That’s what we called him. It was the moustache, not the macho.
The shaggy hair. Worn face, always tan. Bright eyes. Inevitable jeans.
One week ago today at the Blue Ice practica, he talked about ice skating with enthusiasm. He talked about his grandkids with pride. He talked about Lee with fondness.
During the practica he coached and taught and encouraged. At one point, teaching a new step, he reached down to gently push his partner’s leg into position. There is one man in a thousand who could get away with something like that, one man in a million who could make his partner smile as he did.
Later that night, Jim danced with the new girl from Nina’s class, the one suffering a serious case of nerves. He has done the same for many beginners, afraid of their own shadows, of their leads.
It is a sign of his grace that he did not make beginners feel he was doing community service.
Last fall he did the same for me.
“What did you do to get that guy to dance with you?” C, another beginner, demanded.
Among beginning followers, Jim was a hot commodity: easygoing, trustworthy, kind. A little talky, but that’s not a bad thing when you’re an anxious beginner slammed up against a stranger.
If C had only known the truth. Jim spent the whole tanda trying every trick in the book—without luck--to help me gain some semblance of balance.
That night, I set my sights on a goal: I would work on my balance until Jim praised it. Then I would know I had arrived.
I practiced Eleven Perfect Steps. Hours and hours, miles and miles, months and months of walking practice in killer high heels.
Finally: It’s midwinter, Jim and I find ourselves in a class together. As we are practicing a step, he says something that sounds complimentary. But the teacher is speaking, and I am tuning Jim out.
Later, as we are changing our shoes, I say hopefully, “Did you say I have good balance?”
He looks at me, puzzled. “No,” he says.
Grrr.
Months pass. I walk and walk. If I have to walk a million miles, I will do this. The Man on the Wall keeps me company, then goes away. I forget about Jim. My focus changes: mastery, not praise.
Six months after that midwinter class, one week ago today, at the Blue Ice, after a mini-volcada, Jim said, I can try that with you because of your balance.
A small comment in passing. One of the everyday kindnesses Jim scattered about.
If a pinch of salt can flavor the pot, then Tango Colorado is all the more decent and humane a community for having Jim in it.
Tuesday night, when Tango Colorado meets at the Turn, we’ll tell one another our stories about Jim. Friday at his funeral, we’ll hear stories from family and friends. All of the stories will say the same thing: Where you sow love, love grows.
Jeff Brennan, president of Tango Colorado, says:
“Jim was a great guy who always had a twinkle in his eye, which those who knew him understood mirrored the twinkle in his soul.”
***
Eden Raine, age 18 months, was born much too soon. Her parents and grown-up friends would gladly cut a dolly-size chunk out of our hearts to implant in her chest, if that would help.
It would not. Eden Raine is going to need another baby’s heart.
Blessing you, Eden Raine: Through the lovingkindness of strangers, may you receive a heart sown with love. May it grow big and strong, and you with it. As you reap may you sow. May you twinkle as brightly as the Marlboro Man.
In love we live on.
Live on, Jim Shetterly. Live on, Eden Raine.
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