Profile: JIM (CHAP)FORD

Word Sketch by Michael Easterling

4/23/21

Jim was born in South Dakota on July 25, 1931.      

the son of a third generation Lutheran minister, 

his mother was a homemaker.  Both 100 percent Swedish.

He was a  rowdy kid smarter than his school grades showed,

a ski champion who skied on one ski 

and off ski-jumps backward

giving him a bad back permanently.

He went to Gustavus Adolphus College

where he met Swedish Marcia Ford, 

a spitting image of Liv Ullman.

Bought a Harley Davidson- a common sight he and Marcie

cruising on and off campus on his Harley ‘hog’.

He was the smartest guy at Gustavus with only average grades.

He didn't care.

He felt called to ministry and attended Augustana Seminary,

was ordained and took his first church in Ivanhoe, Minnesota,

a tiny one in a tiny town.

There it was not only preaching, counseling and visiting the sick,

it was starting the furnace on cold Sundays,

cleaning the floors, mowing the lawn and shoveling snow.

Marcie, a 4th generation minister’s wife, helped him with  all of it.

But there were surprising, good things to come.

Chap’s brother-in-law, a West Point grad,

knew of a opening at the Academy  for an Assistant Chaplain.

and threw Jim’s name in the hat. 

He got the job over dozens of other candidates

and moved from the  little one room church in the stix

to the magnificent Cadet Chapel 

at the United States Military Academy.    1961

The senior chaplain there took care of the books,

the boards and the ‘brass’ while Jim took care of the cadets.

He was up at reveille and at their training, went 

to their workouts and to their games,

to their parades and ate with them in their dining hall, and

housed  their girlfriends (‘drags’) when they came to visit.

Then to everyone’s surprise, the senior chaplain retired

and Jim was appointed by President Johnson

to be Chaplain, USMA, the youngest ever in 1965.

He became arguably the best chaplain in USMA history.

He was a skilled administrator, an excellent preacher,

offered memorable prayers,

worked well with the ‘brass,’ 

selected strong Assistant Chaplains who could relate to the cadets,

played the huge bells of the Cadet Chapel and

created many new programs and activities for the cadets.

He was in demand as a preacher throughout  the U.S.

He visited Viet Nam in the heat of the war connecting

with officers he had known as cadets,

Amazingly he found time to sai. in the Hudson 

and ride trail bikes in the mountains.

In 1976  he sailed his sailboat the Yankee Doodle 

across the Atlantic Ocean

from Plymouth England to West Point.

In 1989 he resigned at West Point and became 

the first full time Chaplain of the House of Representatives—

appointed by the President Jimmy Carter.

At the House he opened each session with prayer, 

counseled with House members, their staffs

and with regular employees of the Capitol.

He was close to Tip O’Neil, President George H.W. Bush and

an active member of progressive St. Peters Lutheran Church 

and was in demand as a Speaker throughout the U.S. 

As busy as he was he found time to ride his motorcycles,

sail the Yankee Doodle in Chesapeake Bay,

scratch out some time with his family 

on his house boat on the Potomac,

and take a cross country motorcycle trip with his son Peter

from Oregon to Washington DC.

He was the House Chaplain for 21 years serving under  four Presidents, Carter, Reagan H.W. Bush and Bill Clinton.

He retired in 2000.

Chap had been hard charging since he was a

a student,  a champion skier,  a young pastor,   

a Chaplain at West Point and in Congress

so of course he tried to be in his retirement.

He resolved to read more, to write his memoirs, 

to spend more time with family and keep better touch with friends.

He rode his motorcycles all over, 

sailed in Chesapeake Bay and cruised the Potomac in his houseboat.

He took flying lessons, bought an Ultra-Light and

skimmed the tree-tops in Northern Virginia.

He  skied  and traveled some.

But his phone wasn’t ringing as much anymore,

some days not at all.

Speaking engagements were less and less and down to none,

no one needing appointments and counseling,

no more glamorous parties and receptions, 

no more fat cat trips with congressmen, no more Camp Davids.

Maker’s Mark helped some but more  and more 

he just wasn’t “feeling right.”

He started to experience insomnia,

also dizziness,vertigo  and nausea.

Sometimes he could only find relief in sitting or laying quietly

and in doing absolutely nothing.

Marcie waiting on him more and more.

Doctor’s prescriptions made him numb and 

wanting to do even more nothing.

Day after day after week after week after month after month.

In the midst of all this he remembered Marcie’s father, 

sick in his old age, completely dependent on his family to care for him, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year and the unbearable thought that this could be repeated by him and his beloved family. An unbearable thought.

Then his doctors told him that there was nothing else they could do for him. Nothing. 

In essence they told him there was “no hope.”

On August 31, 2001 he told Marcie 

he felt well enough to go down to his houseboat

to check some things out, not to wait supper for him.

It was getting dark as he drove across the 14th St Bridge to the marina,

parked the car and walked to the boat.

Once there he sat down for a long time.

Then he found a tablet and pen in his briefcase and began to write.

After writing for a while he looked it over.  Looked it over again.

And looked it over again.

He then retrieved a gun from his briefcase and

walked outside on to the deck.

He took a line, tied it around his waist then to the ladder.

With gun in hand he eased into the water

and swam out several feet from the boat.

He stopped for a long moment,

put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

Why under heaven would  he do it? 

Why would a man who was so full of life

and so much bigger than life 

choose to end his life this way?

Some might say it was because of the misery 

he was experiencing with no hope of recovery.

Some might say he wasn't in his right mind

because of the drugs he was taking.

Some might say he was a classic adventurer like Hemingway

and couldn't imagine life without it. 

It is true that each of these things might have influenced Jim to do what he did but I suspect the greatest thing that influenced him

to do the unthinkable was love. 

More than anything else, what Jim couldn't bear was the  

worry and heartache his slow demise might place upon 

those he loved with all his heart. The way he died broke our hearts but because of his great heart 

we can understand better why he did it.

He loved life. He lived it to the fullest.

Men loved to be around Him. Women too.

He made us laugh.

He lifted us up.  

He inspired us. 

He made us feel special.

He gave us hope. 

He gave us faith. 

None of us will ever be the same without him.

Pax vobiscum dear Jim.