It was perhaps Jim Kuykendall’s last little gift to his colleagues at the Courant to bring so many of them together under one roof.

The gathering at Newington’s Church of Christ, Congregational  was a reminder of the newspaper staff as it used to be — larger, stronger, and happier. There were lots of people there from those better times: Ingrid Muller, David Fink, Phil Lohman, Scott Johnson, Denis Horgan, Tom Bieluczyk, Lynn Leary… I lost track.

Of course Jim was an important part of that chemistry, as his friends pointed out during his funeral service.

All of the current Graphics Department was there, of course; but so was much of the Sports Department, former sports department, and a good chunk of photo, the copy desk, and news. It was hard to tell which department loved him more. ”He belonged to all of us,” Assistant Sports Editor Scott Powers said. 

It was touching to hear Jim’s former co-workers talk about his time at The Courant, but also about his days in Fort Lauderdale, at the Sun-Sentinel, where he was assistant sports editor back in the 80s. That’s where Jim first encountered Sports Editor Jeff Otterbein and Powers, and others, (including me.*)  At the service, Powers read letters from former Sun-Sentinel colleagues Bill Plaschke (now an LA Times sports columnist); Craig Stanke, now at CBS Sports, and Fred Turner, the former Sun-Sentinel sports editor.

Jim was “a journalist first, artsy second,” Turner wrote. 

Powers, in his address to the audience, reminded everyone how much Jim loved his work. “I got the best job in the world, he would say, and he meant it.”

Leave it to Scott Johnson, Jim’s former boss in Graphics, to yuk it up a little by producing a handful of Kleenex for the audience and a beach-sized crying towel for himself. It was in keeping with Jim’s sense of humor, he said.

Johnson didn’t use the towel, but nearly had to. He reminded us all of Jim’s uncanny ability to be in the moment. “You knew when you were talking to Jim, he was listening,” Johnson said. Jim Kuykendall “was putting on a clinic of what it means to squeeze every moment out of life.”

I left the service with Jim’s last gift to me: Thinking how I could get the most out of whatever days left for me. 

*I worked in News, and didn’t see Jim much. Plus, he hung out at the Bloodshot Eye bar, while I drank at the Crazy Horse — the one with the bullet hole in the sidewalk outside.