OGG
Master of the Meh
Way back around the time I met my wife, there was this little coffe house I hung out (where I met my wife in fact). Every afternoon at about 3:30 this guy who could be Lemmy's muscle-bound twin brother would roll up in his Suzuki Samarai, walk inside and say one word: "coffee". He would then sit at one of the outside tables, flannel unbuttoned over a tight black T-shirt, blue jeans and monster black work boots. He looked scary as fuck. He would sit there, quietly, one leg crossed over the other with a boiling hot cup of coffee (no lid, and actual coffee cup) resting precariously upon one knee as if he had no fear, chainsmoking awful "light" cigarettes.
People avoided him because he looked so intimidating. Counter staff called him "caveman". He was quite a presence.
One afternoon we were sitting at adjacent tables when a gorgeous Harley Springer Soft Tail pulled up and parked along the curb in front of us. I watched as he pulled his aviators down his nose to get a better look. I blurted out "nice bike" without even thinking. Oh no, I spoke to the cave man!
He said, yeah, but I'd prefer my old Panhead Hardtail.
The ice was broken. Over the next few weeks we talked more and more and I realized he was an incredibly bright and intelligent guy that had gone through enough shit in life to basically become a loner. He had been working as a Linesman for Pac Bell for nearly 30 years at that point. He jokingly referred to himself as "the Demigod of Dial Tone", as he was the guy who ultimately brought the phone juice to the terminal block.
Over some time, he really became part of the little group of friends that hung out regularly, and once he opened up, he was funny and so great to be around. Once that place closed up he migrated with Kristy and I over to Starbucks. We spent virtually ever afternoon or evening with our friend. We became exceptionally close. This giant, gruff looking beast with the thick Milwaukee accent became part of our family. When our first child Ryan was born, he would fawn over that kid (despite giving him triple chocolate fudge cake when he was like six months old just to fuck with us). Strangers would walk by in horror as this caveman bounced the Gerber baby on his knee.
Because he lived alone, he became our regular guest for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. We could tell it meant a lot to him, and we felt blessed to have him there.
When our second son was born, we named him after our friend by giving him the middle name James. That is how much we had come to love Jim.
In 2003, he retired from Pac Bell and bought a piece of property high upon Mt. Taylor in New Mexico. When he left hear then, we never dreamt it would be the last time we saw him. He promised to make occasional trips back out here, and we talked about going out there to visit, but neither ever happened. He built a home on that mountain with his own two hands.
We talked on the phone regularly. Then one day his phone number no longer worked. We tried sending letters, but they came back undeliverable. We feared the worst, hoped for the best, but since 2012, we'd had no contact and despite very thorough searches, could not find anything about him or his whereabouts.
My wife told me in 2012 that she had "felt him leave" and that he had said goodbye. I didn't want to believe it.
So she found an old picture of him the other night and posted it on Facebook. Our friend Jeremy (Who also really loved Jim) took it upon himself to track him down using paid searches. At first there seemed to be some promising leads, he had a son in Colorado, and there was an address. I began to feel a little hope that my dear friend may still be with us.
Then Jeremy sent me a picture of his grave marker dated 2012. The marker is at a cemetery back home in Wisconsin and says his cremains were scattered over that mountain top in New Mexico.
I just lost it. Then I had to go tell Kristy. All I could do was show her the picture. We hugged and cried for I don't know how long.
He never got to meet our daughter. All those talks about making plans, wasted.
My real dad died when I was an infant. Jim wasn't just a dear friend, he was a father figure for me and he guided me through some times that I'm not sure I would have survived. Knowing he really is gone feels like losing a parent all over again.
RIP James Edward Mahsem. You occupy a huge space in my heart.
Sent from Crab Nebulae via reverse engineered alien technology
People avoided him because he looked so intimidating. Counter staff called him "caveman". He was quite a presence.
One afternoon we were sitting at adjacent tables when a gorgeous Harley Springer Soft Tail pulled up and parked along the curb in front of us. I watched as he pulled his aviators down his nose to get a better look. I blurted out "nice bike" without even thinking. Oh no, I spoke to the cave man!
He said, yeah, but I'd prefer my old Panhead Hardtail.
The ice was broken. Over the next few weeks we talked more and more and I realized he was an incredibly bright and intelligent guy that had gone through enough shit in life to basically become a loner. He had been working as a Linesman for Pac Bell for nearly 30 years at that point. He jokingly referred to himself as "the Demigod of Dial Tone", as he was the guy who ultimately brought the phone juice to the terminal block.
Over some time, he really became part of the little group of friends that hung out regularly, and once he opened up, he was funny and so great to be around. Once that place closed up he migrated with Kristy and I over to Starbucks. We spent virtually ever afternoon or evening with our friend. We became exceptionally close. This giant, gruff looking beast with the thick Milwaukee accent became part of our family. When our first child Ryan was born, he would fawn over that kid (despite giving him triple chocolate fudge cake when he was like six months old just to fuck with us). Strangers would walk by in horror as this caveman bounced the Gerber baby on his knee.
Because he lived alone, he became our regular guest for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. We could tell it meant a lot to him, and we felt blessed to have him there.
When our second son was born, we named him after our friend by giving him the middle name James. That is how much we had come to love Jim.
In 2003, he retired from Pac Bell and bought a piece of property high upon Mt. Taylor in New Mexico. When he left hear then, we never dreamt it would be the last time we saw him. He promised to make occasional trips back out here, and we talked about going out there to visit, but neither ever happened. He built a home on that mountain with his own two hands.
We talked on the phone regularly. Then one day his phone number no longer worked. We tried sending letters, but they came back undeliverable. We feared the worst, hoped for the best, but since 2012, we'd had no contact and despite very thorough searches, could not find anything about him or his whereabouts.
My wife told me in 2012 that she had "felt him leave" and that he had said goodbye. I didn't want to believe it.
So she found an old picture of him the other night and posted it on Facebook. Our friend Jeremy (Who also really loved Jim) took it upon himself to track him down using paid searches. At first there seemed to be some promising leads, he had a son in Colorado, and there was an address. I began to feel a little hope that my dear friend may still be with us.
Then Jeremy sent me a picture of his grave marker dated 2012. The marker is at a cemetery back home in Wisconsin and says his cremains were scattered over that mountain top in New Mexico.
I just lost it. Then I had to go tell Kristy. All I could do was show her the picture. We hugged and cried for I don't know how long.
He never got to meet our daughter. All those talks about making plans, wasted.
My real dad died when I was an infant. Jim wasn't just a dear friend, he was a father figure for me and he guided me through some times that I'm not sure I would have survived. Knowing he really is gone feels like losing a parent all over again.
RIP James Edward Mahsem. You occupy a huge space in my heart.
Sent from Crab Nebulae via reverse engineered alien technology
