There aren’t too many people you meet in life who you know will be friends for the long haul. For me, James was one of them.
I met James the first day of freshman year at the University of Rochester in 1990. He was wearing a Joy Division t-shirt and carrying a crate of records that matched up shockingly well with my own. Along with our pals Dan, Bill and Nina, we were literally inseparable for the four years we spent at university – so much so that people didn’t use our names, but just referred to us “those guys.” From a freshman dorm, to a bizarre humanities housing project called Medieval House on the frat quad, to a decrepit off-campus house, to a year studying abroad in the Middle East – he in Cairo, me in Jerusalem – James and I were never far apart.
James was a true scholar. Not just of art history. Not just of architecture or Near Eastern studies or of Roman ruins. But a scholar of life – he could tell you where any NBA player went to college and their free throw percentage. He could take you to the best Bosnian restaurant in Queens. And discuss with you Nas’ first record over a shisha in a coffee shop in Astoria where everyone knew his name. Oh, and his Netflix queue is a thing of beauty.
James had an awesome curiosity about the world and relished all the many ways to enjoy life. He had a sense of adventure and an appreciation for the absurdities of the world that made him good fun to drink with, but also the depth and compassion to get your back when life smacked you around.
I feel so blessed to have known James and to have so many great memories from the last 19 years. And in a stroke of New York happenstance, I ran into James last Tuesday on a subway platform in Times Square with his brother Sean. And while I could immediately tell that he was not well, I feel lucky to have been able to see him one last time and get one of his big hugs. I will miss him terribly.
November 2001
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