I think of the carts he made when he was a kid - some kind of wooden box mounted on four wheels with a steering wheel, a tongue to pull it behind a tractor - and me in the driver's seat with an occasional blob of mud in my hair (leading to the addition of mud flaps fashioned from old inner tubes and Jack's absolute promise to Mother that that would solve the problem.)

I think of the day Jack came in and began to tease me and said Mother and Dad had bought something for us and he got four and I just got three. I wasn't happy. It turned out to be little toy racing cars that had numbers on them - his had a 4 and mine had a 3.

I think of making candy in the big aluminum pan - a cup of sugar, a cup of Karo, a cup of milk, a couple of heaping tablespoons of cocoa, cooked so long that when it hardened in the platter you'd have to chip it out with a knife.

I think of riding over to Durant for Clyde and Vera Mae's wedding with Jack and Jenny in the rumble seat.

I think of the day he picked me up early at school and as we drove home he told me Mother and Dad had gotten a telegram from the War Department about Billy.

I think of the old motorcycle he bought and worked on to get it running. He needed me to hold it up while he was working on it - and I guess the work wasn't going all that well. He was not being the patient Jack we all remember now. He was being the Jack that led me to wonder if I could reach the house, and safety, if I just let the thing fall down and ran like crazy. Being cautious then as I am now, I didn't risk it.

I think of the great tree house he and Rusty Kilpatrick built in a tree on the other side of the creek. They even built a ladder they could pull up after them to keep anyone (me) from pestering them.

I think of how he used to hate cats (derned cats) and the day one slipped in the house when he opened the back screen. I could hear him run up the stairs, run all around upstairs, run back down the steps…then the back screen banged open and that cat sailed about 8 feet through the air before it landed on all fours, shook itself off and stalked off. I know everyone who knew him later on will find this hard to believe.

I think of how quiet he was.

I think of how he would sort of disappear during family reunions.

I think of how he convinced me it would be fun to help him feed soured barley (smelled terrible) to the pigs he was raising for his FFA project.

I think of the letters he wrote home during his basic training in the Navy. The rule was: No swim, no leave. And Jack was having a hard time learning to swim. We were all worried, but he did it!

I think of the day he let me drive his little Ford coupe to town while he was home on leave. He said he knew I'd be driving it and he wanted to check me out. Never mind that I was several years away from a driver's license.

I think of another time when he was home on leave and told me not to say "cain't" because "they'll laugh at you." He made me practice saying "can't" instead.

I think of the way he and Jack Slagle would drive around the square using their car horns to communicate with each other in Morse code after they'd both been to the same school in the Navy. Super cool!

I think of the day we were driving in town and he asked who the girl walking down the street was. We told him it was Ima Jean Riddles. And we all know what wonderful things that led to.

I think of the week I spent in Wichita Falls visiting Jack and Jean in their first little furnished apartment.

I think of the Christmases at home in the country with lots of fruit salad and platters of divinity and fudge as the family grew to include Pam and then Randy.

I think of the time Keith, Clyde, Jack and I were sitting in a car in Bonham waiting for some papers that we needed in taking care of Dad's estate. An old guy was walking down the sidewalk and every few steps he would stop, take out his pocket watch, look at it, shake the hell out of it, hold it to his ear, shake it again, and then take another few steps and do the same thing all over again. We laughed till we cried and through the years, we've reminded each other of this many times.

I think of the time Jack and Jean and Keith and Sara came to North Carolina and were less than enthusiastic about the dinner I fixed their first evening there because they had eaten breakfast at one Cracker Barrel, lunch at another Cracker Barrel and munched on a couple of pounds of salt water taffy in between. That put me right off of Cracker Barrel restaurants and I still don't like 'em.

And I think of another time when the same group came up (they made sure to arrive hungry), and during their stay, Jack took each and every door off its hinges and sawed enough off the bottom to keep it from dragging on the floor. Well, actually, it wasn't every door - only seven of them.

I think of Jack's standing offer to loan me his car when I was in town - and the special instructions this required because of the gadgets he had rigged up.

I think of the dozens of Molly Ivins' columns he clipped from the Ft. Worth paper and sent to me because she's not published in my paper. This was a real test of love, because Jack was Republican right down to his socks and Molly…well, Molly isn't. I asked him what he thought about something she had written, and he said, "I don't READ that stuff! I just send it to you."

I think of the day last May he called me to tell me about his multiple myeloma. I asked how he felt about it (dumb question) - scared or like it was going to be another adventure. He said, "Well, it's not an adventure I especially want to have, but I guess I don't have a choice."

I think of the family reunion we had on May 16. A perfect day.

I think of the promise I got from him when I left from that visit - the promise that when I called and asked him how he was doing, that he would level with me and tell me the truth. He stuck to that even though he had a hard time acknowledging pain. (He said he felt a slight discomfort when he had his bypass surgery.)

I think of the hundreds of hours he spent designing and fine-tuning and teaching me to use a computer program to make it easier for me to keep up with companies that distribute my magazine. I know at least one time he stayed up all night in order to have it ready for me to take back with me the next day, and we used to be on the phone a couple of hours at a time while he walked me through the steps. His patience level had come a long way since the motorcycle days.

I think of the way he stayed up until 11 p.m. the day I arrived last August because he was trying to get me set up with another computer he and Randy had put together from parts from under the pool table. When we went to bed, it was almost done. The next morning he went to the hospital, but he insisted from his hospital bed that Randy get it ready to take back with me - later was not good enough. And Randy came through and Jack was happy. And I was really happy.

So, when I think of Jack, I think of a personal hero - and someone who knew how to enjoy the good things in life and pretty much just turn his back on the rest.

In his eulogy, Jess said Jack may not be in a class to himself, but it wouldn't take long to call the roll. But if you're calling the roll of all the people who have been made to feel very special by Jack, you'd better bring a sack lunch. It will take a while!