Jim Rickard was a son, brother, husband, dad, father-in-law, grandfather, great-grandfather, uncle, and much more. His grandson, Chaz Elliott, encapsulated what he meant to his family in this letter.

James "Jim" Francis Rickard went by many names in his life: Tex, Grumpy, Unk, Wingnut, and Boomer – and probably some other less generous ones that I will politely refrain from repeating here. He had so many nicknames because he meant so much to so many.

When I think about my grandfather, I think about many things. I think about family, decency, laughter – the Green Bay Packers and the Boston Red Sox, maybe even the LA Clippers. I think about golf and Hoop Dreams, flamingos and cards. I think about him throwing me a spitball and threatening to rip our ears off. I think about martinis and ribeye steaks. I think about him telling us he was a spy and me accusing him of killing Jimmy Hoffa. I think about his expressions – Texisms as they are called: "you lie like a rug," "no shit sherlock," "you're full of malarkey." I think about his stories – the one about Sister Mary Lucy cheating at cards in the convent and the many about him and Jimmer Downey in Walkerville. My grandfather was not a perfect man – stubborn as hell, he could be quick to anger and prone to losing at cards to his grandkids and yes, his wife. When I think about my grandfather, I think about many things. However, I think about one above all the rest. I think about love.

First, there was his marriage to my grandmother. Their story began at a high school dance on Valentine's Day in 1952. That night, my grandfather decided to ask a friend of my grandmother's to dance. Fortunately, the friend went to the bathroom and took too long to come out. My grandfather, never known for his patience, asked my grandmother instead. Afterwards, they exchanged class rings as a joke – friends thought it was humorous to imagine that the two could go steady. Well, 72 years, three kids, nine grandkids, and eight great-grandkids later, it became one hell of a joke. My mom says that you know God has a sense of humor for pairing the two together, and she is right. Seriously, some of their "discussions" could have gotten great ratings on pay-per-view. But God also must have known what he was doing on that Valentine's Day night for their marriage was a love story – albeit an entertaining one – between two best friends.

Then there was his love for his family, which was as deep as it was abiding. His love was not flashy or corny. Rather, his was a quieter – yet equally profound – love. His love would reveal itself when he grabbed your hand across the table to get your attention so that he could impart a lesson or offer a kind word. His love would reveal itself when he wished you goodnight and earnestly told you that he loved you. His love would reveal itself in the stories he told. I want to share one of those stories.

When I was born, I was extremely sick and had to be incubated. For weeks, it was unclear whether I would survive. Shortly after I was born, my grandfather came and saw me in my incubator for the first time. There was a little hole on the side of the incubator for visitors to reach in and touch the baby. My grandfather reached through that hole to greet one of his two new grandkids. Probably terrified of the giant, hairy hand approaching, I wrapped my entire tiny hand around just one of his fingers. Then and there, my grandfather said something that will stick with me for the rest of my life: "Everything is going to be okay."

I, of course, remember none of this. I vaguely remember him telling the story over the years here and there. However, my grandfather, in his final years, told it with greater frequency – and perhaps greater urgency. One of the last times I saw him, the night before I left town, he told the story one more time. By then, his memory was fading, but I remember listening to him recall our first encounter and realizing that perhaps this story was his final lesson that he wanted to leave with me – his final token of love. As I say goodbye, I am comforted by our first meeting.

My grandfather was what a grandfather ought to be. He taught us to be kind and decent. He taught us how to tell a good story. He taught us to laugh – and to laugh at ourselves. He taught us to have a good time. He taught us how to play cards and how to swing a driver – or at least he tried. He taught us you can be grumpy – just do it with a bit of charm. He was what a grandfather ought to be.

I want to close with one more story – a favorite of my grandfather's. This one came back when he was in college at Seattle University. One night, he had been out to the bar and probably had one too many to drink. Walking home, my grandfather – half-English and half-Irish himself – sang an old English song about an Irishman longing for home: "It's a Long Way to Tipperary." The next morning, he had to walk to class along the same route he had traveled the night before – likely with a bit of a headache this time. He realized he was passing the priest's house. Sure enough, the father came out and promptly asked, "Hey, Jim, did you ever make it home to Tipperary last night?" Every time my grandfather told this story, he would promptly laugh at the punchline with his quintessential smirk and wipe his mouth as if to take a bow for a story well told.

My grandfather never made it to Tipperary. However, I do know that he has now made it home.

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James (Jim) Rickard died peacefully at home in Billings, MT, on Monday, July 15, 2024. He was 89 years old. Jim is survived by his wife of 69 years, Ceil Ann Rickard; his son John Rickard and wife Colleen, his daughter Eileen Elliott and husband Joe. He is preceded in death by his son Jim Rickard. He also leaves behind nine grandchildren, and eight great grandchildren.
Born in Butte, MT, on November 8, 1934, to Molly and Chester Rickard, Jim pursued a career in education. He taught in Stevensville, Kalispell, and Billings, spending the majority of his career at Billings Senior High, where he served as a dedicated and respected teacher, vice principal, and principal.  If you would like to do something in his honor, please consider making a donation to support the homeless students attending Billings Senior High ("Designate your Gift," https://efbps.org/give-a-gift-today.html).
Join us on Monday, July 22, from 4:00-6:30 PM at the Columbia Club to celebrate his life.