Hey Jim, This One’s for You

I was hired a couple of weeks before the 1984 Olympics and was told that the only way I’d get to any of the events was as Jim Murray’s chauffeur. I jumped at the chance and for two weeks I drove Jim around the city to the various sporting venues.

I learned why he needed a driver on the first night, pulling into his garage to drop him off and seeing, in the beams of light, a washer and dryer that were full of dents.

“That’s how I know when to stop, especially at night,” he said, elaborating on the serious nature of his eye troubles.

I got to know Jim pretty well during the next two weeks. What I admired most about him was that, unlike so many big-name sports writers, he didn’t have a huge ego to satisfy; he treated everyone the same and demanded very little of the people running the events.

I didn’t see Jim much after the Olympics because he rarely came into the office, but every Christmas for the next three years he sent me a keg of imported beer.

I guess he got to know me pretty well, too.