He lived a magnificent life. Because doing so was much more interesting than not living a magnificent life. Because he wouldn’t have it another way. Because he was Jim Reiley.
I didn’t meet my friend Jim until he was 90 years old, when he had just finished his fifth novel in as many years: stories of adventure, drama, and romance. The day we met, he had just returned from swimming laps at the local senior center for a full ninety minutes. He was gray-haired, a bit unsteady on his feet, but had the smart wit of a teenager and a steel trap mind.
I was there to interview him about his latest novel, Sea Boxes and Twist Locks, a murder mystery set aboard a sea cargo ship, and was impressed that a man of this age had written a pretty darn entertaining novel. What I didn’t know until our interview was that he did his research as a guest aboard sea cargo ships–yes, the barges of the sea!–traveling across oceans to ports around the world several times over. Jim wasn’t deterred by spending endless days on the open ocean or the nefarious storm fronts that threw daggers at the ships. He took full advantage of the weather-worthy days on the deck with his notebook and pen, recording what would soon become his next novel. He had begun this adventure at age eighty-seven.
This was not a man who shied away from life. Jim had survived a plane crash while training pilots for combat in World War II. He went from working on Wall Street to farming in Virginia; from teaching history in public schools and colleges, to traveling by motorhome from state to state with his artist-wife of decades, where he taught at elder hostels in retirement.
Eventually, Jim made the decision to move 45 minutes away to a senior living apartment near his daughter's home. So, I drove to his place on occasional Saturdays where he would reveal the additions to his manuscript, and I (his editor) would pull out my red pen, and together we would discuss and debate the latest character developments. During these days, we always shared a meal together, whether at a restaurant or home-cooked by Jim, and inevitably the conversation would turn to stories about his past–my favorite part of the visit.
One evening as I drove out of the parking lot of his apartment complex, I looked up to his second-floor window. There stood Jim, raising his hand in salutation. I smiled, mimicked his gesture, and drove away thinking about the railroad stories from his childhood that he’d shared with me that evening. Thinking that his very life could be a bestseller.
And then, just a few days later, he was no longer there. No longer at his apartment ready to stand up for the actions of his characters. No longer serving up a perfect beef roast. He was no longer anywhere. Jim had a massive stroke. His last story had been told, his last book penned.
God, he was a good man, one who, these eight years later, still inspires me. Jim Reiley was a man who lived. Who gratefully, wholeheartedly lived.
"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"
– Mary Oliver
Comments