Eulogy of Jim Metivier 

I recall the first time I met Jim Metivier.  It was 1998, a few weeks before my retirement from the Navy. I was in my uniform in my backyard with my dog, and Jim was in his backyard with his dog. He approached the fence that divided our properties and extended his hand in friendship. Immediately I knew I would like him and he would like me.  For the next 16 years it was always my privilege to call him my good friend.

Jim was all about family.  His never ending love for his wife Barbara, his sons, his daughter, his brothers, sisters, grandchildren, great grandchildren,  and his in-laws.  His love didn't just stop at people.  He was a true animal lover.  Anytime I would come knocking on his door, one of his beautiful Pomeranians would be right there in his shadow. The birds and squirrels even benefited from befriending Jim.  He would feed them daily, and they were some of the fattest animals on Twin Lakes Lane.  Then there was me.  Somewhere in that mixture of family and animals I found myself. Jim took a good liking to me and I became very attached to him. Jim always had a unselfish compassion for me when I needed something. Whether that be a partner to go along with me to a gun show, a tool to borrow, a ride to the airport, or a need to borrow one of the many western videos he had in his vast collection of movies, Jim was always there.  So I shall be here for him today.

I recall a particularly trying time in my life back in September, 2008.  My wife and I were returning from a family funeral in Houston, Texas when Hurricane Ike made landfall near Galveston.  Leaving Houston with no gas for our car to be purchased except for the 3/4 tank we already had.  It was reported that there was no gas to be purchased along Interstate 10 in all of Louisiana due to wide spread power outages.  As we drove along heading home to Pensacola, we both knew we probably would run out of gas before we made it to Mississippi without some supreme intervention. So I called Jim late at night on our way home, and told him my dilemna. I'm sure I awakened him from sleep, but after telling Jim of our situation, he just said, "If you run out of gas, I'll come bring you some."   Fortunately we made it to Bay St. Louis Mississippi running on fumes, but that wasn't the real miracle of the journey. The real miracle was the promise of a friend.  I knew we would be OK, because Jim said so.

I would go out on a limb and say Jim and I probably met at least two thousand times in the past 16 years on his back patio for our 3 pm beer. It would go like this each weekday.  My telephone would ring at approximately 3 pm, and of course I knew it was Jim.  He would always say in his special voice "Are you thirsty?", and after I would affirm that I was, he would say "Well C'mon over!"  I didn't even mind that he was serving Old Milwaukee for the first 10 years or so of our daily get together. It was all about comradery. exchanging jokes, talking about the daily news, or sometimes we would just sit silently watching the birds and squirrels.  It was sublime.  I do have to mention that when Jim turned 70 years of age he began serving Henekin instead of Old Milwaukee.  When I asked him why, he said, "Life is too short to drink cheap beer."  Jim was a man of immense wisdom, and humor.

Over the years of being Jim's friend, I learned about the tiny village of Albion, RI where Jim was raised.  I heard stories of his youth along the Blackstone River hanging upside down from bridge railings, shooting his bow and arrows in the woods, playing baseball, and getting in trouble for asking questions to the Catholic sisters that were his school teachers.  I learned about his disdain for homework, how he would ask his sister Jeanne to help him with his school work, how much he hated stacking wood, and his immense admiration for his brother Harry.  I finally got to meet and become a friend of Harry Metivier, Jim's older brother, and I understood why Jim admired him so.

As we all age I am reminded of a passage that reads, To Everything There Is A Season...A time to be born and a time to die.  And I must remember this to help me deal with my grief and sense of loss at this time.  If I can share with you what my Father told me as a young man it might bring home the path Jim Metivier chose in his life.  He said, "We all know we cannot live forever, but it is the time we draw out on earth and how that time is spent that we will stand upon and be remembered."
I will remember Jim Metivier as a kind soul,  A man whose word was his promise. A dedicated family man.  A great American who served his country with distinction.  A Vietnam Veteran who came home to an unwelcoming welcome, but didn't let that strangle his love for his country. I will remember most of all his Joie de Vivre, his smile, and irreplaceable spirit.  I will miss you dear friend.  May God welcome you into His arms.