Good-bye, Jim

I've lost family and friends before.  Rode each event out pretty much whole.
 
But losing Jim McGarvey has been a hard ride maybe not yet over.
 

Jim was my friend. 
 

And I was his.
 

Jim was a comrade in arms.  
 

Right now, losing Jim, I feel empty . . . somewhat the way I felt another raw moment 43 years ago on a God forsaken LZ scape of earth hard by the Ho Chi Minh trail.
 

A huge part of MEA-MFT has died. 
 

At first Jim and I warred against each other as MEA and MFT competed for members and affiliates . . . sometimes oblivious to the wreckage we left around and the outside, predatory, anti-union dangers our warfare invited. 
 

But once we figured out our respective union interests were better served united than not, we built one hell of a union.
 

Then we warred together, joined at the hip in common cause, for the best things good government exists to provide: public schools, public health and human services, public safety, minimum wage, universal health care  . . . and against right-wing, libertarian political evil that would destroy the social compact, drown government in a bathtub, privatize public schools, sell out Social Security and pensions, and prohibit workers from organizing to bargain collectively for competitive salaries and benefits -- the stuff that makes the American middle class. 
 

The war continues.  It is a war, you know.
 

Now without Jim.  
 
And I have other memories:
 

Decoding Jim's history lessons and instructional stories. He was a book of infinite chapters, and he never began a story on the first page.  
 

Fishing Jim out of truly dangerous rapids in the Alberton Gorge.  
 

Jim painstakingly ordering dinner a la carte and not eating most of it.  
 

Jim and his damned tea bags.
 

Jim calling whenever and demanding, "Tell me what I don't know."
 

Jim's three cell phones buzzing at once, one in his ear.
 

Jim and his fat beat up book of multi-colored note pages that he carried everywhere but rarely opened in my presence.  Each color meant something to Jim.  I don't know what. 
 

Jim forcefully calming troubled waters between MEA-MFT and the governor's office setting the stage for successful legislation creating state-funded quality educator payment, education loan repayment, and full-time kindergarten.   
 

Jim and the iron-clad friendships he built, nurtured, and never forgot.
 

Jim and the implacable enemies he made, nurtured, and never forgot in the rough-edged world of union organizing . . . because, well, because he was Jim . . . and he despised jealous competitors who failed to grant or even acknowledge his success.  They gave it back in kind. 
 

Jim and Butte, the sacred city of his birth.
 

Jim, a Montana organizer, without peer.
 

Jim's funeral is today, Monday, Labor Day, as it should be.
 

Goodbye, Jim
 

Eric Feaver  

P.S.  Despite rumors to the contrary, I don’t believe Jim ever really fished with dynamite.