I am Roger Roland.  Jim was married to my dad's sister Irene.  I have known Jim since I was born (1967) as we have both lived in Ames all of that time.  Jim and Irene dated from 1960 to 1990, and then were married in August, 1990.  They were married 30 years until Irene died in January, 2021. 

I was proud to call Jim my uncle.  He officially became my uncle in August, 1990, but I had always considered him an uncle even before it was official.  Some of my favorite memories of Jim would be the many times we went fishing together, the Thanksgiving and Christmas gatherings at their house on Thompson Drive in Ames, and the many things that Jim helped me with over the years.  But my absolute favorite memories of Jim were the treks that he and I would make to the yard waste dump site each Spring and Fall in his old Mazda pickup.  We knew with the tailgate down, we could get 33 bags of leaves in the back of the pickup if we tied the ones on the tailgate with a rope.  We looked like the Beverly Hillbillies heading to the dumpsite in the Mazda pickup, but we didn't care.  The driver's side door didn't shut well so several times Jim would hold the door closed with one hand and steer the truck with the other.  This resulted in some wild rides, and several honking horns from other motorists.  Once the Ames Police stopped us on Duff Avenue because Jim was not staying in one lane.  He started asking Jim questions to determine if he had been drinking alcohol.  After he figured us out, he just gave Jim a warning and told him to get the door fixed.  I always took a sigh of relief after we returned home in one piece from those trips.  I will miss you Jim.  You were a wonderful uncle, and a wonderful friend.
--Roger Roland

I'm Mike Primus, Jim's nephew.  Us city slickers don't get to shoot guns much but I remember shooting rifles and shotguns with Jim and the Sears clan.  He showed us how fun it can be to shoot buckets of water with a 30-06 and clay pigeons with shotguns.  I also remember learning to use the reloader for shotgun shells in my grandfather's basement.  As kids, the bags of buckshot were so heavy Gary Sears and I concluded they must have been glued to the floor.

I'm Mike Primus, Jim's nephew.  I remember my brother and I riding the Honda around the Sears farm in the summers when we were maybe 7 and 9.  The Honda was a 3-wheeler ATV type vehicle.  Dan and I fell off that thing many times, and when they were outlawed years later we knew why.  The funny part of the story was that Jim helped us get started but didn't mention that the Honda had gears so for the first few years we rode around in first gear.  Later he told us about the gears and how they worked.

I'm Mike Primus, Jim's nephew.  One fond memory I have from my childhood was my brother and I joking with uncle Jim about who would get a swirly.  A swirly, you see, is a hairstyle created by putting your head in the toilet and flushing.  That joke went around for years and everyone had fun.

Hickory Park, Ribs, and the Side-Eye

This photo is from the last time I went to Hickory Park with Jim—a BBQ institution in Ames, and a regular stop on any visit.

Funny story: At one point, my brother Mike and I realized we had visited Jim separately... and, without planning it, both ordered the exact same thing at Hickory Park:
Half rack of ribs. House-made sausage. And a Killian’s Red.

The beer earned us a skeptical look from Jim.

But the second beer?
That got us the side-eye.

Classic Jim—always watching, always amused.
I’ll never walk into Hickory Park without thinking of that look, those ribs, and how lucky we were to share that table.

Jim and Irene—the sweetest love story I know.

The Walnut
(Four Generations, One Tree)

About five years ago, my then-12-year-old son included something unusual on his Christmas list: “Cool wood.”

Curious, I asked what he meant. We started looking at photos of exotic woods—zebrawood, padauk, purpleheart—but every time, he kept pointing to one in particular: walnut. He’d seen walnut furniture at his grandparents’ house and admired its deep color and grain, not realizing that tucked away in my dad’s shop was a pile of it—real Iowa black walnut.

So I told my dad, “I’m doing my Christmas shopping from your lumber rack this year.”

Just knowing his grandson was interested made my dad beam with pride. Together, we dug through the stack and found a beautiful board—swirling grain from where a large limb had once been. It was a piece worth waiting decades for.

That board made its way to California, where my son turned it into a stunning desk.

But that’s only half the story.

That walnut tree was felled and milled by my grandfather. When he passed, the lumber was split between my dad and Uncle Jim. The Christmas board had come west with us around 1980.

Fast-forward to my “Trip Down Memory Lane” with Jim after his accident: while visiting his shop—the one he and I built the lumber rack for 20 years earlier—I looked up and froze.

There it was. The matching board. From the same tree.

And just like that, a second desk was made.

One tree. Four generations. Two desks.
A family, connected by hands, tools, and time.

The Little Red Wagon Recall
(A True April Fools’ Classic)

Jim was a frugal man, but every now and then, he surprised us all. One day, he bought himself a bright red Cadillac—his pride and joy. He called it “my little red wagon.” Irene, his wife, didn’t love the name. Jim told his sister, “She just doesn’t know how much fun a little red wagon is.” That line alone sparked a flood of childhood memories—but we’ll save those for another day.

Because this story? It’s about an April Fools’ prank that reached elite levels.

April 1st. Jim's shenanigan radar was on high alert. When the phone rang, he already suspected something was up.

A polite woman on the line introduced herself as a representative from Cadillac customer service. She asked for the year and model of his car and confirmed that he still owned it. Then she said, “Please hold while I review our records.”

She returned after a moment:
“Mr. Sears, there’s been an urgent safety recall involving your vehicle. Is your service center still 123 Main Street?”

Jim replied, “Yes—that’s where I bought it.”

She continued, “It looks like they have an opening in 30 minutes. Could you bring the car in now?”

Wanting to do the right thing, Jim said yes and drove straight to the dealership.

He walked into the service department, told them he had a recall appointment. The service manager checked the records and looked confused:
“Sir, there’s no recall on your car.”

As Jim started to explain the call, it hit him.

He’d been had.

And he knew exactly who was behind it: his little sister. She had enlisted a friend to play the part of the Cadillac rep and fed her all the key details—car model, purchase location, the works.

Elaborate. Well-planned. Devious.

Jim wasn’t angry. He was proud.
Now that was a prank.

I don't have many memories of Jim and Irene, but I do have a couple that stick out quite clearly in my mind. The Sears family has a very elaborately decorated cane that gets passed around on birthdays. One year (2016? 2017?), my mom and I were in Ames for a doctor's appointment on her birthday. She had the idea to stop and visit Jim and Irene after her appointment. While we were there, I let it slip that it was her birthday. And soon enough, out came Jim with the infamous cane, grinning as big as could be. 

I also remember stopping at their house one Christmas season several years ago to carol unannounced and Jim and Irene were quite thrilled to have our entire party of somewhere between 4-8 cousins show up. 

Jim and my grandma (Glenda) were cousins and their dynamic was so fascinating and amusing to watch. I'm sure they, along with all their other cousins, are up in heaven teaming up to play pranks on the angels.

Trip Down Memory Lane

After a traumatic brain injury during COVID, I wasn’t sure Jim would survive—let alone laugh again. For a while, it felt like there would be no goodbye, just distance and heartbreak.

But sometimes grace shows up in unexpected ways. When travel restrictions were lifted, I flew to Iowa, unsure what to expect. His memory of the last 50 years was mostly gone, but his humor was untouched, and his childhood memories were intact.

With support from hospice, I took him on a car ride back through his past.

We visited his childhood home. The farm where he fished with his dad—and where I fished with my grandpa. The cemetery where his parents are buried. We even stopped unannounced at a cousin’s house and found a few family members—Judy, Lisa, Paul, and Gary.

Jim lit up. You could see it in his eyes—this deep, pure joy at being surrounded by people and places he loved.

That day was a gift. It wasn’t just a ride—it was a reunion, a goodbye, and a quiet miracle wrapped into one.

I’m thankful for the five additional years with Jim and at peace with him moving on—he was ready, and he had shared that openly.

Funny is in our DNA. April Fools’ Day wasn’t just a holiday—it was practically sacred in our family. It was my grandfather’s favorite, and my mom and Uncle Jim carried the torch with pride (and no small amount of plotting).

There are so many stories… but okay, just one for today:

One year, my mom (calling from California) arranged for a bouquet of flowers to be delivered to Jim in Ames—with a card that read simply: “Happy Anniversary.”

Important detail: It was April 1st.

Jim, being Jim, assumed it was a mix-up. So what did he do? He went door to door in his neighborhood trying to find the rightful owner of the mystery bouquet. Thoughtful and practical to the end.

A few hours later, he gets a call from his sister. “Happy anniversary, Jim!”
He replies, “But Sis, it’s not my anniversary.”

Her response?
“Of course it is. We do this every year.”

Devious. Underhanded. Conniving.
Absolutely perfect.

So you want to hear the "ubba glubba" story?  Ok just because you asked.

Jim had a great sense of humor—always playful, never mean. One of my favorite stories comes from his days training new lab staff. In the very serious world of scientific research, accuracy is everything… which made it the perfect setup.

With a straight face, Jim would explain how to mix chemicals using units of “ubba glubba.”
“Part A: three ubba glubbas. Part B: one ubba glubba,” he’d say, carefully pouring and making that glug-glug sound.

The look of horror on the new grad student’s face—priceless.
Then Jim would burst out laughing, and soon everyone was doubled over.

I’ve retold that story for years, and I’ve still never heard anyone else say “ubba glubba.”  Feel free to work it into conversation it still has the power to make people laugh.

Hi, I’m Dan—Jim’s nephews, from California for those I might not have meet.  

I want to tell you a love story. Two young people met, fell in love, and dated for just 27 short years before beginning a 35-year marriage filled with quiet joy, laughter, and deep devotion. This is the story of Jim and Irene—the sweetest love story I know.

On Monday night, I said goodbye to Jim. But I carry his love, and their story, in my heart.

OBITUARY

James Howard Sears

June 16, 1937 – May 20, 2025

Stevens Memorial Chapel

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