God Bless The Old Guard

I got into journalism because I needed a job. I'm not gonna sugarcoat it.

When I started as a part-timer at The Trentonian, I honestly had no idea what I was getting into. Fortunately, the writers and editors were attentive and helpful, if not always the most patient.

One of the most helpful and patient of them was Jim Davis.

I found out yesterday that Jim died three weeks ago.

A Trenton native, Jim bled the red and black of the Tornadoes. He covered the 76ers for years, but he was devoted to the high school scene like no one I've met.

He became a pioneer for local sports in the '70s when he noticed that field hockey was starting to sprout wings in the area. He decided that being the first guy at the top field hockey game in the area was infinitely more interesting than being at, in his words, "the fifth boys' soccer game." Girls' high school sports weren't even on the radar in the area until Jim started going to field hockey games.

But his love - and what earned him his reputation - was Little League. Nobody covered it (and dare I say, covers it) like The Trentonian did, and that was because of Jim.

During the summer of 1997, I learned first-hand what kind of reputation it was and how far it stretched. Jim, a heavy smoker in his younger days, suffered a collapsed lung before the district tournaments began. I had just started writing regularly, and somehow it was thrust upon me to try to pick up the ball that would've been his while he recovered. As I went around to games, everyone from team coaches to residents/fans not only asked about him, but knew what had happened to him. You live somewhere your whole life and spend 30 years telling people what's going on there, you build up a lot of goodwill in the neighborhoods. (In fact, when he met Mike Gaynor, who coached the Toms River Americans team that won it all in 1998 and lost the U.S. title game the next year, Gaynor said it was an honor to meet him.)

A couple of weeks later, Jim came back to work and did a couple games, but he wasn't strong enough yet to keep going. Meanwhile, I was getting decent reviews for my work, but was still lacking confidence. Our paths crossed in the hallway, and he stopped, touched my arm, and said simply, "Keep it up."

I have no idea what I'd have to do to receive a greater professional compliment.

While I always (and still) preferred writing to editing, I switched to the desk because most of our writers were lifers, not to mention community icons. It would take a retirement or a death for a writing beat to open up. In the past year, there have been three. I feel for whoever is replacing them, because nobody really can. If I could, I would give them this advice, the most important thing I learned from Jim: It's about the players. Always try to talk to the kids. They're the ones with the story to tell.

Jim's youngest son, Jon, worked at the paper as a part-timer while I was there, and I helped train him on the copy desk before I left. At the wake, he said, "What would I tell people about my father? I’d tell them that he was a hard worker who loved and valued his family above everything else. He was a real person, very genuine. He didn’t appreciate phoniness. He told you the way he felt and he expected you to do the same."

Whenever Jim left the office after a long night's work, he'd often say, "Well, it's been real, and it's been fun, but it hasn't been real fun."

Actually, Jim, it was.