First of all, I want to say, “Dad, it’s an honor to give your eulogy, and I hope I do you justice.”
My dad was very special. He was the 2nd oldest of six kids. He used to love telling stories about all the mischief he made growing up. He used to talk about putting a line of slugs across the road in elementary school when he was waiting for the school bus. Then when the bus came, he would run to the back of the bus and watch as the slugs got run over. One of his favorite stories to tell was about making a pipe bomb in junior high. When the pipe bomb was set off in the neighbor’s backyard, it left about a 3 foot hole in the ground that my dad was very proud of.
My dad loved giving his parent’s headaches. Apparently, Grandpa Nichols wore himself out giving my dad spankings. My mom, Cindy, told me the first time she saw my dad was in 8th grade. She was leaving a Home Ec class with a dress she had just made. My dad grabbed the dress out of her hands, ran off, and returned wearing the dress over his clothes. If you can believe it, my parents went on to be voted “Senior Couple” by the time they graduated from Decatur High School.
My dad loved to play sports as well. He did basketball, track, and football. My dad always said that playing high school football was the best time of his life. My dad started to hunt during this time. He used to look back very fondly on hunting trips with Grandpa Nichols just the way Levi and I will look back fondly on those same cherished moments with our dad.
My dad’s first hunting passion was geese. He actually designed some of his own unique goose hunting equipment—for example, he made a low profile camouflage boat with a huge goose decoy on it that you sat inside of—and the purpose of this was to sneak up on geese out on the Columbia River. Whenever he shot a goose that had been banded with a tracking device by the Dept of Fish and Game, he always wrote in asking for information about the bird’s life. Each and every animal my dad hunted was sacred to him. Many of you may not know that he always carried around a Native American prayer in his wallet that he used to read over the body of his hunted animals. The prayer thanked the animal for giving its life and told their spirit that there place in the circle of life was acknowledged and respected.
After high school, my dad joined the Marine Corps. Granny told me none of her kids had ever been away from her before. When my dad left for the airport, she locked herself in the bathroom crying—unable to say goodbye. My dad called her from the airport and said his flight wasn’t leaving for awhile if she wanted to meet him there for one last hug—and she did.
My dad loved reliving his boot camp experience by watching Full Metal Jacket. He enjoyed reminiscing about when his Drill Instructor found a grain of sand on the squad-bay floor and threw all of the bunk beds out the 2nd floor window in anger…or when he was at the range with his platoon, and he asked the drill instructor which part of your finger was he supposed to use to pull the trigger. The Drill Instructor grabbed his hand, bit his finger, and said, “Right there.”
After the Marine Corps, my dad opened Nichols Truck Tire. My dad truly started out with nothing and worked his way to the top. For those of you who never had the pleasure of visiting his first office, it was a little bigger than a phone booth, and it was about 10 feet from the railroad tracks in Georgetown. The first service truck was my dad’s old yellow dodge, which we affectionately called ‘the bumpy truck.’ I remember my dad wore a moustache back then so he would look older and more mature to his customers. By the time my dad retired, he had 5 business locations and over 20 employees. Many of my dad’s employees throughout the years have told me time and time again that he was the best boss they ever had.
My dad discovered backpacking in about 1987. I remember the first backpacking trip I ever went on with him. It was 17 miles, steep, and in the snow! We hiked until well after it had gotten dark. I was in 2nd grade! My dad loved making annual trips to The River of No Return in Idaho, to the Pacayten (which is the most remote wilderness area in the lower 48), and to Basin Lake.
In 1990, my dad decided that he wanted to be a professional hunting guide in Alaska—in his spare time. There is a written test required to become a guide. My dad had taken the test twice and not received a passing score. I remember that was the only time I ever saw my dad nervous, as he waited for the results of his “last chance” test. When his results did come, they were accompanied by a letter saying that he had received the highest score of anyone who had EVER taken the test! I think this story speaks volumes about my dad’s persistence and determination.
My dad went on to guide hunters from around the world on some of the most rigorous and dangerous hunts on earth—for example, hunting the world’s biggest grizzly bears on Kodiak Island, as well as Dall Sheep and Moose hunts in the Arctic Circle. My dad had the honor of guiding retired NFL quarterback Jim Kelly on a hunt as well as the Vice President of Wal-Mart.
I once asked my dad if he’d ever been in a close encounter on a hunt. He told me once he was guiding a moose hunt, and the hunter was a horrible shot and had wounded a huge, mammoth of a moose. While the hunter was fiddling with his rifle or something, the angry, wounded moose charged at my dad. Now, you have to understand a moose is only a little bit smaller than an elephant. Before my dad had a chance to pull his side arm, the moose was on top of him. Luckily, my dad got off a shot into the moose’s chest and lived to tell the tale.
Legend also has it that on a lion hunt in Africa, my dad fired one shot from the jeep and against the instruction of his hunting guide; he ran out of the vehicle and chased after the lion until he killed it. There was another time deep in the Idaho wilderness, one of our pack llamas got heat exhaustion, and my dad hiked out 15 or so miles to the trailhead, found a vet to give him dome medicine, and IN THE SAME DAY hiked the 15 miles back to camp! I once saw a brochure from one of the outfitters my dad guided for and it referred to their “world famous hunting guide, Jon Nichols.”
While my dad was certainly macho, he said one of the bravest things he ever did was take me to a Tiffany concert in 3rd grade. He also escorted Lorri to the ballet, was known to have had a few pedicures, and he always had a BIG soft spot in his heart for little girls. In fact, my first memory is of my dad kneeling down to my eye-level when I was 3 years old. We were at the end of our driveway. My dad zipped me up inside his coat to keep me warm and explained to me how I needed to look both ways before crossing the street. He was so tender and made a point of always explaining why these things were dangerous—rather than just saying “because I said so.”
Growing up with a dad like Jon Nichols was very memorable and interesting, as you might imagine. He used to teach Levi and I Marine Corps cadences as soon as we could talk. When he was telling us something serious, he made us stand at attention and say, “Yes, Sir.”
Anyone who knew my dad knew that he was quite the health nut. He was always making these green, 12-grain, flaxseed, Omega-3 waffles and pancakes and serving them with organic pumpkin seed butter. He always wanted to know what your blood type was so he could grill you about your eating habits. He believed just about anything could be cured with Valerian Root or White Birch Bark. Growing up, Levi and I used to get scolded if we had croutons on our salad because they were full of preservatives. I can only imagine the reaction Lorri’s kids must have had when my dad whipped out his first batch on pancakes for them! To my dad’s testament, I can honestly say I have never had a Twinkie, a bowl of Capt. Crunch, or a Coke—and, for this, I am thankful. The other thing I am eternally grateful for is the firm handshake my dad taught me—and he taught us to always look the person in the eye when you shake their hand.
One of the last things my dad said to me before he died was, “Stace, I’ve always been a fighter.” There was never a mountain to tall for my dad; no challenge too daunting. When he decided he wanted to learn about the stock market or reloading bullets, he did it. My dad was his own man, who made his own rules. If there wasn’t a trail where he wanted to go, he blazed one. My dad used to say, “Life doesn’t care about your excuses.”
In 2003, when my dad started dating his chiropractor, Lorri, his life was just opening to a whole new chapter. He had just retired. He had braces for goodness sake! The outlook was so bright. My dad and Lorri had lots of good times, travels, and new experiences. I remember talking to my dad after he’d gone back to Pennsylvania to see where Lorri grew up, and he said it was like stepping into a Norman Rockwell painting back there. My dad was so impressed with “the Doc,” as he called her.
My dad used to absolutely love having these truly “perfect,” well-rounded experiences. When things just came together seamlessly and smoothly, my dad was really in his element. One of the things I remember my dad putting in that category was his wedding to Lorri. He so enjoyed being surrounded by his friends and family in a secluded mountain resort for an entire weekend.
Another thing that brought that perfectly complete experience my dad adored was having grandchildren. Another one of the last things my dad told me was that having grandchildren made it all worthwhile. He loved being his granddaughter Maelie’s horsey. One of his last projects before he died was to buy a beautiful 20-gauge Bennelli for his grandson, Wyatt. Apparently, the morning after my dad passed away, Maelie woke up and asked for Grandpa Jon.
Sometimes it’s easy to think my dad got cheated out of life, but he constantly reminded us that he had no regrets and lived a truly blessed life. My dad knew that his diagnosis was little more than a death sentence, but that didn’t stop him from approaching pancreatic cancer with the same tenacity and fearlessness as he approached everything else. Pancreatic Cancer has a one year survival rate of 3-5%. It is the most deadly kind of cancer. My dad was originally given 2 months to live, so 2 ½ years was a real accomplishment. In those 2 ½ years, my dad received over 60 chemotherapy treatments, lived to see both of his kids get married, and had a grandson. Not bad! Levi and I can never thank Lorri enough for all of her research and advocating and nursing and chauffeuring that made those 2 ½ years possible.
My dad always wanted to teach people and coach people and guide people. I think even in his death, he has much to show us. He fought bravely and without self-pity right until the end—until it was time to stop fighting and to let go. I cannot begin to impress upon you the peace and tranquility he knew in his last few hours. Any one of us would be blessed to know that kind of peace even for a minute. I think it’s so appropriate that my dad passed away in April because, like the month of April, my dad came in like a lion and went out like a lamb. My dad’s death taught me how important it is to accept things and people the way they are.
To quote my dad’s obituary, “He will be deeply missed and remembered with honor and distinction forever.” Now it is time to go out into the world and tell the tall tales of a man who once was known as ‘Big Jon.’
I would now like to invite anyone up to the microphone who would like to share a story or memory of my dad.
