by Jim Ferry (2.1)
This is a story about my son, Joseph. His dates are 1961-1979. He was only 18 years old when he passed away. Full of promise.
He was a super kid; honor student at Jesuit High School. Very like able He was a real thinker. He was very retrospective in his thoughts. He really wondered if there was a God and was a very deep, thoughtful person; not like typical stereotype teenager.
He loved to climb, he loved to take chances. I was worried about his climbing, his amateur climbing, so we all went to Yosemite Valley and took professional lessons at climbing school there. I think I took one of the younger kids, Steven, and we climbed Puppy Dome, but Joseph – and a friend Kurt – climbed the much harder hill and took technical lessons.
In all the years I can remember, I only had one argument with him. I was divorced from Mary Ella. He had one of the company vehicles. It was a 4x4 that he used to take skiing and we needed it on a construction job and I asked him for it back. It was a company truck. I asked him to return the truck and asked him twice and he was just – I guess they would be really short for transportation without that truck. He said a few words about it. I got the truck back but I wasn’t mad at him at all. I was really glad. It was the only time I can remember he ever really stood up to me. Soon after that, the family got another vehicle but I don’t remember how.
He was working for me at my office and he was supposed to go to UC Irvine a week later. He was going to go there for college, had been accepted there, and he was headed for premed. His mother was delighted. My ex was a nurse and her father was a doctor.
He worked for me on the 12th preparing a bid. He took the 13th off to go rock climbing with a friend, Kurt. He called Papa Jim that night and talked over a job we going to bid. The next day there was a problem, though; the friend canceled and Joseph went off by himself. I didn’t have any idea he was going alone. One can climb by themselves; it’s called free climbing. Free climbing, there’s nobody with you. You just climb up a little bit and anchor yourself up and then climb and anchor yourself in. It’s much more dangerous than climbing with a crew of people. He might have been totally free climbing, I don’t know. But totally free, there’s nothing tying you in at all; you just climb up the mountain. The fact that he fell out from the face says a climbing pin might have pulled out.
Anyway, he was killed climbing this day. He fell from the heights and landed on rocks and was killed. He fell from 60 to 100 ft. He had gotten to the top alone and climbing on his way down. Someone saw him fall backwards. He was killed instantly with a broken neck and back. His face and head was ok.
They didn’t really know who he was when he landed. He didn’t have any identification on. The coroner came out and picked him up; took him to Placerville. What they do in cases like these is they wait until the parking lot is empty, wait until all the cars have gone and then when there’s one car there they check the license number and start calling to find out who it is. They contacted my ex and she contacted me about ten o’clock.
I remember the phone call. She was really distraught and then I was really distraught. It was very late. I went over and picked her up and we drove up to the morgue in Placerville to identify him. We kept hoping it was a mistake; not our kid. I could not look at him in the morgue. Couldn’t do it. I only saw a Polaroid picture of him. It showed him lifeless, but resting. My Ex was a nurse. She was very professional about it, almost cold, but I know not on the inside. She really loved that kid dearly.
I went up the next day with Bob Dalton to get his car. His keys were lost but I know what he usually did. He usually hid the keys near the car. So we both went up and looked at all the hiding places we could think of near the car but we couldn’t find them so we had to call AAA. They came from South Shore; took forever. We went to breakfast at the Strawberry Lodge there and I guess my friend told the lodge that I was the father of the boy that was killed the day before and they gave us a free breakfast, which I’ll never forget. I see Strawberry Lodge and the Hill every time I've driven to Tahoe.
Joseph had a huge funeral. He had lots of classmates, teachers, and friends there. A wonderful talk was given by a priest that really knew him. It was a very sad interment. My wife was very busy seeing to it and getting all our other kids involved, seeing to our friends. I was totally out of the loop. I was invited to the reception at my ex’s but I just declined. I couldn’t go.
My second son and I had a talk. He was only 15. He was the man at home now. He and I were both very confused about it. My family was there for me. The kids and the kids’ friends, people in the parish and so on – belonged to my ex. My friends were the “me” generation; you know, you take care of yourself. I got pretty depressed about it all a little bit later not have a support group.
I had a girl I was engaged to at the time and she just kind of shrugged it off and said, “Well, that’s just too bad. Those things happen,” and “Sorry.” Right there I broke the engagement; not verbally but in my mind I did. I said, “She’s so detached. She’s not the one for me.” But some of my other friends were there for me.
My Ex, surprisingly, was very upset because my son Joseph’s climbing rope was gone. Somebody pinched it, I guess. Somebody’s climbing rope is a very special personal item.
Looking back, I don’t really blame myself. The only thing I could have given him would be a little more caution in life. He was kind of a take-a-chance type of kid. We were on a four-day kayaking one time and he climbed to the top of this pretty big mountain all by himself. I thought if he fell and hurt himself we’d sure be in trouble we were days away from civilization.. But he climbed the top of the mountain and down.
He was kind of a daredevil at kayaking. On one trip we went through a Class 4 rapids and I went through but I sure thought about it before I did and I doubt I would do it again. But a couple of other people didn’t want to go and he hiked up the stream and took their boats down for them. He rode the Class 4 about three times.
This is the memory of my son Joseph. He’s been dead quite a while now but we think of him. I think of him daily. All my family has his picture displayed. There are nephews with the name Joseph as first and middle name.
He loved the out doors. And I think every time I drive up Hwy 80 where he is buried along the freeway at he Catholic cemetery; I wish he were in a quieter place. I have drive this stretch many times in the past almost 30 years since young Joe with all his bright promised passed on.
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