James V. (Jamey) Mudge Obituary

James V. (Jamey) Mudge attended Patrick Henry High School in Minneapolis, MN. View the obituary, post a memory, or share a photo about James V. (jamey) Mudge.

Graduation Year	Class of 1970
Date of Passing	Apr 28, 2004
About	A Salute to Jamey Mudge May 14, 2004 by Cousin Tim What do you say about a person you grew up with, who was your same age, who you idolized as a child, was a world traveler, who graduated from high school with you, who was your roommate and best friend, served as best man at your wedding, and left this world much too early? In the swirl of thoughts, images, and emotions surrounding Jamey’s life as I knew it, many things come to mind. Loyal, generous, straightforward, fun-loving, adventurous, secretive, voracious reader, jokester, humble, good-hearted, sometimes timid and rarely aggressive, gruff, and patient all capture some of what Jamey was—and is—to me. Among my very first memories of Jamey was when he came back from France in the 1950s with Joyce and Jim. It is probably the first time I recall seeing him since he spent much of his childhood moving from one air force base to another. He had a heinie haircut and big ears that were perpendicular to his head. In fact, they were so big when he was little that some guy in Ireland during the stopover on the way home from France made a crack about Jamey’s ears looking like Dumbo the Elephant’s. Visiting Jamey in Washington state and exploring the Pacific shoreline and Fort Lewis and McCord Airbase are some of my fondest memories. My happiest summer was when I flew to visit him in Washington in 1968. I had never flown before and couldn’t wait. Flush with my earnings at Baskin-Robbins and Trumbull Asphalt, I booked the flight by asking the reservationist to get me as many stops as possible. I think there were four or five (South Dakota, a couple in Montana, and one in Spokane). I had the time of my life with Jamey and Jeno that summer. Jamey had his driver’s license and full access to his dad’s boat. We spent hours, day-after-day, waterskiing and pulling ourselves and Jeno all over Spanaway Lake. Naturally, we got in big trouble, too. What else is new? We caused quite a stir in the neighborhood when we collected a bunch of bazooka duds at a firing range on Fort Lewis. Jim was so alarmed that he called a couple of military friends over to see if any were live! None were live because we carefully collected only shells that had “dummy” stamped on them. What a bonehead move. And I was the instigator. Although Jim and Joyce were hopping mad, and Jim took the ordinance away, I managed to keep a bazooka shell and brought it home on the airplane, along with Martha, our first cat and a gift from Joyce to my mother. (I eventually made a lamp out of the shell in shop class at Henry High.) Can you imagine doing something like that on a plane now? I would be sent to prison for years—and probably have to do a serious stint in the nuthouse to boot. Jamey and I had a ball together and lots of adventures. We were both early devotees of Hawaiian shirts and Salvation Army clothing. Grandma Michaud would get so upset when she did the laundry that she often threw his clothes in the trash. It became a washday routine to retrieve Jamey’s clothes from the garbage can near the garage. But back to the adventures…. We explored an old coastal artillery tunnel complex with David while on a fishing trip to Ilwaco, WA, and rode in the back of our Chrysler station wagon on the infamous to West Coast trip of 1967 (and can honestly say we were at Haight-Asbury in the Summer of Love). We once stopped a driverless burning car from hitting a packed restaurant on Seven Corners (the driver had jumped out). We were also connoisseurs of $100/month apartments. One landlord (slumlord, really) would even let us skip our rent occasionally. Along with Greg, we explored every inch of Shingle Creek and Earl Brown’s marsh in back of Marilyn’s house and where Brookdale was eventually built. Probably one of our most embarrassing moments was when my mother busted Jamey, Greg, and me with the Sears catalog opened at ladies underwear page during a camp out in our backyard in Roseville. Jamey read way more than I ever did as a teenager. Does anyone here today remember when he was reading The Exorcist in the basement on Girard? He was reading the book in the middle of the night when the old gravity furnace “breathed.” It scared him so bad he dropped the book and was standing in the kitchen before he knew what happened. There are just too many memories to even begin to convey. All I can say in closing is that I loved Jamey like a brother, cherished him while he was alive, and will cherish his memory forever. Goodbye, pal. When you see St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, see if he has your sense of humor. You might start by telling him your dog had no nose. Jean can fill in the punch line if she wishes. In loving memory of a great guy, Tim West Lafayette, Indiana, May 14, 2004