James C. Demas

He was born and raised in Bryan, Ohio, a charming small farm community in the Northwest corner of the state, that was heavily of Germanic ancestry, lily white, many churches and overwhelmingly Republican. But town people were not identified by their religious or political affiliations, but whether they were an Indian or Tiger baseball fan.

He was a 1953 graduate of the Bryan High School.

He also graduated from The Ohio State University and served honorably in the U.S. Air Force. He spent nearly all of his working life in Washington, DC, Boston, and abroad.

He was also a somewhat iconoclastic member of Sigma Chi Fraternity where he fought to eliminate all hazing.

He was most fortunate in that his parents, the late Cyrus and Helen Demas, both immigrants from Sparta, Greece, gave their children love, security and stability, and managed to send them all to college. At that time it was most unusual for Greek immigrants to send daughters to college.

His father owned and operated a small store in Bryan that sold homemade candy and ice cream, aptly called The Bryan Candy Kitchen.

In his youth his goals were first to be a cowboy, then a fireman and finally a big league shortstop. Alas, he failed in those endeavors. Nevertheless, he no doubt had his share of achievements. But he once thought that he may have peaked when he was selected captain of the school safety patrol in the sixth grade.

However, he truly believed that success should not be measured by what you achieved, but by what you overcame.

In this respect, he viewed accomplishments much like a baseball infield. Most people probably start life on first base and do well to reach second base. Others start life at home plate and struggle to reach first base. And a few start life on third base and are convinced that they hit a triple.

So much in life, he thought, depends on the tailwinds and headwinds we experience or endure.

He acknowledged the inevitability of death, but he so hoped it would not be due to a thousand boring conversations. And should he be fortunate to meet his creator, he wondered whether it would be appropriate to inquire when the Messiah might be returning to Earth.

He loved cats and dogs and had his share of pets. He often wondered if he would be reunited with them in the afterlife and would they fight among themselves for his affection. But, if such animals go elsewhere he thought it might be preferable to go there. But, whatever it is to be one can only wonder.

But then he always did have an unusual sense of imagination. He even fantasized that he might be immortalized by having a dance step named after him.

If someone has read this far it’s sad that they have nothing better to do.

He was never a rabid sports fan, although he did have a childhood devotion to the Toledo Mud Hens. Nor did he really have any hobbies, but he did have a lifetime thirst for learning.

Nor was he much of a joiner, but he was a member of the National Press Club in Washington and The Pentagon Officers Athletic Club (where he broke his leg playing basketball on his 39th birthday). He was also a long-time season ticket holder of the Washington Redskins, such status indeed.

He rarely spoke words of wisdom, but he espoused the saying, perhaps attributable elsewhere, that you could identify a clever man by his answers, but a wise man by his questions.

He deplored the outrageous economic inequality that exists in the United States and elsewhere and often mused that Ayn Rand is probably joyfully dancing somewhere.

In his senior years he was astonished that he began enjoying TV reruns of The Lawrence Welk Shows.

Preceded in death by his beloved sisters, Mary Alice Demas and Margaret Ann Swatik, and by his good brother-in-law George Swatik. He is survived by his loving and gorgeous wife, Barbara Jean (whom he met on a foggy London day in Berkeley Square).

Also, survived by caring and devoted step-daughters, beautiful grandchildren, treasured Godchildren, and various nephews, nieces and cousins, most of whom much prefer not to be named. And, indeed, by his esteemed colleagues at the Socrates Café.

He will be sorely missed by his loving and spoiled Siamese cats, Atticus Finch and the Princess Tatiana, who don’t mind being named.

A service will be held where he has asked that his favorite song, A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square, be played. Followed by a rousing rendition of Dropkick Me Jesus Through The Goalposts of Life.

Those in attendance will then discuss and assess whether he left the wood pile higher than he found it.

Condolences may be expressed by retiring to the nearest pub and toasting (or roasting) him with a drink, preferably a Vodka Martini on the Rocks, with two olives.

Thanks for the Memories,

Jim

In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made in James' memory to the Mid-Ohio Food Collective, P.O. Box 182883, Columbus, Ohio 43218-2883 or to Columbus Humane, 3015 Scioto-Darby Executive Ct., Hilliard, Ohio 43026.