James Lightfoot Dolan

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, 11

memorial service, Central Baptist Church, Lowesville, VA

29 December 2006

We have gathered to say another “Good-bye” to James Dolan, a man whose life touched many. Saying final goodbyes is hard. It is exhausting and perhaps harder to repeatedly prepare to let a loved one go. Somehow it makes the last good-bye seem less real when the time finally comes. Regardless of how prepared we are, death is always a shock and a surprise. We grieve for our loss at the closing of the final chapter in another’s earthly life.

James was his family’s rock and sense of stability. He provided for his siblings and parents when the family experienced lean times. James was the only brother that was not an alcoholic. His mother taught him always to do good to others and to look for the good in others. He found the good in live in the same manner. James returned from World War II wounded in combat, but he never complained. He never talked about the Purple Heart he received. He accepted life’s difficulties by focusing on the joys that were still within reach.

Returning from war with a crippling injury to his leg, James needed therapy sessions twice a day. He paid his youngest sister a quarter to help. They manipulated the leg and strengthened the bond between them in the process. In his own needs, James found ways to help others. James helped the others through the death of his other siblings and the death of his mother. He was always the strong one, shedding tears at his mother’s death only at the funeral home.

James enjoyed people, but was not very good with names. After once confusing Melessa’s name, he thereafter referred to Mike and “her”. When he was unsure of a name, he would prefer to say “Susie Q,” rather than make a mistake. He called whatever dog “Sooner” instead of worrying with a name.

James was the life of a party, with his music and dancing. Even with a crippled leg, he would and could still dance with the best of them. He once danced his pants loose, holding them up with one hand not to interrupt the dance. Another time he danced off the sole of his shoe, but that did not stop him either. He was determined to enjoy life, even when it meant laughing at himself.

James never missed a funeral. He would read the paper and take Mike along to the next funeral. “Come on, get your clothes. We gotta go to another one.” He connected with people, for people meant a lot to him. Spending the summer with Ashley, they would watch The Price Is Right, a western, then go out to one of four restaurants to eat, flirt with his “girls,” meet people, and hang out before returning home for a nap. He liked driving around in his lime green pickup at 35mph, always staying on the white line on his side of the road.

His wife, Shirley died in 1976, and James finished raising the children on his own. Home was special to James. He was best buddies with Mike, coaching his Little League team, hunting, and fishing together. When Mike married at age 25, James did not want him to leave home. When it was Mike’s turn to coach a team not based on tryouts, James was always there, though he never could grasp the concept of a team that accepted anyone who wanted to play.

James was always dignified, neat, clean, and hair in place. He enjoyed children, and especially the grandchildren. He would lay on the floor playing or watching cartoons with them. He liked to pick on the grandkids, meowing at Ashley until she would finally tell him, “Papa, I’m not a cat, I’m a kid.” One day wearing his customary slick leather shoes, he tossed the football underhanded to the grandchildren, falling on his elbow in the gravel. Rather than wincing as most would do, he fell to giggles while Emily worried about her grandfather getting hurt.

James enjoyed hunting and fishing, often taking the grandkids with him. Saturdays always found him fishing. He never missed a ballgame at Temperance, except when he was too ill. In his final months there were many close calls. He bounced back many times. Despite the sorrow he faced, he had a zest for life and too much joy in living to keep for himself.

James loved music. Wherever there was a music program, James was always invited. He was present for every musical program in the area. For years after Shirley’s death he did not date, but he would dance with Mike’s aunts as friends. He could play the guitar and harmonica at the same time. Twice a week he would play and sing at the nursing homes. As a resident at Fairmont Crossing, he still found strength to play and sing for the others, sharing his zest for life, friendship, and music. The last song he played was “There Is No Place Like Home.”

The lime green truck was his calling card, and the way Emily’s friends identified him. No one made James do anything. When it became too dangerous for him to drive, the family took away his keys. He had extra sets hidden away. Ashley took his keys, but he took them back. Mike had to disconnect parts on his truck to keep him from driving it. He called Mike to come back and fix it, because he wanted to hear it running. Just after Mike took his car keys, they passed each other on Mike’s way to take James to church. “Oh, I had another set of keys.”

He always spent Christmas Eve with grandkids at Mike’s, not allowing anyone to get to the Christmas tree before he was there to see the children’s faces. He would sit on end of the sofa with the dog next to him. Never sure about the dog’s name, he would call him “Sooner” and keep it by his side to make sure it didn’t climb onto his lap.

Ecclesiastes reminds us that there is a time for everything. There is also a time for things to end. With the closing of the chapter of James’ earthly life, there will be no more new memories of James to share. There will be no more hours at the woodpile, therapy sessions with his leg, slow drives in the lime-green pickup, underhand football passes, ballgames at Temperance, songs at the nursing homes, or Saturday fishing with James. Christmases will be a new experience without James on the sofa. As James proclaimed in life, however, there will still be reason for laughter, dancing, giggles, and music.

We grieve the fact that James is no longer here. We rejoiced in the gift of his life and the impact of his presence on so many. In our sorrow, we recall the joy he found even in events that were cause of worry, heartache, and pain. Our lives will be diminished with the loss we suffer, yet they are richer for the joy, hope, strength, and peace that James shared with family and friends across the years.

Now it is time to bid James “Good-bye” and entrust him to the care of Jesus Christ, whom he claimed as Lord and Savior. It is, after all, not a final “Good-bye” in the end. For those who accept Christ Jesus as Lord and Savior, it is but another temporary parting until we meet again in the presence of Christ. In the meantime, may we be encouraged by James’ example to find the joy in life all around. There is yet reason for singing, dancing, laughter, giggles, and slowly driving a lime-green truck.

—©2006 Christopher B. Harbin