When I think of my Uncle Jim, I think of Franklin Delano Roosevelt.
Jim Mathews, who died this summer at age 77, performed in community theater productions near his San Mateo home. His signature role was as FDR in the musical Annie, that Depression story about an orphan.
Late in the show, Annie goes to the White House, where FDR is considering a program of social supports for struggling Americans. Through the song “Tomorrow,” Annie convinces FDR to announce this New Deal. Then, Jim, as FDR, would rise and sing:
When I’m stuck with a day
That’s gray, and lonely.
I just stick out my chin and grin, and say …
Jim had more than his share of gray days. He was injured at birth; his parents were told he never would walk (he did, after therapy). He never married or had children. And he spent most of his life in Silicon Valley, where conventional wisdom is that a successful life requires big-brained technologists and venture funding.
But Jim had a wonderful life, in a Frank-Capraesque way. Because he understood that life is made up of small things. So are better tomorrows.
James Mathews was born in 1946 in Long Beach, a bigger Southern California city, but soon moved up north to San Mateo. It’s a smaller city, but he always made the town seem grand. He enchanted the little train in Central Park, the playground Laurel Elementary, and his beloved College Heights Church, a very democratic place where almost every congregation member would talk during services.
Jim’s magic was that he paid attention to little things. “Don’t step on those California poppies,” he once advised. “They’re the state flower!” And he engaged with everyone, even intimidating people like the intense 25-year-old football coach at Hillsdale High. But Jim volunteered to be the team manager, and learned lasting lessons from that coach, future Super Bowl winner Dick Vermeil.
If you thought like Jim, everything seemed like an opportunity. The early job at the small computer lab at the College of San Mateo? Over 21 years, he turned it into a dynamic media lab. Later, hired at Baywood Elementary, he created not one but two tech labs.
“Grandpa Geek,” the kids called him.
Technology, Jim would say, was not this big force to be feared. Technology was really just a lot of little things; the fun was putting them all together.
Speaking of fun, the most fun I ever had in my life was when Uncle Jim would visit Southern California and take me to Disneyland. With other relatives, Disneyland was boring — you’d wait in long lines for the biggest rides. But Jim emphasized the little treasures: the Enchanted Tiki Room, the rock formations on Tom Sawyer Island, the potential of the automated People Mover in Tomorrowland. (He was right about the People Mover — they’re installing one at LAX now.)
The little things that mattered most to Jim were charity. He donated to the people at the door. And the people on the phone. I once asked Jim if he was a soft touch. His answer: What’s wrong with being a soft touch?
Eight years ago, Jim heard at church about a woman and her two young sons who were unhoused and needed shelter. He invited them to move in with him. They stayed five years. He didn’t see this as generosity. He was benefiting from this “house sharing,” and the companionship.
Once, when I had dinner with all of them, Jim said he felt like a fool — for not having shared his home with people many years earlier.
But Jim didn’t dwell on regrets. He was determined not to get bogged down with today’s problems. Because a new opportunity to help someone else will always present itself soon. Maybe even tomorrow, which is only a day away.
Joe Mathews writes the Connecting California column for Zócalo Public Square.
