Our lives were like a demolition derby . . . racing around, crashing into each other, then roaring off together again

My younger brother, Jim, died Monday, May 14, 2024, at his home in Kansas City, Kan., three years after a massive stroke.

His loss leaves a gaping hole in the lives of those who loved him, especially his devoted wife of 42 years, Dene’ Anderson-Vogrin, their daughter, Ashley, and her family, and those like me who enjoyed a special bond with Jim.

Jim’s final three years were spent suffering from multiple health issues related to his stroke. It’s a great comfort to know he’s no longer in pain.

And it’s a tremendous relief to know Dene’ can finally relax after putting her life on hold so she could care for Jim, 24-7, in their home.

She showed remarkable strength as his health deteriorated. I stand in awe of Dene’ and the ferocity she showed in fighting for Jim.

Jim was born Jan. 4, 1960, less than 16 months after me. Mom said we were “Irish twins” because we were so close in age.

And we spent the first 15 years of our lives side-by-side, playing and fighting and competing in a full-on sibling rivalry.

Mom said she could never buy a gift for just one of us. She said that to avoid fights: “If I got Billy a cowboy hat and cap pistols, Jimmy got the same. It didn’t matter if Jimmy’s birthday was four months away.”

Our boyhood years were like a demolition derby – we’d race around together laughing and talking smack until we would inevitably collide. Then we’d cool off and go roaring off together again, knowing we’d bash into each other again soon.

As adults, we disagreed on plenty. Religion. Politics. Which of us was the favorite son of our parents. That kind of stuff. But we were able to agree to disagree, without fisticuffs, and remain close. We never allowed differences to come between us.

In fact, most of my fondest memories growing up involve Jimmy, as he was known, and our pal Joe Tomelleri. We were the Three Amigos. Or Three Musketeers. Or the Three Stooges. Just depended on the day.

Jimmy, Joe and I played sports together. Jimmy was by far the best athlete as he was bigger and stronger and more aggressive.

The three of us went exploring, leaving 16th Street to hike along nearby railroad tracks that eventually led to City Park about a mile away.

On the Fourth of July, we’d blow up fireworks like maniacs, blasting bottle rockets, burning snakes on the sidewalk and otherwise terrorizing the neighborhood.

In winter, we’d use candles to wax the steel runners of our Flexible Flyer sled and go flying down the alley behind our houses. We’d build snow forts and snowmen.

And have snowball fights – which inevitably resulted in real fights when someone broke the rule about not hitting anyone in the face.

Jimmy, Joe T and I were avid bikers and one summer in high school we all rode our 10-speeds on a 180-mile, three-day trek from KCK to the Lake of the Ozarks where Joe’s grandfather had a cabin near Bagnell Dam.

He was always up for adventure – a trait that would get him in trouble from time to time until he finally matured.

We drifted apart as I went away to college and then off to pursue my journalism career while he remained in Kansas City and developed into a skilled carpenter.

But we always came back together and it was like we’d never been apart.

A lasting memory is from one of those reunions. I came home from KU for the Christmas break and Jimmy happened to be around that night.

It was snowing hard (perhaps that’s why he wasn’t out on the prowl with his friends) and we were hanging around in the basement drinking a couple beers and telling lies.

At some point, we decided to take a walk in the dark in the snowstorm and prowl around the old 16th Street neighborhood as we did in the old days.

We headed out back, as always, to the alley where we had played basketball on an old hoop, where we rode our bikes, had our snowball fights, ridden our sled in winter and hidden behind garages to hit passing cars with iceballs. (Yes, we were juvenile delinquents at times.)

When we got home, Jimmy grabbed his guitar and started playing. We were singing Jimmy Buffett. (It reminded me of family Christmas parties when I’d play the piano and Jimmy would sing and entertain all our aunts and uncles.)

He loved Jimmy Buffett’s music, especially “Margaritaville” which he played at his senior talent show at Bishop Ward High School. Of course, Jimmy wasn’t content to simply play the song straight.

On the final refrain, Jimmy changed the lyrics from “Wasting away again in Margaritaville” to “Wasting away again in Bishop Ward High!” He was proud that his fellow students cheered and the nuns were outraged, pulling the plug on his microphone and threatening to prevent him from graduating!

That episode captures Jimmy’s attitude on life. He wasn’t afraid to have fun, do something outrageous and push peoples’ buttons. He was big, strong, tough and never backed down from a fight.

He began to calm down a bit after he met Dene’ Anderson and they married. They bought a little house on a huge lot in KCK not far from Wyandotte County Lake. He worked a variety of jobs including construction and ultimately as a boilermaker crawling around in power plants with heavy tools and punishing his body.

Jimmy calmed down even more with the birth of Ashley. She was his pride and joy and he became a devoted father. But Jimmy’s rough edges never completely smoothed and he never completely lost his reflex to punch first, ask questions later.

But inside his rough exterior was a loving, fiercely loyal man who would drop everything to help a friend.

That’s who I saw when Jimmy, Dene’ and Ashley came to Colorado to visit. And I always enjoyed when Jimmy would “drop in” at our house in Colorado Springs after wrapping up a job at a “nearby” power plant (usually a couple hundred miles away.)

Truth is Jimmy loved Colorado as much as I do. He particularly loved Estes Park and Rocky Mountain National Park.

Jimmy also loved history, researching our family roots in Slovenia and learning to cook traditional foods like povitica, coffee cake and fruit strudels.

He’d turn their house into a commercial kitchen before the Christmas holidays. It was also a special treat when an insulated box packed with his baked goods arrived.

He also loved tractors and four-wheel-drive vehicles like his old Ford Bronco. And he loved his pets.

But most of all, Jimmy loved Dene’ and Ashley.

He was never one to go overboard with sentimental displays. And toward the end, Jimmy was in too much pain to express many deeply held feelings. It made him extremely irritable and I’m sure it was painful for Dene’ as she tried to treat his many ailments.

But I saw how he struggled whenever Dene’ wasn’t around and how he lit up whenever Ashley and her family walked in the door. I hope they can focus on all the good in Jimmy and let the recent painful episodes fade from memory.

As Joe Tomelleri and I reminisced about Jimmy, we agreed that he was a really good person and friend.

Jimmy lived large, dreamed big and had loved to laugh.

I know my world is diminished without him in it.

Love you, Brother.