Jim Bushman

When we heard that my nephew Jim had died his Aunt Elaine and I held each other and wept. He was my namesake, my sister Ethelee’s oldest son. The last words that Jim and I spoke to each other just a few days before his death were affirmations of our deep love for each other. I was in my early twenties when Jim was born. I was still living at home. Our families lived a half-block apart near SW First Avenue and Meade Streets in Portland. It was during this time that Jim grew very close to his grandfather, Warren Fenwick. The two of them would trek off to the old south auditorium urban renewal site to hunt for treasures left behind as a result of the demolition of a major segment of one of Portland’s original historic neighborhoods. They went often. Jim couldn’t have been more than five or six years old. His grandparents’ house still stands at 2807 SW First Avenue in what is known as the historic Lair Hill Park neighborhood. The house was built in 1895. The bond between Jim and his grandfather Warren was very deep and lasted until the latter died in 1970. Jim and his family eventually moved to a home on SE Clatsop Street in Southeast Portland. While he was growing up I grew very close to Jim and was able to mentor him and to help his family cope with the multiple health issues of his mother. Jim loved his parents, his brother, Luke and his sister Bonnie. Jim eventually entered the army and after training at Fort Ord, California (where earlier I had also trained) he was sent to Vietnam. That war left an indelible imprint on all who took part. Jim was no exception. Jim was always resourceful. He liked to hitchhike home whenever he had military leave. On one such occasion he was given a ride south of San Francisco by an airforce officer who asked him where he was headed. When Jim told him, Portland, he said “come with me.” The officer was on his way to complete a mandatory flight training obligation. A couple of hours later Jim arrived by military jet at Portland Air Base. Our whole family was startled to say the least. Jim used to tell me about his many other hitchhiking adventures. I think he could have written a book! Jim and I spoke together scores of times over the years. We would talk about many different subjects. He loved his family very much. He shared the lives of Carol, and daughters Molly and Kate and later their husbands, Tomas and Drew. He was so proud of their many accomplishments. When Max and Sam came along we would laugh together as he shared their adventures. He was looking forward to their move to Salem in the summer of 2021. Jim enjoyed sharing his and Carol’s adventures as river guides early in their lives together. I believe both were licensed as guides on nearly every wild river in Oregon. What an amazing accomplishment. He was very proud of Carol’s academic achievements and often spoke of them to me with great admiration. This memorial to Jim would be incomplete without emphasizing his great love of rare books and fine art. He greatly enjoyed his profession. We often chatted about this dimension of his life and the many, many friends he made as a result of his work. Jim suffered a lot physically in his later years. We often talked about this and other issues. He was philosophical and he was brave. I was privileged to have him in my life for pretty close to seventy years. I love all of you—his family—with emotions too deep to adequately express in words. Goodbye Jim! I love you and I hear your last words to me “I love you deeply, too, Uncle Jim.” Great Uncle Jim Fenwick...January 21, 2021