Big Brother Jim

Monday, April 5th, 2004

"Words for Today"
There's night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun, moon, and stars, brother, all sweet things; there's likewise a wind on the heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?
The word today from the English author George Barrow born in 1803. A great rambler and traveler, he was interested in all people, especially wanderers.

They are for my Big Brother Jim Albers – Donald James Albers – but he's always been Big Brother Jim to me. Jim turned sixty-eight on Saturday last, April 3, 2004. He acts and looks like a fifty-something – fishing almost daily, summer and winter, hunting, taking care of his granddaughters – enjoying every moment to the limit – including his naps.

Tell you this, kola, my Bib Brother Jim is one hell of a guy. He called me everyday last week as I was going through the weest bit of despair and no small discomfort with my little fight with the insidious invader, but Big Brother Jim helped pull me through along with those brothers who have adopted me – brothers Dave and Don of my ever-lovin', long-suffering spouse Leslie and her sister's husband Wayne. Without my spouse, of course, I would not have made it more than a month or so. Without Leslie, I would not be here to today actually sitting in my office taking a bit of time off from actually getting some work done. Without my brothers – especially my Big Brother Jim, and Cousin Norm, whom I love as a brother as well, life would not be very much fun.

Six years my elder, Jim always know all the ways of the world long before I did. 'Twas he who taught me so many things a little brother takes for granted. 'Twas he who passed on to me the '48 Ford maroon-colored flat-head eight after he had one hell of a time with the car – he was still running three years later when I passed it on to a young friend for some $25.00. Jim was soldier – I was a draft-dodger – howbeit under quite different circumstances, for he went to Korea to do much what troops are doing in Iraq today – with a bit less danger. I was supposed to go to Vietnam, and I said, "Hell, no, I won't go!" Big Brother was off working in California and I was in college and then graduate school at Colorado State in Fort Collins. Big Brother Jim never faulted me for my draft-dodgin' ways – in fact, he approved. In the early sixties, before I really got started on a college career that took forever, he took me out to Barstow, California to live with me and his wife Lucille, and their infant son Jimmy John, a.ka. Little Jim. I had the time of my life. Jim worked at a big marine depot – and we would go fishing on the weekends. 'Twas there that I worked one of the hardest jobs of my life, but that's another story for another time. When I go on the bus to go home a month or so later, he slipped me some money for the trip back – which took one hell of a lot longer than the one to Barstow, for on the way there, we drove nonstop except for taking on fuel and changing drivers. Big Jim is generous to a fault, sentimental as can be, and everything anyone could possible want a big brother to be. He didn't say much about his experience in South Korea during the occupation of the 1950s – beyond the fact that he had a great job. He was the chauffeur for a Colonel, I think, who was into army football – so his major duties involved going to football games -–or at least taking the Colonel there and doing what he willed otherwise. No one has a more infectious laugh than my brother – God, but how he enjoys life! To tell you the truth – and I worked for a summer where he spend decades as a loyal employee of Basin Electric Cooperative in Stanton – I have never met a man or woman who did not like Big Jim Albers. That's saying some.

Among the great times we had were those we spent fishing at the Missouri, Knife – and even tiny Square Butte Creek, the great waterway of Oliver County that does go through the heart of Hannover Township in the Center of the Universe. Most memorable were a couple of times at Catfish Bay just west of Pick City, where Big Jim and Lucille have a wonderful home near the water. Lake Sakakawea (we North Dakotans stubbornly refuse to spell it any other way) is down – in fact, Catfish Bay is gone now – but I'll never forget using the Big Brother's deep-sea fishing outfit baited with a whale of a minnow one day. We were playing pinocle on the bank – Cousin Norm was there along with Jim and our friend, Larry Borneman – along with spouses and children. All of a sudden the entire deep-sea fishing outfit disappeared. I jumped to my feet, took off shoes, and waded into the shallow water. This huge (well, at least eight pounds in weight) had wrapped itself around a sunken tree. Back in those days, I was strong like horse, so I grabbed the tree and emerged with the fish dangling from a limb and the deep-sea outfit as well. Another experience I'll never forget is fishing in my brother's boat on the tailrace of Garrison Dam – but that stories only for the three of us to tell to each other.

I introduced my Big Brother to all my hunting pals – none of whom would get out of the car if I were carrying a gun, because I simply was the most absent-minded of fellows. One friend was Ken Peterson, who rented a room from me when I was teaching at Dickinson State. Ken lived hard and died far too young of mouth cancer. He hailed from up at Flaxton on the Canadian border. On this occasion, they actually allowed me to carry a shotgun. We were crouched on a hillside, and a huge flock of snow geese flew high overhead – my brother and I shot in total vain, but eagle-eyed Ken Peterson brought down three or four from a dizzying height. I think that was the last time I shouldered a shotgun – or shot a gun of any kind.

Big Jim has found a fishing and hunting companion in the teen-aged granddaughter, Victoria – and, of course, with his son Little Jim who as followed his ways from infancy. A beauty, Victoria reminds me of the Greek goddess Diana.

Well, my dear kola, 'tis truly a gloriously beauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuutiful day in Dakota – in the sixties, shirt-sleeve weather. You can be sure that Big Brother Jim is out fishing. I wish I were with you – but I'm there in spirit. One of the few advantages of sharp reminders of mortality is being able to say "Thank you," and "I love you," to people who have made all the difference in one's passage here in the middle world – no one in quite the same way as you, my dear Big Brother Jim. Happy sixty-eight years and two-day birthday of one of the best days in the history of humankind, the day you were born. And bless the day you came along, dear kola of mine, one and all. Hope you are taking care of yourselves and looking out for each other.

Ev Albers