wrote to the company, and they sent us the missing cards.
I am very sorry to hear that Jim is gone, so suddenly and unexpectedly.
From Alvaro Lopez-Piedra, UCB Library
All the testimonials from his colleagues at Merritt College identically match his role as our UC Order Unit boss when I arrived here in 2008.
Jim was a very smart man. Correction: Jim was a wicked smart man. But all that knowledge and attention to detail never went to his head. Well...it did,but in a good way.
Jim always found time for us when we needed him. And we needed him a lot. He shuffled about at 250 Moffitt and I never knew at which desk I'd see him next because he was rarely at his. He was our personal Google website and mentor. But unlike Google, he was real and very personable.Oh, and he was always laughing with us. His anecdotes just floored me many a time. And he always made sure you learned what he'd just taught you or else he'd go over it again. And again. If that's not dedication, I don't know what you'd call it.
Jim had a lot of confidence in himself but he was never arrogant about it. And it rubbed off on a lot of people including myself.
When I worked the mailroom, he'd occasionally walk in and lend a hand and joke about work stuff:
"Can you believe this?! They sent this tiny paperback in this huge box with tons of popcorn in it. What's the world coming to?!!", was one of his many call outs. He had many other hysterical ones that I won't repeat. But that was Jim. Always quick with a joke or a funny critique to brighten even the darkest day.
We exchanged emails a few times after he left and even met a few times at a local pub for a few beers. I was always hoping he'd reconsider comingback to the UC and I'd ask him about it when we got together. But it was never to be. He had other big plans.
I'm so happy for the people who accepted our Jim at Merritt College. I'm sure he made it a better place with his trademark humor and willingness to help and listen.
In closing, I don't think Jim will ever be gone. He certainly left his stamp on me and many great memories. My deepest condolences to his family and friends.
From Adoria Williams, Library Dept. Chair, Merritt College
It’s difficult to adequately express how much he meant to the library staff. He was not only an esteemed colleague, mentor, and drinking buddy but also a beloved (albeit sometimes grumpy) father figure to some of us. Student assistants who had worked in the library over the years would visit him during their breaks from four-year institutions to share their accomplishments beyond Merritt. They would do this because he was the one who convinced them that they could do it.
The one thing we want to share about Jim is that he had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. He was a keen observer of the world in all its glorious and sordid details, always eager to learn more about everything. His insightfulness into life can be gleaned from two short stories that he recently published in the online magazine Across the Margin: “Sidekick” and “Lost in the Weeds”. (Thank you to his wife for bringing these stories to our attention.)
We think it was this love of learning that brought Jim, appropriately enough, to our library and college. We’re so grateful to have benefited from his wisdom and dedication to helping students reach their aspirations.
We miss you, Jim. Always.
Pictures tell the stories we might otherwise forget.
Jim had dozens of stories to tell.
These stories appeared in the online publication Across the Margin.
(Click on the title to open the link in a new window.)
A short story where a tangible difference between right and wrong leaves a lasting impact
A chance encounter offers a glimmer of hope for the next generation, and an understanding of the true purpose, and role, of sidekicks
In the jungles of Vietnam, in the throes of a hellish war, a soldier and a young woman connect over the shared bond of humanity…
A short story where, following a family tragedy, a young athlete finds place and purpose in the game of basketball…
These stories are part of a vast archive Jim left that Felicity generously offered to share.
Additional stories may be added to the website over time.
This end of day prayer, set to a score John composed, was sung at Jim's funeral.
Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love's sake. Amen.
