The Liberty Gazette
October 9, 2012
Ely Air Lines
By Mike Ely and Linda Street-Ely
Mike: Airplanes, fishing holes and hunting camps, all have been bits and pieces of the bigger adventure called Bob Jamison. He lived it, talked about it and wrote about it so that each of us could live the same adventures alongside of him. Most people who’ve met him, and many who did not, can tell “Bob Stories.” We of course, have ours.
June last year Bob wrote for us as a guest writer and in his typical whimsical style, told about his initiation into the winged fraternity. And only recently did we learn how early in life he was established as an expert marksman. “Another kid at the airport fence” is how he signed his book, Airplanes, Alligators and Hi-Fin Blues, to us. He may have been just another kid at that fence, his mind spinning with glorious daydreams of adventure flinging the airplanes he saw this way and that, but the way he treated people proved him to be so much more. He wasn’t just another kid in any sense of the word. Bob hit the center of the mark in graciousness, adventurousness, encouragement, and more.
Somewhere there is a Piper Cub skimming low over the trees or over a passing freight train, chasing bad guys like Sky King or just seeking out the best fishing holes and places to hunt. Bob Jamison has flown his final journey. Tall tales full of colorful wit and wisdom are being retold in a different place now. Though the memories of their telling remain with us here, we will miss the story teller.
Twas the banker who lived beyond nine to five
Whose daring adventures brought life to our years
With heartbeat and pulse, excitement alive
Say it now so that everyone hears:
How fortunate are we.
His good business sense to our benefit brought
Prosperity from the steward at the helm
Graciousness flowed to the have and have-not
Measure wealth by the reach of this Cynosure’s realm
And tell everyone: How rich are we.
The encourager’s heart, the warrior’s cry
Cannot be silenced not e’en by death
For all he’s given from sea to sky
Shall we all shout with grateful breath
And the whole world will know: How blessed are we.
A crop duster’s flagman before GPS
Like a lodestar guided their intricate weave
Waving the flags at the ends of the rows
From early morn til late in the eve
Smuggled snakes on a plane from foreign shores
Beleaguered gators knew his wrestling finesse
The excellent marksman’s adventures outdoors
Made the Amazon shiver in utmost respect
And we, we never the same shall be.
In tall tales of our beloved raconteur
A piece of each of us is found
That you’d laugh and you’d learn could be assured
Wit, wisdom, and mischief created a bond
Recipients of a gift are we.
On to heaven, blue skies, Dayton’s dear son
Our words salute you, our hearts hold you dear
The man named J. R. “Bob” Jamison
Lived life well, tell to all who will hear.