Calvin Ross
It was the early 1950s in summer baseball. One of the league umpires
was a tall fellow who called my pitches balls or strikes in a deep voice. A teammate told me his name was Jim Davidson and surprisingly he was our same age.
A few years later, Jim and I were rivals in baseball. He played for the Valentine Aces, and I, the Orioles—two top teams. I clearly recall one time I handled a ball hit to me in right field. I noticed Davidson, who was fleet-footed, turning second base and heading for third. I threw a hard laser across the infield to our third baseman who easily tagged him out. (We never talked afterward about it.)
Our friendship began in earnest at Roosevelt and East in athletics, academics, and student government. He, mostly informally, managed some of my campaigns for school office.
We sat near each other in Biology, English Composition, Civics, and German, and were lab partners in Chemistry. In Herr Wallace’s class, we fooled around with our impressively broken German. Once during a lull in class, Jim leaned over and asked me when I had a birthday: (Wann hast du Geburtstag, Herr Ross?) As I didn’t immediately know how to translate my birthday month and date into German, I simply said: Ja, ich habe! (“Yes, I have!”)
At Roosevelt, we were basketball buddies as the only two 7th graders on the varsity team. At East in football, Jim was running back, and I, quarterback. In our 1960 yearbook, he included in his written note a personal comment on unsettling experiences in football.
After graduation, we set out on our separate educational and career journeys. He in medicine, and I in ministry. Over that stretch of years, we met at a few East reunions and at other times in Wichita.
I was extremely saddened when I heard that Jim’s midlife health was failing—probably from his exposure to Agent Orange in Vietnam where he had been a medic. I thought about flying to Tacoma to be with him, but regretfully I didn’t.
Fortunately, though, Gene Carter did. Gene later said that Jim had asked three persons the same question: “Is there life after death?” He got one “Yes,” one “No,” and one “Maybe.”
Gene has said of that Tacoma visit: “I did tell him I believed there was a life after death, although an undisturbed sleep wasn’t a bad deal either. He laughed and said I had a good point.”
I imagine each one of us knows exactly how we would respond—likely with conviction—to Jim’s question, “Is there life after death?” I’d say the three answers of “Yes,” “No,” and “Maybe” cover all after-this-life possibilities.
Whatever our outlook might be on a next life (cf. I Corinthians 15 for mine), may it bring inner peace for the living of our days. May it bring us serene contentment now for the living of our days.
Editor’s Note: Like Calvin Ross, Jim Davidson was a multi-sport athlete. Jim’s first love, however, was baseball. His story, “Lessons from the Hurricane,” shares his passion for this sport.
