Last Thoughts About JD

JD Sparks, my friend of 30 years, passed away a few weeks ago. Last weekend was his memorial. Everyone got a chance to share some stories. I was especially grateful to meet many of JD's family and other friends, and hear what they had to say.

Here are a few stories about my friend.

I met JD in 9th grade, in a shop class of all places. Back then, he went by Jay. He, Monte (the other kid I met in shop class who liked D&D) and I spent a lot of time in class not paying attention. Instead, we goofed off and played games, like one called Global Thermonuclear Destruction on a map JD had drawn on graph paper. We used the 6 sides of No. 2 Lead Pencils for our dice, possibly also JD’s invention. A much better way to pass the hour than listening to our teacher explain how to sand wood and rivet leather.

The three of us soon moved on to the good stuff--Dungeons & Dragons! In one of our first games (played in my parent’s basement of course), JD’s character gained a –1 penalty to his attacks. He decided that meant that he should act unpredictably. At a bridge over an endless abyss, his character pushed mine over the edge, exclaiming, "I'm cursed!" Though JD went on to become one of the strongest gamemasters I’ve ever had the pleasure to play with, the “I’m cursed!” story remains one of my favorites.

Our group of goof-off D&D players soon grew to include myself, JD, Monte Cook, Richard Bue, Bob Baxter, and Bret Holien. We called ourselves the Hong Kong Cavaliers (and still do). Back in high school when we weren’t playing D&D or some other RPG, spending quarters at the arcade, or reading comic books, we were doing a school-sponsored forensic activity. That meant debate, and for JD and myself, Oratory.

Oratory required that you write an 8 minute speech each year, memorize it, then practice it so well that you could give it like a pro. By our senior year, JD and I traded top places across South Dakota and western Minnesota each weekend. JD could recite from memory the beginning few paragraphs of all our strongest competitors’ orations. And he could still do so TO THIS DAY.

(Bob Baxter and I were debate partners, and we ended up winning the SD state debate tournament our senior year, but that's another story.)

We Hong Kong Cavaliers remained friends all this time, and in the 30 years since I became friends with JD, I’ve gotten to hang out with him several times even though we've never lived in the same state since High School. Last year I organized a semi-regular D&D game with JD and the rest of the Hong Kong Cavaliers thanks to the magic of Google Hangouts. We all got to laugh as, once more, as JD “put up his defenses!” This time around, though, I was the gamemaster, so JD didn’t get a chance to push my character off any high ledges.

Even more often than we played D&D, JD, Torah Cottrill, and I played online video games over the last several years, especially City of Heroes and Guild Wars 2. JD loved those games, and sometimes we ended up in one of those imaginary lands two or even three times a week. If you had a question about how to craft a sword, where to find the best quests, or where the toughest levels were, JD knew it. And he also was such a gracious friend that he got joy out of stocking the guild vault with goodies that the rest of us could use.

JD was a giving, loving, and talented man. I haven’t even touched on his amazing artistic talent, though Torah and I have several of his pieces framed in our home. Whenever I see them, I think of him. He made the world a better place for the 45 years he was part of it. He touched all of us with his art, his humor and wit, and the way he managed to keep a positive attitude when all the world sometimes seemed against him.

He will be missed more than I can say.

A few words about my Dad

I lost my dad last Monday morning unexpectedly. He was only 64 years old. The fact that both his grandfather and father lived into their 90s led me to believe he'd be around at least as long. But it wasn't to be.

Trying to sum up a lifetime in a few short paragraphs is impossible. Especially for someone who lived and loved life as much as him.

I remember many things about my father. Good times, and good lessons.

I remember how much he loved camping. How the entire family would go camping practically every weekend during the summer. And no camping trip was complete without putting the camper on the pickup, a campfire, pitching the tent for me and my brother Brian (my younger sister Laurie slept in the camper), and marshmallows. And of course the video camera. I can’t even guess how many hours of video of trees, lakes and mountains were generated. Those shots of rolling landscape always seem like a good idea at the time.

And I’m sure some of you remember how much he loved having everyone out on the 4th of July for fireworks. Bottlerockets, snakes, smokers, ground displays, and huge rockets we’d light and run away from. Oh, and sparklers of course. The kids and some of the grownups always got to play with the sparklers.

I remember how he used to love riding his motorcycle. It was an 1100, a big bike. So big he never let me ride it. I remember him and Mom rode to Sturgis for several years, how they rode in a local club, and how he loved to wear his jacket with “colorful” slogans ironed on.

I remember how much he loved his cat Mouse, how that cat would bite the living daylights out of your hand or attack your leg out of the blue, but Mouse had his sweet moments, and my Dad still loved him.

He helped me build my matchbox derby car in boy scouts, getting those lead weights inside just right—heavy enough so the car would race down the track, but not so heavy they’d disqualify the car for the races.

My dad also taught me a lot of things. Taught all of us kids who grew up in his house I suppose to a greater or lesser extent. A few highlights:

He taught me how to throw a football, and how to punt and catch one too. Same thing for baseball; he even gave me his old catcher’s mitt. If there was any downtime in the summer, count on Dad to say, “Let’s go throw the football.”

He taught my siblings and I how to wheel and deal in games of Monopoly. Trading properties, hotels, cash, even turns. No deal was ever too convoluted for him. Of course, if he ended up with Boardwark and Parkplace out of the deal, all the better.

Along with my Mom, he taught me how to care for animals, with all the kittens, dogs, and even a few calves that lived at our place. It was a regular menagerie, and I suppose it explains why I’ve had a similar situation in my life, with more pets than sense.

He taught me how to canoe. I remember one time he let Brian and me off near the lake that had flooded over its boundaries, and we canoed for hours over flooded roads, ditches, and fields.

He _tried_ to teach me how an engine worked, but I was a poor student. I never could figure out the difference between a 5/8ths and a 11/16ths wrench!

He taught me that for the big things, there was such a thing as grace under pressure. When I slid off the road and crashed into a telephone pole in the middle of South Dakota miles from anywhere, and that car was subsequently buried under a blizzard for three days, he didn’t freak out, yell, or ask me how I could have done such a thing. He just nodded, and started making plans on how to deal with it. I’ll always remember how calmly he handled that.

But the best lesson my dad ever taught me was this: If you practice something long enough, no matter HOW AWFUL you are at it, eventually, in time, you’ll not only improve, but master it. You see, I joined the wrestling team in grade school. Even though I wanted to quit every year on account of how bad I was, my dad convinced me to keep it up. After 8 years of this, in junior high, I was the best wrestler on the team, and the 2nd best wrestler in South Dakota (in my weight class /qualifier).

The great thing about that lesson is that it applies to everything in life. Reading. Writing. Juggling. Computer programming. Martial Arts. Whether physical or mental; he made me realize

that Talent Is Practice. Sometimes long grueling practice, but so it goes.

And I have my Dad to thank for teaching me that.

My dad taught me a lesson I’ll never forget.

Just like I’ll never forget my dad, Leroy Robert Cordell.

Hektor

We lost our dog Hektor this morning. I miss him more than words can express. He loved us without reservation. 

Probably the one creature on this earth that wholly loved me with so little expectation in return.