My Dad often commented sadly in his later years, as he would hear of the death of a long-time friend, “The longer you live, the more friends you lose.”
That sounds like a truism, not the least bit profound, but for my Dad it expressed a powerfully emotional reality that we all must face, if we live long enough, as more and more of our friends predecease us.
All of my closest boyhood friends have died. All of my college roommates, my closest shipmates from my Navy days in World War II, all of my good friends from my baseball years, goodness knows how many wonderful friends from the various churches I have served, some close colleagues with whom I served on the faculty at Princeton Theological Seminary, and many good friends from recent years are no longer living.
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Jim Hester, 1925-2015 |
That’s why I cherish the good old friends who are still around, and that’s why I grieve all the more, when one of them dies. In recent days I have lost two such friends.
Jim Hester was my oldest Princeton friend and classmate. We met in June, 1942, when we both showed up as student waiters in the undergraduate student dining halls known as “the Commons.” We became instant friends, and the following November Jim came home with me for Thanksgiving. We both loved to harmonize, and we used to entertain my mother, as she was preparing the delicious meals she served us. Her favorite song and ours was “
The Java Jive.”
Jim joined the Marines and I enlisted in the Navy the next month. We went our separate ways, but continued to see each other at Princeton reunions and on other occasions. In recent years we have been living in the same retirement community, where our almost daily greeting was not "Hello!" or "Good morning!" or "Good evening!" or just "Hi!" but "I love coffee, I love tea, I love the Java Jive and it loves me!"
If you clicked on the Jim Hester link above you know what an amazingly accomplished man he was and what a distinguished career he had. But I'll remember the young Princeton freshman with whom I used to wait tables, study and harmonize, as well as the wheel-chair bound but still sharp as a tack friend I've been seeing almost every day for the past few years. Jim's ashes will be buried in Princeton Cemetery, not far from where my wife Margie's are buried and where mine will be, when my time comes. I'll be conducting a graveside committal service for Jim's family a few weeks from now, when the weather is more favorable.