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It was April 8, 1992, and I was on the basketball court at Cherry Creek High School to play a charity game for the American Lung Association.
My team was made up of various members from the Denver media. Our opponents? A select team of Broncos players, Vance Johnson, Tim Lucas, Kenny Walker and Le-Lo Lang among them.
At the time I worked for The Denver Post. I was familiar with my teammates, though none of them really knew much about me — on or off the court.
Rick Morrissey, the Rocky’s Broncos beat reporter, a young reporter at Channel 9 named Kevin Corke, Steve Saunders, Neil Devlin, Keith DuBay . . . and James Meadow.
Wait. I’m going to wage hoops war against a bunch of beefy Broncos with the society scribe on my squad?
Long story short, the media lost 79-76 because the referees cheated in favor of the Broncos. At one point I was malevolently mugged on a layup attempt by the Broncos’ Johnson.
Malevolently mugged. Who do you think came up with that line? It showed up in Meadow’s column two days after the game was played. He added, “Not that Sam even blinked. Hey, after pouring in 25 points, he deserves to have a beer named after him.”
It was the first time a reporter had ever mentioned my name in print. I still have the article. And when Meadow and I became teammates at the Rocky in 1996, we immediately recalled that hoops game in ‘92.
Meadow, for me, was hip in his own way. He had the earring. He didn’t tuck his shirts. Jeans and tennis shoes. Always casual in his appearance, Meadow dressed every sentence of a written story as if it had a date with the eyes of royalty.
See. I just tried to pull a Meadow. Didn’t work. Meadow truly had “it” with words.
We hooked up one evening during the 2002 Winter Games held in Salt Lake City. Went to a place called the Dead Goat. It was Salt Lake’s version of the Little Bear Saloon in Evergreen. Live music, memorabilia on the walls — everything except bras hanging from the ceiling in front of the stage.
Meadow and I found a seat, enjoyed the music and just had fun hanging out. I always thought I was too much “jock,” too cool for a guy like Meadow. But the longer we talked, the more we learned about one another, our likes for music, sports and other things.
Thanks to George Eastman, I have two Kodak photos from that night. I’m looking at one of them as I type these words. The other had been on my “Wall of Fame” at the office for a long time.
Meadow is smiling — and you know, for the longest time I couldn’t place who he reminds me of. Just now it comes to me. Actor James Caan. A younger James Caan. OK, not so much.
Some time last year, Meadow stopped me in the newsroom to ask a favor. I was trying to be elusive, because I didn’t think I’d have time to decipher what was sure to be an elegant presentation.
Turns out he wanted to know if I would speak at a function for Colorado’s “Do the Write Thing” program, which encourages local youth to put their thoughts in writing about issues pertaining to youth violence and peer pressure.
It was one of the more moving experiences I’ve had in some time.
Sunday night I went to Comedy Works South to see some friends perform. When I returned home, I learned that Meadow died earlier in the evening. He couldn’t recover from the injuries suffered in a bicycling accident.
All I can think of, as I continue to type and glance at our picture together in Utah, is our last exchange of words.
It was that last weekend in February, the Friday when Rocky employees were turning in company equipment, cleaning out desks and cabinets, filling boxes, wiping tears and issuing farewells by the dozens.
I stood by the news desk when Meadow walks up and asks, “How much do you think I can get for this?”
He was holding a black and white 8-by-10 photo of himself, an old column mug. We laughed at the notion of placing it for sale on eBay.
Picture James B. Meadow, head tilted with a smile.
That’s how I’m going to remember my friend.
Nicely done, Sam.
Sam, thanks for writing this. You captured him beautifully.
Sam — I am smiling through my tears — so nicely done. James would be proud.
Thanks Sam for your tribute. James was the first reporter to write about me in print too – called my a “fashion phenom!” I’ll never forget that or him. I used to give him so much crap for his alliterations, but he always just smiled and said I was just jealous. He was one of a kind. We were “pod”-buds for years.
Sam,
When James approached the photo desk and said he had an idea he was working on, we all listened. He may have been working the story awhile, and filling out photo assignments wasn’t his favorite task, but photographers knew that working a Meadow story was a chance to collaborate visually with a talented storyteller.
Thank you James for understanding the power of words with pictures.
Sam,
A touching tribute. James would be proud.
Great story, Sam. Thank you for sharing it with us.
When I working at my son’s school as their director of p.r. and marketing, I read a story by James B. Meadow about this blind accordian player who had passed away. Now, I’d read a lot of James’ stuff, including the first article about discovering this blind accordian player that lived in a shelter downtown. But, that story of his passing — of so eloquently remembering someone who the world had all but forgotten — made me cry at my desk. It also inspired me to write James and tell him how much I appreciated his prose.
James wrote me back. We started having coffee once in awhile. I tried to get him to write a story for the the school’s 40th anniversary, but we never could get it done. Several months later, I took a job with Denver Parks and Recreation as their head of public relations and marketing. Little did I know that I would have the chance to work intimately with James for more than a month.
The thing is; it was fun. He showed everything that was right and beautiful about Civic Center Park. He also showed the social ills that affect it and the constant struggle of trying to stay on top of it. It was rewarding to see the un-sung heroes of the park highlighted (Joe Renteria). Even when we disagreed on his take on an item, we could discuss it, agree to disagree and still really like each other.
With the heartbreaking closing of the Rocky, I reached out to James again to say how disappointed I was that we would never get to do the follow up on the Civic Center. He wrote me back with the subject line, “What about a predicate?” and we made plans to meet for coffee this week.
James is the only guy I knew who could use covelesce in a sentence and not have it sound pompous. I will truly miss him and hurt for his colleagues’ terrible loss.
In a nod to James, “Natch”.
Something tells me that James would be very moved by your tribute, Sam. I know I am, pal. I didn’t know him, but I sure did enjoy reading him.
I’m also proud of what you guys are doing at iwantmyrocky.com. What can I/we do to help? It’s already better than the Post. However, most of the writers can’t hold out forever on a labor of love. We know you can, Sam… being the media/comedy icon that you have become! lol
Glad you were paying attention when somebody told you to diversify.
Time to start selling advertising and charging us for the pleasure of reading your work (all of you). Tell Krieger to get an alias. Same with Littwin.
The Rocky is dead. Long Live the Rocky! Thanks for keeping it alive!
Just don’t bring back Rosen! lol
Beautiful job — at least the part I could read through the tears.
Mike
Sam
Beautiful, beautiful story. James would be pleased.
David
Sam,
Thank you for this story. James was one-of-a-kind. The world is a little worse off without him in it.
Kevin