Good-bye, ‘Big Jim’

All the working men, poor men and self-described red necks couldn’t mend Big Jim’s broken heart.

So one year and 17 days after his beloved wife Syd died, Jimmy Baker is gone. Died in his sleep, leaving an empty bar stool in his Pastime Club—a tavern that’s a living room for the tiny highway town of Athol.

There have been weddings, baby showers and Thanksgiving dinners under the rusty tin roof where a glass of beer is only $1 and smoking is welcome. It’s also the local bank, where Big Jim would cash pay checks and even loan money. A much needed service in a poor town where many people don’t have checking accounts or the gas needed to drive the 15 miles south to Hayden.

He would let regulars run tabs, always trusting they would pay at the end of the month. If not, the fine was stiff: no drinks and no camaraderie found inside the thin plywood walls.

Nearly 200 people came to the Pastime Club Saturday, to drink booze and remember Big Jim, 74, who died March 28 in the tidy single-wide trailer behind the bar.

It was no typical memorial service with Bible verses, long speeches and fancy suits. Pickup trucks with a fresh coat of spring slop filled the parking lot off of state Highway 54. Flannel shirts, black cowboy hats and worn-out work boots were vogue for the come-as-you-are gathering where stories of Big Jim flowed faster than the beer tap. The juke box’s whine competed as it sang Big Jim’s favorite songs, mostly twanging county tunes about mommas and trains.

“Owning the bar wasn’t the only reason I liked the guy,” said John Hand, who chugged a Keystone Light as he told about how Big Jim offered to loan him $100 the first time they met. “If anyone in this town needed anything, he was here to help.”

George Booten Jr. recalled one of Big Jim’s basic rules: Never say the F-word. Big Jim didn’t yell, but he had an icy stare that could stop fights and normally straighten up the worst renegade. He was called Big Jim for a reason.

“I thought I had accused Jesus Christ of being gay,” Booten said remembering his own foul-mouth slip up.

Like so many other celebrations that have taken place at the Pastime Club, a red and white checkered cloth covered the pool table crowded with macaroni salads, fried chicken and cheese trays.

Snapshots of Big Jim in various stages of life were glued to big sheets of cardboard in the back. In one, he holds a gray cat as he stares into the camera. A can of Hamm’s sits on the bar in front of him. Another is of Big Jim and Syd beside their red Dodge van and matching camp trailer that they were driving when they stumbled across the Pastime Club in the late 1980s. The couple bought the bar, moved from California and soon became a beacon of stability in Athol.

Big Jim was born in Minnesota on the 200th birthday of President George Washington, Feb. 22, 1932, the oldest of six children. After high school, Big Jim served in the U.S. Army. He soon moved to southern California and worked at a paper mill for 32-years.

Syd Baker was his third wife and well-worth the wait.

“From beginning to end they were just starry-eyed,” said Jennifer Montoya, Syd’s daughter. “They had this secret look they would give each other.”

Big Jim had four children from his previous marriages while Syd had three.

With the death of Big Jim and Syd, the town is left wondering what will happen to its favorite gathering hole. And the family can’t answer that just yet.

“We’re still evaluating,” said Mike Combs, Big Jim’s son who lives in California.

It’s a tough decision because all the children know the importance of the rickety old place where the septic tank is a gutted car buried beneath the barroom floor.

“This bar actually fills a really important niche in the community,” said Sheri, a local gazing at the pictures in the back who didn’t want to give a last name. “It’s an extremely important place for people who live alone. Otherwise I would be talking baby talk to my dog.”

A sharp whistle cut through the chatter, and the juke box went silent. Combs stood up and thanked everyone for coming to pay tribute.

“I want to raise our glasses to Big Jim,” he said. “He’s here forever in our memory. Let’s eat.”