Jim Brewer II was more than a businessman, he was an inspiration
It is with a very heavy heart that I write this memorial this week. For a shining light has gone out in the world, and we are forever diminished by its absence.
James Lee Brewer II, known to his many (many) friends simply as Jim, lost his twelve year battle with oral cancer last week, a battle he fought with grace, dignity and an amazing spirit of will (and a good deal of humor) through thick and thin.
Ten years ago, while having lunch with Jim, he mentioned that he was thinking of buying The Pulse. Knowing that I had been a writer for the paper and had a background in print, he picked my brain about the paper, its purpose, and its place in the community.
He saw a need to keep our voice going, and as a longtime lover and supporter of the city, understood how important it was to keep shining a light on the tremendous talent and people that make Chattanooga special.
The fact that he was one of those people never once seemed to occur to him, but that was part of what made Jim special. He was a tireless cheerleader for the city, supporting worthy causes both large and small, and always looking for ways to help the city grow through both philanthropy and business.
Once he made the decision, he moved quickly. And in the ten years since he brought The Pulse into the Brewer Media family, he became not just our publisher, but one of our biggest fans.
His passing was sudden, and everyone who knew him is still trying to come to grips with our loss. I could write countless words about the many wonderful things he did for people over the years, the many lives he touched, the organizations and charities he championed, and the many ways he worked both in public and behind the scenes to make Chattanooga a better place.
But instead, I want to share a simple story.
Several years ago, I invited Jim and a number of friends over to my house for a backyard cookout. Jim was well known for his love of the grill, and he eagerly accepted the invitation.
Unfortunately, while slicing onions, I slipped and cut off the tip of my thumb, to the extent that I needed to go to the emergency room right then, leaving Jim (who had shown up early to help, naturally) to keep things going.
Which he did, greeting my guests with humor, finishing the prep work, getting the grill going, and having everything ready for when I got back a few hours later from the hospital.
As I write this, I keep thinking of Jim standing over a smoky grill, tongs in hand, gently teasing me about my lack of knife skills. He was in his happy place, in front of a grill, surrounded by friends both new and old.
Jim was my boss, my friend, and my inspiration. He came to work every day brimming with new ideas. He loved challenges, he worked tirelessly for his people, his family, and his business, and he lived each day with both grace and energy.
He fought cancer for a dozen years, and in that time I never saw his despair. And when it came time to go, he left this world with grace, surrounded by those he loved.
All I know is that if Heaven has a grill, Jim is in front of it now, telling jokes, wreathed in smoke, and waiting for all of us to join him.