Jim Makiaris

When you try to capture the essence of someone as deeply admired as Jim, it's a challenge that words can hardly meet, but through my memories, a vivid picture begins to form. Jim wasn't just a man who brightened the room; he was someone who made life easier, warmer, and more bearable for those around him. Even in my self-doubt about doing him justice, I'm trying to paint a picture that resonates deeply—a man who mastered the art of making others feel seen, supported, and uplifted. And that, in itself, is a profound tribute.

Jim entered my life during a pivotal moment. I, nervous and unsure, sat across from him during my interview for a new position. His casual smile, and the natural warmth he exuded, disarmed my anxiety. Somehow, he saw something in me and from that day forward, my professional life took a turn for the better. Being part of his department wasn’t just a job—it was the happiest time of my career. But it’s clear that Jim’s impact went far beyond professional boundaries.

Growing up in Connecticut in the 1950s, Jim came from a family of modest means. Yet, his upbringing gave him a strong foundation. His parents, especially his no-nonsense mother who had survived the Great Depression and raised three active boys, instilled in him confidence and a relentlessly positive outlook on life. Whether this environment shaped his inherent kindness or whether he was simply born with it is hard to say—but Jim certainly carried these qualities into every facet of his life. 

What stands out most is that Jim had this remarkable ability to make you—and everyone around him—feel like you mattered. In fact, his facial expressions capture his duality: the smile that could brighten your darkest days, and the serious look that let you know that your concerns, no matter how small, were valid and worthy of his attention. It’s a rare gift, to offer both levity and seriousness in equal measure, and Jim wielded it like a master.

My friendship with Jim was strengthened during those many fishing trips to Ensenada. It was on those long drives that Jim became not just a friend, but a confidant—a person you could unload your emotional burdens on without judgment. He had this knack for listening intently, offering a fresh perspective, and then lightening the mood with a perfectly timed joke. It seems like Jim made everything feel a little easier, a little less serious, without diminishing the importance of the moment.

And that’s the key to understanding Jim—he made people feel good about themselves. Whether it was his friends, his students, or my children, he had this ability to connect deeply and meaningfully. I recall sitting in on his classes and watching him work his magic with new teachers—making them laugh one minute, and tear up the next with his powerful stories. Jim was a natural teacher, not because of the subject matter he taught, but because he understood how to reach people, how to lift them up.

You see, Jim wasn't just a mentor or a colleague—he was like a big brother. His strength, his balanced nature, and his ability to handle life’s challenges with grace and humor made him someone I looked up to. And, as I said, he played a similar role for my own children, who naturally gravitated towards him. Whether it was tossing them high into the air at the pool or offering me sage advice on fatherhood, Jim was always there—steadfast, reliable, and full of life.

Jim's smile, so simple yet so full of meaning, seems to encapsulate everything Jim stood for. He made the mundane moments feel worthwhile. He took my worries, and my uncertainties, and made them feel lighter and manageable. Whether it's sitting around a campfire in Ensenada, telling stories and laughing, or offering support during the hard times— Jim’s presence was not just welcome, it was transformative.

Even now, after 20 years of friendship, I text him every day—a testament to the depth and importance of the bond we share. Through all the good times and the hard times, Jim has been a constant in my life. And though I feel like words may fail to fully capture who he is, the truth is, I've done the best I could. I think I've painted a picture of a man who was everything a person could aspire to be—a friend, a mentor, a brother in spirit.

In the end, some things in life are beyond description: the first time you hold your child, a sunset over the ocean, the taste of your favorite ice cream. Jim falls into that category—one of those rare, indescribable blessings. And though I feel like I haven’t done him justice, I  tried to share not just stories, but the feeling of what it was like to have Jim in my life. And that’s the highest tribute  I can offer. 

In closing, I leave you with a heartfelt wish: that you too find a Jim in your life—a person who lifts you, makes you better and helps you see the world a little more brightly.