JAMES THOMAS WOODSON

“Hey Kemosabe!”

There are many people, past and present, who could tell you colorful, incredible, amazing and heartfelt stories about my Dad (someone who had epilepsy his entire life yet was a tremendous athlete), served in the Korean War and garnered a ‘laundry list’ of accolades in his 91-plus years on this Earth! 

I just want to focus on my own personal journey with my hero and best friend.

I remember being about 6 or 7 years old, Mom and Dad were having their issues and called the entire family into the living room. The question was, “If we separate, who would you go with?” I went against everyone else and immediately chose Dad, not because I would actually go with him. Are you crazy? Mom was love, light and warmth and Dad was a strict, no-nonsense, taskmaster who also had a third-degree black belt in whooping ass! 

I dissented, simply because I didn’t want him to feel alone or unappreciated.

He was an incredibly hard worker and was always teaching me things: Do the job right. Don’t be afraid of hard work. Use the right tools for the job. Don’t half-ass, follow through. No excuses, take pride in your work, etc.

I remember playing basketball at Enos Elementary and Coach Fliege asking me at halftime, “Who is that guy constantly yelling at you?” I embarrassingly said, “That’s my Dad.” Coach replied, “Then why aren’t you listening to him?” I was such an amazing slacker as a kid, teen and even young adult (but I remember it all) and I kinda grew to become what he taught.

When he and Mom finally split in my late teens and he would come by to discuss whatever soon to be divorced people discuss, I would greet him warmly until one day he snapped at me, “Boy, get your Momma!” I had a real attitude about that, to the point that when he pulled up, I would just yell, “Mom!” (no greetings or small talk necessary). That distance lasted a few years.

One day I was bowling and I felt these strong hands on my shoulders and heard a hearty “Hey Kemosabe!” It was Dad! I was struck by the most genuine smile and he never stopped smiling through the whole conversation. I was smiling, too … HE MISSED ME!

In the mid-1990s, I had the worst gambling addiction ever and he bailed me out, foolishly believing I would pay him back. I never did! We actually had an argument about it years later (in front of people) and I was not going to let him embarrass me so I hit him with a flurry of lies, denials, B.S. and absolute disrespect! I was bracing, anticipating him to return fire (because he could). Instead, he calmly said, “I can’t believe, I can’t believe you would say that to me.”

I didn’t show it, I just shut up and like a zombie, I went home and cried. I was the biggest piece of shit son ever!

In 2009, during a Thanksgiving bowling tournament in Dayton, Ohio, my Dad fell and completely fractured his femur. I knew it was bad because it sounded as if someone dropped a huge cinder block on concrete. When they finally allowed me into his room, I heard the familiar, “Hey Kemosabe,” and I cupped his head, kissed it and told him, “We’re gonna be in Dayton for a while!” Every morning for 21 days, he would call the hotel room, wondering if I was still there and I would tell him, “I’m on my way and I’m here as long as you’re here!” Every morning when I walked into his room, I would hear, “Hey Kemosabe!” We had the greatest conversations through his surgery and rehab (Life, dreams, love, his childhood, who was the woman in those photos from Korea, how was he perceived growing up with epilepsy, how in the heck did he serve in the Air Force with it, everything was on the table). I grew to know him as so much more than just my Dad.

I also grew (with the guidance of Dr. Joseph Maurer and the trust of incredible friend and adviser Dale Diamond) to take on and pay for his Medicine and food. Maurer declared that Dad had earned the right to eat what he loves and wants and that’s exactly what I did, his prescriptions were initially complicated (no wonder he didn’t take them like he should), but I mastered that, too. TV not working, I’ll get you a better one … furnace being replaced, come stay with me … minor surgery, come stay with me … Besides, Pesha is the queen of breakfast, you’ll love it over here! 

My Dad had a great pension from ComEd, but he also had a bad habit (in his later years) of giving his money away, so if he was short, I got that, too, and don’t you dare try to pay me back!

I pretended I was essential to his life, but the truth is, he was essential to mine. I felt like I was home, when it was just me and him. He always thought he owed me something, so I finally, tearfully reminded him of our loan argument (from over a decade ago) and how despicable a son I was and that he never deserved a son like me and I had failed him.

What he responded, I will hold in my heart … forever.

I got the call on Thursday, Nov. 13, at 3:17 a.m., just hours after I left him and I hurriedly put on my clothes and went to see my Dad. The streets were desolate except for a white van I passed on West Monroe Street. As I backed into the parking spot, the van was going to the same place I was. As I walked up to the door, I saw it was a transport and in full denial, I asked the ladies, “Who were they there to pick up?” I got my answer and I was broken! They graciously afforded me time to be alone with him, there was no denying it now, He was gone! I put my hand on his chest and then his shoulder, it was so cold, so I covered it, he hated to be cold. I walked around him like a fool and talked to him; I had been there long enough and they had a job to do. So I finally lifted and cupped his head (it was surprisingly warm) and held my head to his, I wiped my tears off his face and told him, “Thank you for being my Dad, I love you so much, if I am fortunate enough to make it to heaven and I feel those hands on my shoulders and hear “Hey Kemosabe” … I’LL BE HOME.

-Son A.J. Woodson

This article appears in January 1-7, 2026.