^{Brother James Hurt}

Brother James Hurt

James Gaston Hurt Jr. (1942-1972) – Find A Grave…

In Memory of Jim Hurt

Jim Hurt’s death is our first real loss as a brotherhood. Of course what we are as a group inevitably weakens with time and the increasingly divergent nature of our lives. But Jim’s death is like a limb wrenched from the body. It impoverishes our brotherhood and grieves our individual lives.

He was so vital and irrepressible, it is a struggle to accept the facts that tell us otherwise now. But my own reaction goes beyond the disbelief and grief in a compelling urge to put down on paper a kind of statement, to testify to what he meant to us, and to try to gauge the loss. I do so in part for myself, to try to come to grips with it by having said it, and in part for Jim, who would have wanted, I think, to be remembered in this way. I write about him the only way I can, from my own personal view, and in speaking for myself I hope that I speak for others too. The words don’t measure up, but Jim would have understood that too.

It’s not to be wondered at that Jim would have been appreciated as he was, and missed so much now. As a group, we have always prided ourselves on maintaining two qualities which ordinarily work to exclude each other – unity and individuality. Jim was a strong link in our chain and yet at the same time as much of an individual as any of us knew.

He was wonderfully – and sometimes exasperatingly – unique. I used to tell him he was on a different evolutionary level from the rest of us. He used his foot as you would a hand, picking up a sock with his toes and tossing it into a suitcase, then shutting the suitcase with the other foot – and none of this for tricks; just naturally.

The uniqueness wasn’t just physical. In a lonely summer-school session, who else with money to spare would fail to renew their post office box for three weeks, while the brownies stiffened in their package and the letters from mother and girlfriend piled up behind the glass? (When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I caught him half-asleep and got him to agree that I could buy the box for him, that he could pay me right back.)

More than any of the rest of us, he was a free spirit. He had an amazingly quick mind and a memory like a camera. Yet he failed French once or twice, and I remember staying up all night and going over his French with him, for his final exam, when it was down to whether he would stay in school or have to leave. It was simply that he resisted any discipline that was external to his interests. But for the Sigmas, for sports, for the sciences that fascinated him, even somewhat for the Air Force, he bridled his waywardness and willingly accepted discipline.

He was unique, and yet he was a team man. If you were a quarterback, you would have wanted him up on the line for you, knocking hell out of somebody. He wasn’t the most accessible person he world; he made friends cautiously, in the same way he chose his clothes or his favorite type of fiction. He was even wary of people. But once he approved, he gave his friends a fierce, and tender, loyalty. He was protective of them, and of every Sigma, like a big brother – generous and willing to sacrifice.

Burly, fun-loving and witty, Jim will be irreplaceable as a brother. Just having him around made a get-together a success. And his rambunctiousness was not just fun; it was healthy for our fraternity. When he parodied us, he showed us what we were like and left us memorable expressions. When he said, “Let’s be the Do-Everything-In-The-World Club,” he let the wind out of our pretensions when we most needed it. People still laugh about his rendition of “br’th’rh’dsh’p,” with no vowels and a “p” that came out close to “t,” but he extended our concept of what that word means. Just before the Guest House incident, he listened to everyone else express doubts or disapproval and then, alone, challenged us to assert our corporate manhood. We did, and were instantly in trouble. But Jim had no regrets.

Who can forget his dance routine, or his inimitable imitation of Robinson as the “cool” guy off in the corner, or suddenly his finger stuck in your ear, his trick on Bill Rohr in the bathroom stall, or at Jack Hawkins’ wedding, the way he whipped his car in and out (and he always drove with only one finger) and single-handedly held off a pack of determined mischief-makers until Jack’s car could get away?

I’m sure that most who knew him have reacted the same way: we wish we had seen him more lately, told him again how much we appreciated him, given him the encouragement that, almost childlike, he always needed. But Jim’s life was built around the premise that life is never that way, that we have to live fully, daringly, without regrets, using the time we have. And he lived fully, physically and mentally. He lived with risk and enjoyed it. But curiously again, few people had as great a regard for discretion. Up to the end, he took care of himself, and of others. And now he is gone.

I choose to remember him here as a whole person, with weaknesses as well as strengths. Even so, he was one of those persons whose faults are as endearing as their virtues. In his pride, there was no selfishness. In the distance he sometimes kept from others, there was never any malice. And for all his strong manhood – I think Don and Cro and Bruce and all those who knew him well would agree – he was still a little boy at heart. It was there in his enthusiasm, in his appreciation of simple friendship, and in his vulnerability. He was a generous brother, an affectionate friend.

We loved him, and we will miss him. With all who knew him, I mourn his death and our poorer lives without him.

Buell Cobb

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Remembering the “Bus that was not meant to be!” by Larry Peevy

I remember it well.  We had about an hour conversation during one of our club meetings about how wonderful it would be if we had our own Sigma bus.  We could take it “up the road” with a non-drinking driver, and even take it to Panama City for the weekend.  We also talked about getting one with a bathroom so we would not have to stop along the way.  The bathroom would also be needed if we were to carry our dates with us.  100 % of the membership thought it was a wonderful idea. 

Somehow, I was talked into going to President Culps office to share this great idea with him and ask for his approval. I remember discussing it with him for about 20 minutes

(felt like an hour).  About 15 minutes into our conversation I could feel the sweat rolling down my neck.  The serious look on his face convinced me that he did not think it was as good an idea as we did. His next question was “Do the Sigma’s plan to drink alcohol on this bus”?  Of course my answer was “No Sir!  He had a little smile on his face for some reason.

 However, he was very kind to me and said he would present our idea to his senior staff but gave me no sign of encouragement whatsoever.

The next week he asked me to report to his office and told me that our request was too great a liability for our club and the school so therefore was not approved. 

The idea of buying a Sigma bus was never brought up again.

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Spirit of Sigma Newsletter 1972

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