A eulogy for Greg James, Richwood’s finest

Opinion by Susan Johnson,

On Saturday, June 20, hundreds of mourners will flock to the new Richwood High School gymnasium to memorialize Mr. Greg James.  The beloved director of the Lumberjack Express passed away on Wednesday after living 71 years—50 of which he devoted to children of Richwood.    

None of the mourners will be Greg’s kinfolk because he had none at his time of death.   Each of us, though, will grieve as if we had lost a father, a brother, a cousin, a son.  

RHS band director Greg James is easily the most influential educator in the history of West Virginia.  He taught music and band for literally half a century.  According to his obituary, his Lumberjack Express became a nationally recognized marching band having played at venues such as the Grand Ole Opry, the Gator Bowl, Walt Disney World, the Indianapolis 500, and the Kentucky Derby to name a few. He was named West Virginia Outstanding Teacher award, recognition by the School Band and Orchestra Magazine as one of the “50 Directors who make a difference”, the Erma Boyce Outstanding Teacher Award, and the Pharis Reader Award for Outstanding Community Service.  In 2015 he was inducted into the West Virginia Band Directors Hall of Fame and last year he was even named to the RHS Athletic Hall of Fame.  

Among those mourners on Saturday will be those of us who taught with him.  We will remember him rolling in late in his long Cadillac.  We will remember his hilarious Christmas cards, hand addressed to each faculty member.  He could be maddenly frustrating.  His band was so big—at one time one in every four students was in his band—that he usually won out on minor faculty turf wars.  But Greg learned politics from his parents.  His father was longtime sheriff in Gilmer County, and his mother was a member of the Silver Haired Legislature and other Democrat organizations.  So we didn’t stay mad at him long.  We knew that nobody, and I mean nobody, loved and protected his students like Greg James.  He made sure they weren’t failing any classes.  He made sure they followed the rules. He knew them by their MIDDLE names.  Heck, he could run into a former student and remember the year they graduated, what instrument they played, who their daddy was.  

Other mourners will be parents.  To have a kid in Greg James’s band was a totally immersive experience.   You dropped off kids at 5:00 a.m. to go to Disney World and picked them up at 2:00 a.m. from a late band competition.  You raised funds.  You sold concessions. You rode the bus to trips and competitions and band camp.  You managed multiple wardrobe changes and complex course scheduling to make sure your child could have band.  You never missed a concert.  Why?  Because Greg thanked you.  He spoke to us as if we were co-parents, because we were.  Former student Susan Johnson Bird, ’98, wrote in a Facebook post: “One thing is for sure: he impacted me to be better, work hard, never wear a backless dress, and to help those who needed a little help.”   He taught our children to have dignity and self confidence grounded in effort, not privilege.  He taught them how to work in a group—sometimes leading and sometimes humbly following.  He was occasionally criticized for being a little haughty, but what proud parent isn’t? 

Most of the mourners though will be his children.   Estimates are that Greg James impacted over 5,000 lives.  The Facebook tributes go on and on.  Michael Facemire writes, “I am one of a thousand, maybe hundreds of thousands, who called themselves a child of Greg James. We may not share blood, but we all share that same tug on the hair, nickname or the precious moments we all had with him.”  Victoria Price Cochran posted,  “He gave generations of kids a place to belong. He helped countless students stay on the right path and away from negative influences.” Karen Barnett Jarvis became a band director herself, thanks to his influence. “Without Mr. James putting my butt into a rental van and driving me to honor bands for three years in high school, I would not be where I am today. His legacy after fifty years of teaching is truly monumental, and I can say with certainty mine is one of the lives he touched.”  

One time we had an interim principal at Richwood High School who was struggling to appreciate the breadth and scope of Greg James’s influence.  He called me into his office after butting heads with Mr. James and asked, “Does this guy think he’s God or something?”  I smiled.  “No, sir.  He knows he is God.”  At the risk of being irreverent, Mr. James reigned over the culture he created like a proud, protective god.  He knew them all by name—probably knew the numbers of hairs on their heads.  He cared for them like his own and sacrificed a life of his own, never marrying and living until the end in his parents’ home in Glenville.  No one will ever know the number of students for whom he bought food and clothes, or visited in the hospital, or attended their weddings, or paid for college tuition.  

According to one account, Mr. James worked right up until the day of his death, helping a new drum major be fitted for a uniform.  That’s the way he wanted to go.  Now his work is done.  Susan Johnson Bird said it best: “Parade rest, Mr. James.  We will load the trailer from here.”  

Susan Johnson is a former colleague of Greg James at Richwood High School and the mother of four of his former students.