My father three years ago on the day I married Kat. I wish I had some of his hunting pics to post, but my uncle is scanning and preparing a disc of them and its not ready yet.
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The following is a link to his obituary. You can click the guest book to read what people that knew him thought about him.
James Ransom, Jr. Before I start this, I want to thank all that posted support or offered prayers in my family's time of need. The prayers have been graciously received and I truly believe that prayer helped us all, and will continue help us get through this time of grief and sadness. Many sent nice emails, and a few even mailed sympathy cards that were also appreciated.
On August 31, 2007 my father committed suicide. Ken Howell posted this here after talking to Kat that morning on the phone, and the above noted responses came. I'm writing this as much for myself as anything else. Those who post here know me to some degree or another. None knew anything about my father other than how he died. My father's life cannot be defined by his death. The following is what it is, nothing more. It�s just to let you know who the man really was since what you know is so little and not in keeping with how he lived. I know it�s long, and I�m sorry if it rambles. I�m sorry if it sounds at times like I�m bragging or dropping names. I�m only left with his memories. The way he lived and the company he kept were indicative of the kind of man he was. He didn�t tolerate dishonest or disingenuous people. He couldn�t stand a cheater, or laziness. He was a proud man. He was very loyal and giving to those he loved.
August 1942, my father was born to Dorothy and James Ransom, Sr. It was not long after that in 1944, his father was drafted and served as an infantry soldier in Europe in 1945. He came home and put himself through college on the GI Bill. My grandmother, who is still alive, says my father was born going on 30 years old. He was very mature from the beginning. My father grew up middle class, for the day. His father worked a lot.
His best early hunting and fishing memories were with his grandfather and his cousin. In those days in Alabama there wasn't any deer hunting to speak of, so he grew up hunting a mixed bag of squirrels, rabbits, dove, and quail. A shotgun or a .22 rifle were all he, and most of his peers, used for all their hunting.
My grandmother tells me he was smart but not particularly interested in excelling in school as he liked to work, hunt, and fish. He graduated high school in 1960. He was a "tweener" in age between Korea and Vietnam. His military service was the National Guard, and he was basically done before major troops were sent to Vietnam.
In 1965 he joined the Birmingham Fire Department. This was also the year he married my mother and the year I was born. I have early memories of going to visit him at work. As a kid I thought it was really cool my dad was a fireman. Things were different back in those days too. I recall that on several occasions I was even allowed to spend the night at the"Fire Hall" while my dad worked his shift. He'd just tell me to stay in bed if they got a call. I remember him getting a promotion to "Driver". He drove a snorkel truck, which I also thought was really cool. He was also in the first class of EMT's to graduate EMT school in the Birmingham FD and eventually moved to the rescue squad. Prior to the days of EMT's, firemen went to fires and that was pretty much it. Fire Departments weren't the "full service" organizations they are now.
By now it was the mid 1970s, and Birmingham was a "big city". I recall my father always had a second and usually a third job besides the Fire Department. I was young, but I recall some of his other jobs. He sold Michelin tires. He was a car mechanic at a local shop. He was once part owner in a fledgling trucking business where his business partner stole his investment money and disappeared. I think I recall he even briefly co-owned a �blue movie� theatre. There was a theme here. Dad was conservative enough to always have that steady check and benefits of the Fire Department, but he was looking for a way to do better too.
In 1975 he started his construction company. There was some kind of government program for first time homebuyers as I recall. I think they were called �231 homes�. IIRC the money/loans were guaranteed. The market was good, my dad was on his way. He worked every third day at the FD, and ran his business from home. He did much of the menial labor on his jobs himself, such as cleanup between construction stages and such as that. Again, things were different in those days. Firemen had to show up to work and be ready to answer calls. If the equipment was ready then they did little else. Today they�re made to put in an 8-hour workday, even if it is just �busy-work�. In those days dad could do some of his business from the FD. He could keep his books, schedule his subs, and order materials from the FD if he needed too. Turns out that many of the best homebuilders in the area were also former firemen from my dad�s day. Dad worked hard at his business, and he had some luck too early on. When the 231 market was shut down, he worried, but he�d established himself, and this was about the time that the market for larger homes in the suburbs took off.
The 80s were very good for dad. He took full advantage. Still employed with the FD, he often worked 7 days a week for months at a time. It was during this time that he established himself as a �custom homebuilder�. He positioned his business to where it was very much a referral business. Doctors, Lawyers, �Indian Chiefs�, etc came to him because they�d seen their friends houses he�d built and they�d want their own touch put on their home, and not a cookie cutter �spec house�. As long as the �spec house� market was good he continued that as well, but he was making a name for himself among the elite custom builders in the area. Coincidentally, the biggest names in that market were largely former firemen. By the mid 80s dad said he was too close to retirement with the FD to let that go, so he hung on there until 1987. The FD had made them start their �work-a-day� work, and dad could no longer do personal business from there. They were training more often and his �steady job� was interfering with his growing his business. However, the timing wasn�t bad. Dad earned his retirement and left that behind.
The business, like any other, had its ups and downs. Housing markets fluctuate. Dad rode out some tough times in the past. I recall seeing him very depressed at times back in one of the slumps in the 90s. However, he�d never over expanded his business so he was able to ride through the slumps without great loss. He worked from his basement office and put money back to ride out tough times. He didn�t put money back to fully retire on though. At different times in his life, he told me that he had planned on dying on the job. The real reason he didn�t really save for retirement was that he couldn�t stand debt. If he had to choose to put money back and be in debt or be debt free with no savings he chose debt free. Although, he and my mother had many investments and personal savings that allowed them to live comfortably even if he didn�t work or sell a house for a period of time, there were no savings directed toward long-term retirement.
Back to the mid to late 80s. I graduated high school in 1983, and my brother in 1987. We�d moved to a nice suburb of Birmingham in 1972. It was an up and coming place that is now a very affluent community. Mom and dad bought a 1 level 3BR 2BA house there. We lived there until after I graduated HS. In the late 80s dad was finally able to build himself and my mother a nice house. The original house they bought in 1972 for @$32K more than doubled in value in 15 years, and dad�s business was booming. Along with building his first dream home, he also put my brother and I through college, then again built the home they�my mother is currently in now. It�s a beautiful 3 level 4BR 3.5BA home in a very nice neighborhood, and at that the mortgage they carry is only about 20% of the home�s value. At this point I think most men would have considered themselves a success. To my dad, it was just what he was supposed to do, and there was more to do.
My brother had gotten his degree in building science. It was assumed one day he�d join my father in the business. I wanted other things. I got a degree in Criminal Justice, and went on to police for a while, and now you know me to be a lawyer. My brother worked in commercial construction with large companies you�d likely know such as Brassfield and Gorrie. However about 5 years ago he joined my dad�s business. When he joined my father in business, there had been good markets for a while, but in the last couple of years, things started to slowly take a downturn. My brother started in a slightly different market to help them diversify a bit and that was doing pretty well, however, dad�s end of the business, was not. Sadly, now even the more moderate home market was taking a hit. Dad owned lots and nobody was coming to have houses built. Interest payments loomed. Houses sat unsold.
Last year I noticed dad being worried. Mom said he wasn�t sleeping. We�d seen this before when bad times came. But dad had always had enough put back to ride them out. He did now too, but didn�t see it. And now he was 65 years old. He saw himself soon back at square one with nothing, though he had a steady retirement check from the City of Birmingham, was soon to draw Social Security, my mother was drawing hers, and had a modest amount of money invested that her mother had left her when she died about 15 years ago, not to mention the equity in a house that was way too big for their needs that sat in a suburb where they paid outrageous property taxes for the finest schools in the state which my brother and I had graduated from some 20 plus years ago. I told dad to sell that damn house over a year ago. Half the house would have been more than they needed. Mother wanted him to sell as well. Dad agreed but got in no hurry to get it ready to sell I also think that his aging mother who lived nearby caused him to drag his feet. She was scared they�d move too far off to attend to her. I think my dad wanted to make sure she was close and it was easier for him to stay that move the both of them out of the city.
Life had been pretty normal the past year or so. Mom talked to me about dad. She worried a lot anyway. I figured this would be like all other down times. Dad would get depressed, but ultimately figure a way out and the market would bounce back. Things would resume normally.
I was in court Friday August 31, 2007. I came out of court about 10am to a frantic message on my cell phone from my brother. �We�ve found a note and can�t find dad, please get home now!� I was 2 hours away from my parent�s house on a normal day from where I was in court. I cut that by 30 minutes. During that drive I called home continuously for updates. At one point my brother told me to just be careful, and get home�I knew then he knew. I asked if there was something I wasn�t being told. He said, �Kathy�s here, do you want to speak to her?� She�d always told me this news is never delivered on the phone. I knew then for sure when she just told me to be careful and get home. I have never been so distraught and felt so helpless.
As it turns out, the 2 detectives from Hoover Police Dept were standing at the door at the time of my call delivering the news. My brother had been calling the 2 local police departments. Vestavia Hills where they lived and Hoover, a neighboring city. One of the Hoover PD officers that responded to where my dad was found knew my name when they ID�d my father and immediately started trying to contact my best friend at Vestavia Hills PD to get him to go to my mother�s house to deliver the news. However, when my brother kept calling they sent two of their own detectives. They were also acquaintances of mine and handled it very well. My father had even planned this part as well. He�d gotten up unusually early that morning. He drove to a Lowe�s Home Store before it opened, parked his truck in such a way that employees coming to work would notice it, walked to a grassy area and did what he did. All was planned to the tee so he�d be found quickly. I didn�t have to be told how he did it either. I knew. Dad was not an attention seeker. He meant to do what he did. Even at that he made it as �clean� as could be.
My mother came downstairs to his office that morning. She found a 9-page note on top of a file folder. The date at the top was April 15, 2007. It began with �This is the only way�� and it was written in installments over the following months. The installments were basically business like in nature detailing loose ends he�d tied up, things he�d paid off, insurance policies, etc. He even noted that my mom would now need to change the oil in her truck every 3000 miles. They�d taken out a second mortgage on the house, but he informed her that he hadn�t taken any of the money out. This was dad�s weakness�or strength�he couldn�t stand debt! He apologized for failing all of us, not because of what he was going to do and did, but because he felt like he�d let us down by his business failing and him not being able to take care of us. It was mostly a business like letter. He even noted how he�d put it off in hopes a certain job would sell, but that had fallen through, and my brother had just sold a house. The timing was right in his mind. He wrote my brother a paycheck for almost a years worth of salary so he could wrap up the business and find a job. The file folder was labeled �Information Folder�. It contained car titles, insurance policies, etc, and the final item on top was an add cut from the paper for a �discount cremation�. The last entry on the letter was that morning, and it was signed �All my love, Jimmy�. Only my mother and his mother and Kat called him Jimmy. To the rest of the world he was Jim.
When we see things, we see snapshots of lives. Since my father�s death the bigger picture is apparent. Late last year he�d given me a special gun of his. Just a few weeks ago, he gave Kat another gun I knew to be one of which he was fond. Over the preceding months he paid off some certain things and finalized some business he could finalize. Over the final 2-3 weeks he had lunch with or meaningful conversations with everyone important to him. On the day before he�d called me in the afternoon to �just check on us�. In fact he had a conversation with every grandchild, Kat, his mother, and me in the final 24 hours. I hadn�t had time to talk to him because my stepdaughter�s car had broken down. I called him later to ask him something about it. Our last conversation was about that car. In actuality, that was his comfort zone. He liked problem solving and was glad to help me solve that problem rather than have some emotional conversation. I wish I�d known it would be the last time I talk to him. He wasn�t prone to great emotion, but he was not without passion either. I saw him cry at his father�s funeral, and when a couple of his dogs had died. Our last family gathering was on his birthday on August 6th. He got his favorite dinner of fried chicken, rice and gravy, green beans, and key lime pie. He got some books to read too. He read non-stop. Had anyone seen the whole picture the last few weeks the warning signs would nave been there. Nobody could see that though.
Conversely, in the last year or so he�d taken up sporting clays to the point he was shooting a couple of times a week, had taken lessons, was buying and reading books on the sport, and even recently bought a nice Browning Citori.
My mother didn�t honor his request to be cremated. She just couldn�t do it. The funeral was quick. Many called in the following days expressing apology for not knowing or being there. Still many gathered for his service. Family, friends, people he�d worked with, people that had worked for him, people he�d build homes for all came to pay respects. The prevailing sentiment about my dad was how honest and honorable he was, and what a fine man he�d been. Whether he�d been a friend to them or had done business with them, all noted his honesty and what a gentleman he was.
At his service were pictures of his life. Most were those of him hunting, with game he�d taken, or with friends on hunting trips enjoying time around the campfire or in the clubhouse. There were also those of him with my mother at social events. In all he was smiling. My father got to do much of the hunting he desired to do. He�d been to Kodiak to hunt blacktails, out west a few times for elk where he took one nice bull, and his dream hunt to Africa was about 7 years ago. I had hoped one day to go there with him. He also enjoyed several trips a year with friends to Arkansas to go duck hunting. These trips were always husband and wife trips and social events as well as hunting trips. Also at his service was a citation for bravery from the Birmingham Fire Dept from 1972. It detailed he and a fellow fireman entering a house fully involved in fire to retrieve trapped occupants and pass them out a window. My grandmother noted she�d never seen it. The letter from the Fire Chief, the newspaper article, and the plaque had never been hung anywhere to be seen. They were dug from the bottom of a drawer to be put out at his funeral.
Just some random minor life details about my father: He drove his family cross-country at age 16. He got his first traffic ticket driving his grandfather�s p/u truck at age 11. He was a student and present at the University of Alabama when Gov. George Wallace made his �stand in the schoolhouse door�. George Wallace, Jr. and Gov. Wallace�s son in law were pallbearers for my father, as well as two local custom gun makers, a hunting buddy, and his cousin he grew up with. Howell Raines, former executive editor of the NY Times, was a high school buddy of my father and introduced my mother and father. Dad said Howell had been a good friend, but had gone �New York Liberal� and left the south behind. Dad loved the writings of both Elmer Keith and Jack O�Connor. He loved Winchester Mod 70s, .270Win�s and �Big Bores�, as well as 1911 45�s.. He loved dogs. His last dog he left behind is a very handsome miniature schnauzer named Rigby. He�d grown up Baptist, but was leery or organized religion. My mother had gotten him back in church in the past few years. He trusted people and took them at their word, and often that worked against him. When he found people cheated him in business, it not only made him mad, but it hurt him emotionally to know that people weren�t honest and loyal to him the way he�d been to them. I never knew my father to drive anything other than a pickup truck, although in his early days he was a lover of American muscle cars. When I took the test for the Birmingham Fire Dept. an Asst. Chief that had worked with my dad recognized my name and related to me about the new 1965 Ford Mustang my dad bought when he first got his fireman�s job. He noted that my father kept is spotlessly clean. He was truly ambidextrous. I saw the man drive nails with both hands with equal accuracy and strength. He ate and wrote left handed, and shot and threw right-handed. He was a man of extreme habit. In his pockets everyday were his wallet, a pocketknife, a handkerchief, and a silver dollar that his grandfather had given him. That silver dollar had a hole drilled in it because he�d once put a piece of leather through it to wear it around his neck when he was little. It had since been carried in his pocket so long, and worn down so much by other pocket change that it wasn�t recognizable as anything other than a silver disc with a hole in the edge. He always wore a watch and carried a Cross pen. He only wore suits to church, certain social events, and to funerals. His work attire was either jeans or Dickies, a pull over or flannel shirt, and Wellington boots. He loved malted milks and devil�s food cake. He was 6�2� and never weighed over 190 pounds. He carried a toothbrush and toothpaste in his truck at all times, and brushed at least 3 times a day. He quit smoking almost 20 years ago. He liked cold beer, and good whiskey, but I can�t recall ever seeing him drunk but once. Even then he was only barely tipsy and that was at the hunting club. In his wallet at his death were tattered pictures from over 30 years ago of my brother, me, as well as recent ones of his grandchildren. He made no difference in my child, and my stepchildren as far as calling them his grandchildren. Some of his friends related to us how he bragged about my stepdaughter when she got her ACT score: �I aint got no genes in the pool, but I�m so proud of her.� When Kat and I married, Kat apologized to him that her family wouldn�t take any part in it, and that they wouldn�t contribute to paying for it. She told him that her father should help pay for their daughter�s wedding, but wouldn�t. My father told her that fathers should pay for their daughter�s, weddings and that he regarded her as a daughter and was glad to pay for our wedding small and private though it was. He�d originally arraigned a nice big catered outdoor wedding at a friend�s house and farm, but Kat and I decided small and private was the way we wanted it. He was a life member of the NRA, a life member of his shooting club, and a conservative Republican.
My father was a self made man. He never finished college. He�d had to pay for his education and he tried to finish it, but as life moved on and his business grew it became less important. He lived by this ideal, and he kept this posted over his desk in his basement office.
�Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning a lion wakes up. It knows it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve to death. It doesn�t matter whether you are a lion or a gazelle. When the sun comes up, you�d better be running.� He used to tell me that if you can�t pay the bills you aint working enough hours.
The detective that came to my mother�s door was a professional friend of mine from my policing days. When I called him about getting dad�s effects he offered his sympathies. He related that the officers on the scene recognized my father either by his community reputation or from my name from my policing days and he was given special care in the way all was handled. He also noted that my mother had given him a life lesson that morning that he appreciated. She�d told him that men put so much stock and self worth in to their careers and personal success that they�re often blinded by that pursuit, and fail to see that they�ve well succeeded in the eyes of those that love them. With all of his accomplishments, with all of his friends and family that loved him and respected him, with all of his former clients that respected him in a business that is full of those that can�t be trusted�my father couldn�t see all he�d accomplished. I was always working to make him proud. That is all I ever wanted to do was make him proud of me. He was, and I know he was. My mother reminds me of that because she thinks he didn�t say it enough. I guess we should have told him how proud we were of him. He apparently thought we�d all be better off as long as we were ok financially even if it was without him. I knew my father would never retire. I just didn�t think he�d go this soon or this way. I wanted to do things with him and for him when he got older. I am going to miss my father, but the way he lived is his legacy, not how he died! Dad, Wes and I loved you! Pop, Sara Beth, Tyler, and Taylor loved you. Jimmy, your wife loved you. We�ll all miss you terribly!
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