It was a 70 degree February evening as I sat in the rocker on the front porch of James E. Humphreys, Jr.’s Victorian house. The last time I sat in that rocker was a warm evening last July celebrating Jim’s 50th birthday and watching Jim sweet talk the police into really believing that the party was going to quiet down. This was just as good a party, same people, a handfull of classmates and the elite of Winston-Salem, but not quite so many out-of-towners —it had been called at the spur of the moment. Greg hadn’t brought his rock and roll band, and Jim’s guitar was zipped tightly in its case. Another difference—I never saw Jim; his spirit was everywhere and he was having a great time, but I never actually saw him. Jim had, in fact, died two evenings before, but he didn’t let it bother him or spoil the party. That’s the kind of guy Jim is.
After his 50th birthday party, Jim packed his guitar and took off with his son, Greg, for a jaunt around his old stomping grounds in Germany. He was happy. Jim, who rarely slept, started falling asleep at odd times. The times became more frequent. Jim checked in with his doctor and was told that he had brain cancer. An editorial in the Winston-Salem Journal said, “Humphreys had a mind that rarely rested, but it wouldn’t surprise me if what got him was a traffic jam of neurons and dendrites (don’t hold me to the specifics here) working overtime.” His naps became longer and longer and after six months Jim missed his last reveille formation.
Jim’s memorial service was held in the Wake Forest University Chapel, the same place where the Presidential debate had been held. The chapel was full. It was row on row of the Who’s Who of this part of North Carolina. The speakers sort of skipped over Jim’s accomplishments (law review editor and cum laude at Wake Law School, partner in one of the larger regional law firms, member of the board of directors of a major bank, everyone’s choice as Winston-Salem’s next mayor, mover and shaker on half the councils in town, plus, plus, plus). Some people are remembered for what they accomplish and some for who they are. Jim was eulogized for the latter. The preacher pointed out that Jim has more best friends than most of us have acquaintances. Jim’s skill as Winston-Salem’s Trivial Pursuit champion was stressed (the Winston-Salem Journal wrote on that day that “whenever you played Trivial Pursuit with Humphreys, you lost”). A medley of Jim’s favorite guitar pieces were played. Jim makes a guitar come to life and he knows the words to every song that was ever written. It was Jim who had touched so many lives—Jim the friend, Jim the counselor, Jim the entertainer, Jim the father, Jim the charming rogue, Jim with the steel trap mind, Jim whom it seems everyone in the world knows and loves.
Jim left behind his mother, his son Gregory who is a senior at UNC Chapel Hill, his daughter Ann who is a freshman at Barnard, two sisters, Julia Strain and Mary Benson, and a legion of best friends.
When the party ended, the skies turned gray, the temperature dropped, and ten inches of snow fell on the Victorian house in Winston-Salem.
JPS III, USMA ‘60