CONSIDER THIS: George Jacobs – The Greatest Guy You’ll Never Know

By MICHAEL RODRIGUEZ
Managing Editor
editor@sbnewspaper.com

Michael Rodriguez

One summer night, while sweating in the Godforsaken South Texas heat, four old friends stood around a barbeque pit, sipping beer and telling stories about their younger days.

While clear that the scene just described could have taken place in just about anybody’s backyard, there’s something about this particular instance, this particular group of friends that, at least after certain events transpired over the weekend, is deeply heartbreaking.

Though referred to as “old,” these buddies were actually in their late 20s at the time of their gathering. Since a few of them were friends going back to the age of 7, it only felt like they had grown old together. Some of them were once nothing more than acquaintances who knew each other due to mutual friendships with one or the other. Basically, two pairs of childhood pals, one being Noe and Scott and the other George and JV, met as a result of Scott and George befriending each other in middle school. It’s kind of messy, granted, but so are these friendships.

They shared few interests, other than music and sports, and came from different backgrounds and households. The common factor between them was George, a loud, opinionated, critical and aggressive fellow who’d debate you as soon as look at you. Just ask Jacob Lopez, a former staff reporter for the Port Isabel-South Padre Press, the sister paper of the San Benito News.

George, who had also worked as a staff reporter for the Press, berated Jacob once for wearing a bright-colored Super Mario Bros. t-shirt. Thus beginning the belittling – a trademark of George’s charming conversation style. “Why in the world would you wear a shirt like that, man?” George asked (more like demanded) of Jacob, both of whom were strangers at the time of this uncomfortable encounter. “It looks stupid on you. Who would go out wearing something so stupid? What were you thinking?”

I have to give Jacob credit for holding his own in a debate – all the while wearing a Super Mario Bros. t-shirt – with George, who was monstrously (yes, monstrously) competitive. Still, the two later realized they had much in common and eventually became friendly. Jacob just didn’t know it at the time, but George wasn’t picking a fight, George was being George.

His three friends, best friends, knew that all too well. “You know you’re not George’s friend until he takes a swing at you,” one of the three exclaimed before taking a swig of beer, much to George’s embarrassment and simultaneous laughter. All four of them laughed that night, especially after realizing just how silly they were in their youth.

Another one of the friends, chuckling heartily, recalled, “George tried hitting me once too, but I locked him in a full-nelson and held him there until he stopped.”

Naturally, George denied this.

The one person George did connect with (a punch that is) was yours truly, or Scott, as you might know me in this story.

George and I were outside playing football one day when I bumped his shoulder a few times. I was just fooling around and only meant to annoy him a bit; football is, after all, a full contact sport. But he apparently didn’t like that and proceeded to land a closed fist right on my chin. POW! Next thing I knew, we were best friends.

As we grew older, he became one of my fiercest defenders and dearest friends. He cared so much for us, his closest buddies, that he either fought us when he felt we were out of line or fought for us when he thought we were being threatened.

George died over the weekend. He was 30. He was going to turn 31 on Thursday.

I’m sorry, but after 620 words into this piece I still couldn’t find a way to announce his passing. Realizing that I’m restricted by certain rules of writing, I’m now going to stop telling a story and start spilling my guts.

Anyone ever see the Jack Nicholson movie, “As Good As It Gets,” with Helen Hunt? There’s a scene in this film in which Hunt’s character asks Nicholson’s for a compliment. In true Jack Nicholson charm, he thinks for a minute, bites his lip and smiles before delivering a poignant line that – while rehearsed – is memorable. Nicholson did it again towards the end of the movie, and this one was the best. He told her that what makes him feel good about himself is realizing how great a person Hunt is while everyone else in her life misses that about her.

That’s George. The people who dismissed him based on first impressions alone missed out on knowing one of the most unique and benevolent individuals I’ve ever met. And I feel blessed to have known him, because he became one of the few people in my life who truly inspired me, whose passing has left me shaken with tears which, as of writing this, I cannot keep from flowing. And believe me when I say that it hasn’t been from a lack of effort.

For the many who’re curious about his passing, George was found alone Sunday morning by a member of his family, likely the victim of a longtime health condition that required special care and attention all of his life. But I don’t think he was alone in the end. He always had me, and Noe, and JV. He always had his family, of whom his beloved sister Nancy he was closest. And he always had God, who I believe was with George when he took his last breath.

Today, I remember George not only as a friend, but as a talented musician and songwriter, an intelligent young man who earned associate and bachelor degrees in software engineering from the University of Phoenix, a fellow employee and journalist, and – perhaps more importantly – a tender soul who will no longer be bound by his earthly chains.

At some point, I imagine George’s three friends will get together and have a cold one in his honor. And maybe a laugh or two will even be shared at his expense. In the meantime, I’d like to leave you with something my publisher, Ray Quiroga, said about George Sunday evening. Understand that while I want to finish this with my own words, I just don’t have it in me right now to complete such a task. Besides, Ray is the better writer between the two of us.

So without further ado:

“Over the years I’ve had the privilege of working with and helping mold young talent. One such individual was an unforgettable young man named George Jacobs. When he applied for an entry level reporter position at our Port Isabel office, he didn’t have the pedigree of the other applicants, but I liked the fact that he never had it easy, and I knew that if I hired him, I’d be hiring someone with some fight in him. I wasn’t disappointed. George worked himself so hard that one day he collapsed from exhaustion at the office, resulting in an airlift to the hospital. George’s aspiration led him to Dallas, but he would visit every so often. Early this morning I was saddened to receive a call from his uncle – who just happens to be a pastor at the church I attend – informing me that George’s body was discovered by his sister this morning. George would have turned only 31 on Dec. 6th. Arrangements are being made to have his body transported back to the Valley where he will be laid to rest. God bless you, George. May you rest in peace.”

This column will be published in the Dec. 5 edition of the San Benito News, or subscribe to our E-Edition by clicking here.