I just want to speak briefly about a man I really adored. I can’t believe James isn’t here. It’s shocking and horrible. This has been one of the saddest and most jarring weeks of my life. So I cannot even imagine the pain all of you who knew James better and longer are feeling. I cannot imagine the pain of the Conlon family. My heart is with you.
We can feel good about one thing, and that is that we had James in our lives. As an example of the best a human being can be. I knew a few different sides of James, and delighted in them all. They weren’t that different, they were all warm and generous and wise. But James on the football field, as the man we called the General in the old Astoria Football League, he wasn’t necessarily exactly like the James who wanted to play you an amazing record, or show you some of the work he’d been doing at Columbia, his projects in Yemen and elsewhere. They were all passionate and kind. But the General did want the ball. He wanted to put it in the end zone. And he would. And he hoped you didn’t intend to stop him.
James shared himself in effortless ways, with his cooking, with his conversation. Even with his gifts. One of my favorite objects in the world is the 13th century Yemeni door latch James gave us for our wedding. It spoke so eloquently of how my wife and I were trying to make a home together, and it spoke so truly of James, his wonderful empathy and his generosity of spirit, to bring back this beautiful and symbolically perfect thing for us from a world that had such claim on his imagination and curiosity.
James was a fantastic uncle to my son, Alfred. Alfred loved James, the way he would frolic, engage in the strange little mind of a three, four, five-year-old boy. Alfred is not here but he knows what has happened and he has had many tears and many questions. But one of things he keeps saying is, “I didn’t have enough time with him.” I guess at the gut level that’s what we’re all feeling, finally.
James bridged worlds, with his work at Buzzer Thirty, with his teaching, with his Tae Kwon Do. He did it in little ways all the time. I remember not long after I’d met James we were in a livery cab and the young driver had a friend of his in front – they were conversing in Arabic. When I am not with James in this situation I just get to thinking how sad it is that there is such a gulf between people from different places, cultures, language groups. But I watched James listen to the conversation of the driver and his friend from the back of the car. Then he broke into the conversation in Arabic. What are you doing James, I remember thinking. There is supposed to be this sad gulf? What are you doing to the sad gulf? Well, a very lively conversation among us all followed. The topic: the insidious nature of college loans. We had some laughs. It was the first and last time the driver of a livery cab offered me a stick of gum when the ride was over. Of course, this exchange was run-of-the-mill for James, but it made me understand how serious he was about living the notions many us just talk about.
Which is not to underestimate the talk. The guy was a great talker, a great storyteller, and one of things I loved about James was his ability to settle in for the encounter, to give himself over to the moment, the gathered friends, the jokes, the riffs. He was a great talker and he was a great doer. It’s a rare combination. Look, there is no getting around the tragedy. Nobody should die that young, especially somebody as vital as James. He was on the verge of wonderful things, with his work, with the life he was planning, which, I can tell you, the last time I spoke to him, filled him with no end of happiness. But this isn’t just a case of potential cut short. The man had already done things, real things, with his work and his friendships. He’d traveled and learned and taught. He’d helped a lot of people know more about the world and be better people. Most important, he lived deeply. He did the things he wanted to do. He took great joy and pride in them, and they gave other people joy and deeper understanding. He left a lasting mark. I know it’s no consolation. It doesn’t change how horrible this all is, and will be for as long we live. But we must not forget it either.
Goodbye James.
James with (left to right) Sam Lipsyte, Tom Moore, John Barr, Alex Abramovich, Summer 2007
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