Welcome to the memorial page for
James M. Roberts
April 4, 1928 ~ January 8, 2017 (age 88) 88 Years Old Light a Candle
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A candle was lit by Marge Cigler
on May 9, 2017 8:59 AM
A candle was lit by Marge Cigler
on May 9, 2017 8:59 AM
A candle was lit by The Bob Boltz Family Michele, Sally and David
on January 13, 2017 4:01 AM
Message from (Daughter, Marti)
January 12, 2017 8:10 PM
From Daughter Marti:
"Thank You Big Jim"
When the perfect storm, named Chicago’s Blizzard of ’67, blew Big Jim and my mom together, my life changed for the better. As the snow melted into spring their love blossomed with the hawthorn trees. Each came ready equipped with a bevy of daughters; Mr. Robert’s four and mom’s three. Among the first of any man in the state of Illinois to do so, pop had actively sought and earned custody of his daughters. Divorce was pretty rare still back then, remarriage rarer still and a guy getting custody of the kinds? Unheard of. But that was Mr. Roberts. He walked his talk.
I met him when he was beginning the soaring prime of his life. I grew up from age nine observing he and my mom create integrated offices long before their peers in business. They welcomed into our home staff and business associates of various hues and religions and created celebrations the likes of which the rest of buttoned up Lake Forest may only have seen within the arts. Jim and Jo were socially responsible business managers who each made a difference, pop with the Chicago Tribune and mom at Abbott Labs.
They found mighty spiritual sustenance in their shared faith and became involved in groups and activities that furthered their positive influence. Before he became my pop, our Christmases were getting pretty lean. It was not easy for a single mom working in a male dominated industry to earn, let alone save, a ton of cash. So as a kid, that first pile of presents, thriftily attained, under the tree of this newly combined family made another positive impression on me. But even more than that, it was during these years this new family began participating in programs where we brought Christmas in the form of a feast and presents for other families needier than us. To this day I think most of us practice some form of this type of holiday sharing.
I knew pop to be a man dedicated to listening to others. He was a man who not only knew the name of the guy shining his shoes but also those of his sons and daughters. It was natural for him to help people out of tight spots. When he could, he would give just about anybody a genuine chance – at work, on the street, through groups he was a part of. This included helping out some of his daughters’ boyfriends from time to time. In one notable example he let an ex-boyfriend flop in the basement of our house to maintain a factory job much to the vexation of my sister who was away at school by then. That guy has since gone on to make something of his life. That could have been the tipping point for him, who knows?
Pop was a guy who taught me well that you don’t deplete love when you spend it, but you allow it to grow exponentially the more you spread it about. He and my mom also demonstrated that you don’t just show love with words, but also through example and, when possible, by opening doors, making room and allowing others their own chances. Sometimes metaphorically, other times materially.
He and my mom worked hard, moved up and managed to send every single one of the seven of us who wanted to, through university. At least one year they were writing check after check for no fewer than four full-time, on-campus college students. Concurrently they were also keeping things together at home, gardening, renovating, participating in Christian groups and outings and holding some of the best parties that side of Lake Michigan has ever known.
They were an excellent team. They supported each other in their careers and in important decisions. They unwaveringly showed a united front during controversial family issues allowing space for their own relationship to maintain its internal strength. This created a solid foundation that sustained them as individuals as well as in every aspect of their very engaged lives. Indeed, all who knew them were benefitted in one way or another by this partnership.
When a small windfall came their way, they purchased the old clubhouse next to a defunct brewery in Door County, Wisconsin. This became their haven for at least forty years. They would escape up to “the cottage” for as many long weekends as their jobs and obligations would let them. Over time they formed some of the strongest bonds of their social lives together there.
When he could, after the bulk of the tuition bills and somewhat before the weddings marched through the budget, pop started his personal flotilla of boat ownership beginning with a cute wooden hulled outboard with ‘twin 80’s’ he renamed “Osprey”. He became an avid fisherman during these years. I’m not saying he was the greatest fish catcher that ever worked the great lakes, but he darn sure was a happy fish pursuer. Plus he knew where he could buy thick fish steaks for his fish boils if the salmon or whitefish gods had not smiled upon him that morning. Most of the time he managed to not toss the kerosene for the big finale flame-up for the boil-over in this unique-to-the-region fish and vegetable cooking process, the Door County fish boil.
He was an optimistic even if not most masterful carpenter you ever met. There was a time in his life where he could have made anything out of two by fours and plywood. It became our mantra for him. As he labored, we judged his handiwork unkindly and should have been struck by lightning for our disgraceful attitude except we enthusiastically used until sway-backed or broken every bunk bed, bench and table he ever built.
During the summer vacations spent at the cottage, when most, if not all, were in attendance, pop developed the horrific habit of playing raucous march music including tracks featuring screeching bagpipes and drums at top volume and embellished John Phillips Souza marches with his own sick-cow trumpeting on the banged up bugle he bought at a flea market. It felt like this was happening at zero dark thirty but it probably was probably closer to eight in the a.m. He didn’t want lazy college and high school students to waste away the whole day. After all, there were boathouses to scrape and paint, kegs to tap and neighbors to good-naturedly shoot with bottle rockets.
At six feet six inches, Big Jim Roberts was one of the tallest men most people had ever met. He was lanky too and embraced the strange fashions of the decades with gusto. None more impressively perhaps than those of the nineteen seventies, with his white patent leather belt and shoe combo paired with loud plaid pants and bright button down shirts the color of sherbet topped off with wide striped ties that almost matched adding that finishing color boom! His feet were a foot long. They were also made of lead as he obtained quite an impressive array of speeding tickets mostly in Manitowac County between Two Rivers and Algoma.
For a time in the latter 70’s and throughout the 80’s he and my mom had part time unpaid employment as wedding planners, caterers and hosts as the string of seven brides made their various ways down assorted aisles with an interesting array of characters some of whom stood the test of time, others of whom were inevitably outgrown. As each marriage encountered its challenges mom and pop were there with information, advice and sometimes other resources as requested if that seemed likely to lead to a healthy outcome. They were always a reliable fallback in worst case scenarios.
He could maneuver the Eden’s Expressway that links the north shore with downtown Chicago almost completely asleep. I’m not sure how I am here to report this faithfully to you, dear reader, but I am. I drove in and out with him over the course of one winter as a post graduate looking for my first big break. I got to use part of his office at the Tribune Tower as my home base while I got rejected for job after job in the mean days of early 1980’s. He’d stick his yellow “Merz” on autopilot while I rode shotgun ready to jab him back to this earth before rear ending the string of top of the line bumpers stock still at Lake Cook Road.
There were dark days in this period. Daughter Laura, began treatment for a significant brain tumor and eventually, despite several years of high-end experimental treatment, unyielding positive visualization and almost ceaseless prayer gently succumbed in mom and dad’s sun room. She had reported seeing Jesus on the other side of the darkened winter window beckoning her to join him. Toasting her transformation with champagne, pop was especially devastated for years, really forever, afterword. He would say, they both would say, “It isn’t natural for a parent to outlive a child.” Our hearts broke every time they said it.
Around this same time the tides began turning at the Trib and the hands-on, human-friendly terms he had conducted his business under as manager of their revenue sustaining classified ads section were becoming less and less appreciated. He had built successful careers and a people-based professional life for himself, his staff, his clients and earlier management. He focused on hand shake deals that eventually lead to robust bottom lines but didn’t always add up ideally when measured in four month increments. Jim Roberts was a distance guy; a big picture seer. He took people into consideration and worked for more than quarterly balance sheets. He was about thirty years ahead of his time on this, but the nearsighted numbers hacks then moving up at the “World’s Greatest Newspaper” were nudging him out. So he took early retirement.
He and my mom began looking for a warmer place to create a new life for at least six months of the year. Why waste time indoors during the frigid winters up north? Florida was out because, well, Florida is Florida. By now, pop had become addicted to golf and it was love at first sight when the two of them took those first exploratory drives around Saint Simon’s Island with its massive live oaks dripping with Spanish moss. Its beautiful architecture, proximity to nature and genteel populace appealed to them on every level. That there were opportunities to continue positive influence and reach through the church and several key people sealed the deal.
They continued doing what it was they did best - reaching out to friends and family, being engaged with their church and social projects and generally enjoying life to the fullest in the sequence of their warm and welcoming homes at SSI. They gathered all of us in for several delightful Christmases on the island so we all now harbor fond memories of Benny’s Red Barn Christmas Eve feasts, Late night services in their ever growing church and walks along the ocean shore later Christmas day.
After some serious scares with emergency heart procedures for both mom and then pop they necessary started to slow down. When daughter Sarah entered her own final battles with the lupus she had grappled with her whole adult life pop pulled us in again and as a group we wept. Situations like that can do one of two things to a person. They can turn bitter and blame God or they can accept and seek comfort in his promise. Mom and pop had a long history of turning to God during the worst times and so this is what they did again.
My mom and pop enjoyed their twenty plus years as snowbird and then full time residents of SSI to the absolute max. They stayed in touch with all of we remaining children, and their own siblings, cousins and other members of their extended families in addition to adopting many local folks into their hearts.
I thought we were going to lose pop shortly after mom took her fateful fall two and a half years ago, and we almost did, but then he rallied. Those of you whom he touched during these past 28 months should know you’re probably a big reason why he stuck around as long as he did. To everyone at Wesley United, Marsh’s Edge, FirstLight Home Health Care and all his dear friends and family who helped him negotiate these final years, I thank you from the very bottom of my heart, a heart made healthier by the presence of Big Jim Roberts. Living in Saint Simon’s has been a wonderful conclusion to both my mom and pop’s lives, well and truly Lived.
"Thank You Big Jim"
When the perfect storm, named Chicago’s Blizzard of ’67, blew Big Jim and my mom together, my life changed for the better. As the snow melted into spring their love blossomed with the hawthorn trees. Each came ready equipped with a bevy of daughters; Mr. Robert’s four and mom’s three. Among the first of any man in the state of Illinois to do so, pop had actively sought and earned custody of his daughters. Divorce was pretty rare still back then, remarriage rarer still and a guy getting custody of the kinds? Unheard of. But that was Mr. Roberts. He walked his talk.
I met him when he was beginning the soaring prime of his life. I grew up from age nine observing he and my mom create integrated offices long before their peers in business. They welcomed into our home staff and business associates of various hues and religions and created celebrations the likes of which the rest of buttoned up Lake Forest may only have seen within the arts. Jim and Jo were socially responsible business managers who each made a difference, pop with the Chicago Tribune and mom at Abbott Labs.
They found mighty spiritual sustenance in their shared faith and became involved in groups and activities that furthered their positive influence. Before he became my pop, our Christmases were getting pretty lean. It was not easy for a single mom working in a male dominated industry to earn, let alone save, a ton of cash. So as a kid, that first pile of presents, thriftily attained, under the tree of this newly combined family made another positive impression on me. But even more than that, it was during these years this new family began participating in programs where we brought Christmas in the form of a feast and presents for other families needier than us. To this day I think most of us practice some form of this type of holiday sharing.
I knew pop to be a man dedicated to listening to others. He was a man who not only knew the name of the guy shining his shoes but also those of his sons and daughters. It was natural for him to help people out of tight spots. When he could, he would give just about anybody a genuine chance – at work, on the street, through groups he was a part of. This included helping out some of his daughters’ boyfriends from time to time. In one notable example he let an ex-boyfriend flop in the basement of our house to maintain a factory job much to the vexation of my sister who was away at school by then. That guy has since gone on to make something of his life. That could have been the tipping point for him, who knows?
Pop was a guy who taught me well that you don’t deplete love when you spend it, but you allow it to grow exponentially the more you spread it about. He and my mom also demonstrated that you don’t just show love with words, but also through example and, when possible, by opening doors, making room and allowing others their own chances. Sometimes metaphorically, other times materially.
He and my mom worked hard, moved up and managed to send every single one of the seven of us who wanted to, through university. At least one year they were writing check after check for no fewer than four full-time, on-campus college students. Concurrently they were also keeping things together at home, gardening, renovating, participating in Christian groups and outings and holding some of the best parties that side of Lake Michigan has ever known.
They were an excellent team. They supported each other in their careers and in important decisions. They unwaveringly showed a united front during controversial family issues allowing space for their own relationship to maintain its internal strength. This created a solid foundation that sustained them as individuals as well as in every aspect of their very engaged lives. Indeed, all who knew them were benefitted in one way or another by this partnership.
When a small windfall came their way, they purchased the old clubhouse next to a defunct brewery in Door County, Wisconsin. This became their haven for at least forty years. They would escape up to “the cottage” for as many long weekends as their jobs and obligations would let them. Over time they formed some of the strongest bonds of their social lives together there.
When he could, after the bulk of the tuition bills and somewhat before the weddings marched through the budget, pop started his personal flotilla of boat ownership beginning with a cute wooden hulled outboard with ‘twin 80’s’ he renamed “Osprey”. He became an avid fisherman during these years. I’m not saying he was the greatest fish catcher that ever worked the great lakes, but he darn sure was a happy fish pursuer. Plus he knew where he could buy thick fish steaks for his fish boils if the salmon or whitefish gods had not smiled upon him that morning. Most of the time he managed to not toss the kerosene for the big finale flame-up for the boil-over in this unique-to-the-region fish and vegetable cooking process, the Door County fish boil.
He was an optimistic even if not most masterful carpenter you ever met. There was a time in his life where he could have made anything out of two by fours and plywood. It became our mantra for him. As he labored, we judged his handiwork unkindly and should have been struck by lightning for our disgraceful attitude except we enthusiastically used until sway-backed or broken every bunk bed, bench and table he ever built.
During the summer vacations spent at the cottage, when most, if not all, were in attendance, pop developed the horrific habit of playing raucous march music including tracks featuring screeching bagpipes and drums at top volume and embellished John Phillips Souza marches with his own sick-cow trumpeting on the banged up bugle he bought at a flea market. It felt like this was happening at zero dark thirty but it probably was probably closer to eight in the a.m. He didn’t want lazy college and high school students to waste away the whole day. After all, there were boathouses to scrape and paint, kegs to tap and neighbors to good-naturedly shoot with bottle rockets.
At six feet six inches, Big Jim Roberts was one of the tallest men most people had ever met. He was lanky too and embraced the strange fashions of the decades with gusto. None more impressively perhaps than those of the nineteen seventies, with his white patent leather belt and shoe combo paired with loud plaid pants and bright button down shirts the color of sherbet topped off with wide striped ties that almost matched adding that finishing color boom! His feet were a foot long. They were also made of lead as he obtained quite an impressive array of speeding tickets mostly in Manitowac County between Two Rivers and Algoma.
For a time in the latter 70’s and throughout the 80’s he and my mom had part time unpaid employment as wedding planners, caterers and hosts as the string of seven brides made their various ways down assorted aisles with an interesting array of characters some of whom stood the test of time, others of whom were inevitably outgrown. As each marriage encountered its challenges mom and pop were there with information, advice and sometimes other resources as requested if that seemed likely to lead to a healthy outcome. They were always a reliable fallback in worst case scenarios.
He could maneuver the Eden’s Expressway that links the north shore with downtown Chicago almost completely asleep. I’m not sure how I am here to report this faithfully to you, dear reader, but I am. I drove in and out with him over the course of one winter as a post graduate looking for my first big break. I got to use part of his office at the Tribune Tower as my home base while I got rejected for job after job in the mean days of early 1980’s. He’d stick his yellow “Merz” on autopilot while I rode shotgun ready to jab him back to this earth before rear ending the string of top of the line bumpers stock still at Lake Cook Road.
There were dark days in this period. Daughter Laura, began treatment for a significant brain tumor and eventually, despite several years of high-end experimental treatment, unyielding positive visualization and almost ceaseless prayer gently succumbed in mom and dad’s sun room. She had reported seeing Jesus on the other side of the darkened winter window beckoning her to join him. Toasting her transformation with champagne, pop was especially devastated for years, really forever, afterword. He would say, they both would say, “It isn’t natural for a parent to outlive a child.” Our hearts broke every time they said it.
Around this same time the tides began turning at the Trib and the hands-on, human-friendly terms he had conducted his business under as manager of their revenue sustaining classified ads section were becoming less and less appreciated. He had built successful careers and a people-based professional life for himself, his staff, his clients and earlier management. He focused on hand shake deals that eventually lead to robust bottom lines but didn’t always add up ideally when measured in four month increments. Jim Roberts was a distance guy; a big picture seer. He took people into consideration and worked for more than quarterly balance sheets. He was about thirty years ahead of his time on this, but the nearsighted numbers hacks then moving up at the “World’s Greatest Newspaper” were nudging him out. So he took early retirement.
He and my mom began looking for a warmer place to create a new life for at least six months of the year. Why waste time indoors during the frigid winters up north? Florida was out because, well, Florida is Florida. By now, pop had become addicted to golf and it was love at first sight when the two of them took those first exploratory drives around Saint Simon’s Island with its massive live oaks dripping with Spanish moss. Its beautiful architecture, proximity to nature and genteel populace appealed to them on every level. That there were opportunities to continue positive influence and reach through the church and several key people sealed the deal.
They continued doing what it was they did best - reaching out to friends and family, being engaged with their church and social projects and generally enjoying life to the fullest in the sequence of their warm and welcoming homes at SSI. They gathered all of us in for several delightful Christmases on the island so we all now harbor fond memories of Benny’s Red Barn Christmas Eve feasts, Late night services in their ever growing church and walks along the ocean shore later Christmas day.
After some serious scares with emergency heart procedures for both mom and then pop they necessary started to slow down. When daughter Sarah entered her own final battles with the lupus she had grappled with her whole adult life pop pulled us in again and as a group we wept. Situations like that can do one of two things to a person. They can turn bitter and blame God or they can accept and seek comfort in his promise. Mom and pop had a long history of turning to God during the worst times and so this is what they did again.
My mom and pop enjoyed their twenty plus years as snowbird and then full time residents of SSI to the absolute max. They stayed in touch with all of we remaining children, and their own siblings, cousins and other members of their extended families in addition to adopting many local folks into their hearts.
I thought we were going to lose pop shortly after mom took her fateful fall two and a half years ago, and we almost did, but then he rallied. Those of you whom he touched during these past 28 months should know you’re probably a big reason why he stuck around as long as he did. To everyone at Wesley United, Marsh’s Edge, FirstLight Home Health Care and all his dear friends and family who helped him negotiate these final years, I thank you from the very bottom of my heart, a heart made healthier by the presence of Big Jim Roberts. Living in Saint Simon’s has been a wonderful conclusion to both my mom and pop’s lives, well and truly Lived.
A candle was lit by Thoughts and prayers - Brittany and Ryan
on January 12, 2017 7:03 PM
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