Jamie left imprints on mountains in Europe, Colorado, and California and in the wide-open spaces of Illinois and Oklahoma, not to mention many hearts. He showed how to think outside the box and enjoy the journey. He would tell stories of his life and would have everyone crying and laughing for hours. He was a person you always wanted to be around. If you called on him for help, he shared his wealth of information. Even before internet, he knew instinctively where to find information.
For those of you who have not been coached by Jamie to fight a ticket and win, he would want you to know this advice: Always ask the police officer for the County Seat and always ask for as many extensions as possible. The further away the better. You automatically have a 75 percent chance of winning. Here is how: You have a 50/50 chance the police officer won't show up. And then you have a 50 percent chance of winning if he shows up. It is 100 percent win if he does not show. Always remember the details. The police officer will not remember much except for his little notes on the back of the ticket.
He coached someone who had received a dishonorable discharge from the Marine Corp to having it changed to honorable discharge. That person went on to receive GI benefits of no down payment on a house and a BA degree in college.
One time when he came over to my apartment, he did not see a clock. For Christmas that year, he made me a grandfather clock that was taller than I am. When he buffed a tile floor, it looked like a sheet of ice and people were afraid to step on it. He painted his living room ceiling to look like an astrological universe. It is a masterpiece, and it is my belief that no one would ever paint over it.
His days of growing up in Island Lake, Illinois, were spent walking along Cotton creek, climbing and rolling down Indian Hill, walking through Campbell's Wood, swimming across the lake to slide down dam, climbing up the water tower, hiding in the woods next to our house, walking or biking to Wauconda for a 5 cent ice cream cone, walking to Eagen's house through the "path" which is now an Island Lake official path with a park, riding his bike to Cary to the family-owned gas station or to Volo to work at the family-owned hot dog stand or to just go eat a polish dog.
During a blizzard when he was six years old, his Mother and sisters were sick and the house had no heat. Jamie rode a bike three miles to the Wauconda Lumberyard to get wood to burn in the fireplace to keep the house warm. The bike was way too big for him, but he did bring that wood home for his sisters and his Mom.
His house was a home and you were always welcomed in for home-cooked meal whether it was his wife Camille's beef stew with homemade noodles, bread, and pies or whether it was Jamie making pizza or corned beef and cabbage or those special meals he made for his son Jason with eggs, cream cheese, and chives. He sure loved Costco. The baked ham and sliced bacon was a particular favorite. From time to time, he would be on the CAT diet – caffeine, alcohol, and tobacco.
Despite enjoying the CAT diet, he was a dog man. His three dogs loved him. Sam, a collie-fox, who, when died, an obituary was put in the paper by the community. Everyone loved that dog. Sonny, crazy dog would only listen to Jamie. Kya, a great dane/pit bull, who was the scariest looking dog ever, but truly a nice dog who turned Jamie into a softy. I could not believe when I went in to his house and Kya had her own bed and a bunch of toys.
Now, you knew you were special if you got a nickname from him. Then you were really, really special to get another nickname usually some shortened version of the first nickname. If you ever got a letter from him, it said "Me" on the envelope with no return address. It was always so nice when he would just pop up, make you happy to see him, and then he would leave-- and you always wanting him to stay longer.
Driving around Los Angeles – his creativeness is everywhere -- from Beverly Hills to Victorville. He was proud to be called the "Houseman." He never once promoted his business because people were lined up. In fact, when it was found out he was working in a neighborhood, the neighbors would line up his schedule for him. All he had to do was show up.
He met the love of his life, Camille. Her presence changed his life as they complimented each other. They were a team. She knew immediately he was the one for her and luckily, for him, he knew too. She really was a true artist ranging from her cooking, baking, knitting, crocheting, painting, drawing, writing, reading, budgeting, hanging the cloths on the line despite having a dryer, handcrafts galore. Recipients of cherished gifts Jamie and Camille made always made you happy. Their home was always a safe place and all were always welcomed. Christmas trees always cut down by Jamie and always decorated with beautiful ornaments made by Camille.
He was witty, hilarious, and amusing. His intelligence was quick and clever. He was a very understanding person who always was willing to share. He had knowingness but not too cocky to know he knew everything. He was a teacher of survival.
He never got over the loss of his wife Camille in 1999 and then the loss of his son Jason in 2002. Jamie is survived by his son Jerod.
He was an awesome friend, brother, husband, father, and son...and really missed.
For those of you who have not been coached by Jamie to fight a ticket and win, he would want you to know this advice: Always ask the police officer for the County Seat and always ask for as many extensions as possible. The further away the better. You automatically have a 75 percent chance of winning. Here is how: You have a 50/50 chance the police officer won't show up. And then you have a 50 percent chance of winning if he shows up. It is 100 percent win if he does not show. Always remember the details. The police officer will not remember much except for his little notes on the back of the ticket.
He coached someone who had received a dishonorable discharge from the Marine Corp to having it changed to honorable discharge. That person went on to receive GI benefits of no down payment on a house and a BA degree in college.
One time when he came over to my apartment, he did not see a clock. For Christmas that year, he made me a grandfather clock that was taller than I am. When he buffed a tile floor, it looked like a sheet of ice and people were afraid to step on it. He painted his living room ceiling to look like an astrological universe. It is a masterpiece, and it is my belief that no one would ever paint over it.
His days of growing up in Island Lake, Illinois, were spent walking along Cotton creek, climbing and rolling down Indian Hill, walking through Campbell's Wood, swimming across the lake to slide down dam, climbing up the water tower, hiding in the woods next to our house, walking or biking to Wauconda for a 5 cent ice cream cone, walking to Eagen's house through the "path" which is now an Island Lake official path with a park, riding his bike to Cary to the family-owned gas station or to Volo to work at the family-owned hot dog stand or to just go eat a polish dog.
During a blizzard when he was six years old, his Mother and sisters were sick and the house had no heat. Jamie rode a bike three miles to the Wauconda Lumberyard to get wood to burn in the fireplace to keep the house warm. The bike was way too big for him, but he did bring that wood home for his sisters and his Mom.
His house was a home and you were always welcomed in for home-cooked meal whether it was his wife Camille's beef stew with homemade noodles, bread, and pies or whether it was Jamie making pizza or corned beef and cabbage or those special meals he made for his son Jason with eggs, cream cheese, and chives. He sure loved Costco. The baked ham and sliced bacon was a particular favorite. From time to time, he would be on the CAT diet – caffeine, alcohol, and tobacco.
Despite enjoying the CAT diet, he was a dog man. His three dogs loved him. Sam, a collie-fox, who, when died, an obituary was put in the paper by the community. Everyone loved that dog. Sonny, crazy dog would only listen to Jamie. Kya, a great dane/pit bull, who was the scariest looking dog ever, but truly a nice dog who turned Jamie into a softy. I could not believe when I went in to his house and Kya had her own bed and a bunch of toys.
Now, you knew you were special if you got a nickname from him. Then you were really, really special to get another nickname usually some shortened version of the first nickname. If you ever got a letter from him, it said "Me" on the envelope with no return address. It was always so nice when he would just pop up, make you happy to see him, and then he would leave-- and you always wanting him to stay longer.
Driving around Los Angeles – his creativeness is everywhere -- from Beverly Hills to Victorville. He was proud to be called the "Houseman." He never once promoted his business because people were lined up. In fact, when it was found out he was working in a neighborhood, the neighbors would line up his schedule for him. All he had to do was show up.
He met the love of his life, Camille. Her presence changed his life as they complimented each other. They were a team. She knew immediately he was the one for her and luckily, for him, he knew too. She really was a true artist ranging from her cooking, baking, knitting, crocheting, painting, drawing, writing, reading, budgeting, hanging the cloths on the line despite having a dryer, handcrafts galore. Recipients of cherished gifts Jamie and Camille made always made you happy. Their home was always a safe place and all were always welcomed. Christmas trees always cut down by Jamie and always decorated with beautiful ornaments made by Camille.
He was witty, hilarious, and amusing. His intelligence was quick and clever. He was a very understanding person who always was willing to share. He had knowingness but not too cocky to know he knew everything. He was a teacher of survival.
He never got over the loss of his wife Camille in 1999 and then the loss of his son Jason in 2002. Jamie is survived by his son Jerod.
He was an awesome friend, brother, husband, father, and son...and really missed.
Jamie left imprints on mountains in Europe, Colorado, and California and in the wide-open spaces of Illinois and Oklahoma, not to mention many hearts. He showed how to think outside the box and enjoy the journey. He would tell stories of his life and would have everyone crying and laughing for hours. He was a person you always wanted to be around. If you called on him for help, he shared his wealth of information. Even before internet, he knew instinctively where to find information.
For those of you who have not been coached by Jamie to fight a ticket and win, he would want you to know this advice: Always ask the police officer for the County Seat and always ask for as many extensions as possible. The further away the better. You automatically have a 75 percent chance of winning. Here is how: You have a 50/50 chance the police officer won't show up. And then you have a 50 percent chance of winning if he shows up. It is 100 percent win if he does not show. Always remember the details. The police officer will not remember much except for his little notes on the back of the ticket.
He coached someone who had received a dishonorable discharge from the Marine Corp to having it changed to honorable discharge. That person went on to receive GI benefits of no down payment on a house and a BA degree in college.
One time when he came over to my apartment, he did not see a clock. For Christmas that year, he made me a grandfather clock that was taller than I am. When he buffed a tile floor, it looked like a sheet of ice and people were afraid to step on it. He painted his living room ceiling to look like an astrological universe. It is a masterpiece, and it is my belief that no one would ever paint over it.
His days of growing up in Island Lake, Illinois, were spent walking along Cotton creek, climbing and rolling down Indian Hill, walking through Campbell's Wood, swimming across the lake to slide down dam, climbing up the water tower, hiding in the woods next to our house, walking or biking to Wauconda for a 5 cent ice cream cone, walking to Eagen's house through the "path" which is now an Island Lake official path with a park, riding his bike to Cary to the family-owned gas station or to Volo to work at the family-owned hot dog stand or to just go eat a polish dog.
During a blizzard when he was six years old, his Mother and sisters were sick and the house had no heat. Jamie rode a bike three miles to the Wauconda Lumberyard to get wood to burn in the fireplace to keep the house warm. The bike was way too big for him, but he did bring that wood home for his sisters and his Mom.
His house was a home and you were always welcomed in for home-cooked meal whether it was his wife Camille's beef stew with homemade noodles, bread, and pies or whether it was Jamie making pizza or corned beef and cabbage or those special meals he made for his son Jason with eggs, cream cheese, and chives. He sure loved Costco. The baked ham and sliced bacon was a particular favorite. From time to time, he would be on the CAT diet – caffeine, alcohol, and tobacco.
Despite enjoying the CAT diet, he was a dog man. His three dogs loved him. Sam, a collie-fox, who, when died, an obituary was put in the paper by the community. Everyone loved that dog. Sonny, crazy dog would only listen to Jamie. Kya, a great dane/pit bull, who was the scariest looking dog ever, but truly a nice dog who turned Jamie into a softy. I could not believe when I went in to his house and Kya had her own bed and a bunch of toys.
Now, you knew you were special if you got a nickname from him. Then you were really, really special to get another nickname usually some shortened version of the first nickname. If you ever got a letter from him, it said "Me" on the envelope with no return address. It was always so nice when he would just pop up, make you happy to see him, and then he would leave-- and you always wanting him to stay longer.
Driving around Los Angeles – his creativeness is everywhere -- from Beverly Hills to Victorville. He was proud to be called the "Houseman." He never once promoted his business because people were lined up. In fact, when it was found out he was working in a neighborhood, the neighbors would line up his schedule for him. All he had to do was show up.
He met the love of his life, Camille. Her presence changed his life as they complimented each other. They were a team. She knew immediately he was the one for her and luckily, for him, he knew too. She really was a true artist ranging from her cooking, baking, knitting, crocheting, painting, drawing, writing, reading, budgeting, hanging the cloths on the line despite having a dryer, handcrafts galore. Recipients of cherished gifts Jamie and Camille made always made you happy. Their home was always a safe place and all were always welcomed. Christmas trees always cut down by Jamie and always decorated with beautiful ornaments made by Camille.
He was witty, hilarious, and amusing. His intelligence was quick and clever. He was a very understanding person who always was willing to share. He had knowingness but not too cocky to know he knew everything. He was a teacher of survival.
He never got over the loss of his wife Camille in 1999 and then the loss of his son Jason in 2002. Jamie is survived by his son Jerod.
He was an awesome friend, brother, husband, father, and son...and really missed.
For those of you who have not been coached by Jamie to fight a ticket and win, he would want you to know this advice: Always ask the police officer for the County Seat and always ask for as many extensions as possible. The further away the better. You automatically have a 75 percent chance of winning. Here is how: You have a 50/50 chance the police officer won't show up. And then you have a 50 percent chance of winning if he shows up. It is 100 percent win if he does not show. Always remember the details. The police officer will not remember much except for his little notes on the back of the ticket.
He coached someone who had received a dishonorable discharge from the Marine Corp to having it changed to honorable discharge. That person went on to receive GI benefits of no down payment on a house and a BA degree in college.
One time when he came over to my apartment, he did not see a clock. For Christmas that year, he made me a grandfather clock that was taller than I am. When he buffed a tile floor, it looked like a sheet of ice and people were afraid to step on it. He painted his living room ceiling to look like an astrological universe. It is a masterpiece, and it is my belief that no one would ever paint over it.
His days of growing up in Island Lake, Illinois, were spent walking along Cotton creek, climbing and rolling down Indian Hill, walking through Campbell's Wood, swimming across the lake to slide down dam, climbing up the water tower, hiding in the woods next to our house, walking or biking to Wauconda for a 5 cent ice cream cone, walking to Eagen's house through the "path" which is now an Island Lake official path with a park, riding his bike to Cary to the family-owned gas station or to Volo to work at the family-owned hot dog stand or to just go eat a polish dog.
During a blizzard when he was six years old, his Mother and sisters were sick and the house had no heat. Jamie rode a bike three miles to the Wauconda Lumberyard to get wood to burn in the fireplace to keep the house warm. The bike was way too big for him, but he did bring that wood home for his sisters and his Mom.
His house was a home and you were always welcomed in for home-cooked meal whether it was his wife Camille's beef stew with homemade noodles, bread, and pies or whether it was Jamie making pizza or corned beef and cabbage or those special meals he made for his son Jason with eggs, cream cheese, and chives. He sure loved Costco. The baked ham and sliced bacon was a particular favorite. From time to time, he would be on the CAT diet – caffeine, alcohol, and tobacco.
Despite enjoying the CAT diet, he was a dog man. His three dogs loved him. Sam, a collie-fox, who, when died, an obituary was put in the paper by the community. Everyone loved that dog. Sonny, crazy dog would only listen to Jamie. Kya, a great dane/pit bull, who was the scariest looking dog ever, but truly a nice dog who turned Jamie into a softy. I could not believe when I went in to his house and Kya had her own bed and a bunch of toys.
Now, you knew you were special if you got a nickname from him. Then you were really, really special to get another nickname usually some shortened version of the first nickname. If you ever got a letter from him, it said "Me" on the envelope with no return address. It was always so nice when he would just pop up, make you happy to see him, and then he would leave-- and you always wanting him to stay longer.
Driving around Los Angeles – his creativeness is everywhere -- from Beverly Hills to Victorville. He was proud to be called the "Houseman." He never once promoted his business because people were lined up. In fact, when it was found out he was working in a neighborhood, the neighbors would line up his schedule for him. All he had to do was show up.
He met the love of his life, Camille. Her presence changed his life as they complimented each other. They were a team. She knew immediately he was the one for her and luckily, for him, he knew too. She really was a true artist ranging from her cooking, baking, knitting, crocheting, painting, drawing, writing, reading, budgeting, hanging the cloths on the line despite having a dryer, handcrafts galore. Recipients of cherished gifts Jamie and Camille made always made you happy. Their home was always a safe place and all were always welcomed. Christmas trees always cut down by Jamie and always decorated with beautiful ornaments made by Camille.
He was witty, hilarious, and amusing. His intelligence was quick and clever. He was a very understanding person who always was willing to share. He had knowingness but not too cocky to know he knew everything. He was a teacher of survival.
He never got over the loss of his wife Camille in 1999 and then the loss of his son Jason in 2002. Jamie is survived by his son Jerod.
He was an awesome friend, brother, husband, father, and son...and really missed.
