Farewell to a Friend: A eulogy for Homer Jacobs

By Rusty Burson

September 1, 2014

21,378

For the last 24 years I had the sincere privilege to work for Homer Jacobs, first at the Galveston Daily News, later with Aggies Illustrated and for the past 18 years with 12th Man Magazine. We were much more than co-workers, though. I have one sibling — my sister Lindsey — who is here today, but God blessed me as an adult with a brother-like companion in Homer.

Homer was such an easy person to like. I discovered that the first time we met during my job interview in Galveston in the summer of 1990. After graduating from Sam Houston State, my first job interview was an intense, stressful failure in Midland, where I was told that I didn’t have enough professional experience. You might have thought the sports editor would have noticed on my resume that I had NO professional experience, but it worked out for the best. I showed up in Galveston and introduced myself to Homer, who took me to a place called the Old Galveston Club. He bought me a beer and asked me one question: “Do you like college football?”

“Uh, yeah! I was raised on Southwest Conference football,” I said. He hired me on the spot and so began an amazing friendship and partnership that blessed me beyond my wildest expectations. Homer Jacobs is the primary reason I love Texas A&M, the main reason I met my wife at the Dixie Chicken in 1992, and certainly the reason I know and love so many of you here today.

Homer was a great friend to me and to practically every person he met. Since his shocking death last Tuesday, I’ve tried to recall if I ever heard someone say that he didn’t like Homer. Honestly and sincerely, I cannot think of a single person.

That would not come as a shock to him, of course. After all, as Homer would often remind me, “What’s not to love about The Doctor?”

“Dr. Feelgood,” he said. I rolled my eyes, but perhaps there was a lot of truth to that. Homer made people around him feel good. One of the things that made him such a great journalist was that he was a great listener. {"Module":"quote","Alignment":"left","Quote":"“Dr. Feelgood,” he said. I rolled my eyes, but perhaps there was a lot of truth to that. Homer made people around him feel good. One of the things that made him such a great journalist was that he was a great listener. ","Author":""}

That nickname always cracked me up. First, who nicknames himself? Johnny Manziel didn’t start the “Johnny Football” phenomenon. Michael Jordan didn’t refer to himself as “Air.” But somewhere along the way, Homer, the son of a doctor, began claiming that “they” — whoever they are — referred to him as “The Doctor.”

His college buddies from A&M gave him plenty of grief over that nickname, and I remember the first time I heard him call himself “The Doctor.” Naturally I said, “The Doctor of what?” He then referenced those great philosophers from the band Motley Crue. “Dr. Feelgood,” he said.

I rolled my eyes, but perhaps there was a lot of truth to that. Homer made people around him feel good. One of the things that made him such a great journalist was that he was a great listener.

When you carried on a conversation with Homer — even at a reception in a hotel ballroom — he made you feel like you were the only person in his presence. He valued the opinions of others; he cared what you thought; and he treated everyone with respect. Beyond that, he wanted everyone to get along. He was as non-confrontational as Mother Theresa because he genuinely wanted everyone around him to be happy.

When Dennis Franchione was coaching at A&M, Olin Buchanan was the Aggies’ beat writer at the Austin American-Statesman. Franchione liked to be referred to as “Coach Fran,” and many media members obliged. But Olin, in a bit of defiance, always called the Coach by his first name — Dennis — and he told others that he would call Franchione by his nickname when the coach called him “Olin Reporter” or “Writer Buchanan.”

After one press conference, though, Homer waited patiently to speak to Olin alone and informed his friend that Coach Fran really didn’t like to be called Dennis. Homer didn’t do that because he was a “company man” representing A&M. He just didn’t want any animosity between Franchione and Buchanan. He was looking out for Olin.

Homer was the ultimate people pleaser, and he would quickly step out of his comfort zone if it meant he could make others around him more comfortable. He would also go to great lengths to make sure his friends were having a good time in his presence. Homer never felt the need to be the center of attention in a group setting, as he was perfectly content to carry on a conversation with a couple of friends as opposed to being the life of the party.

But many years ago he made the mistake of telling me he had always dreamed of being a Yell Leader at A&M. I am pretty sure I brought that up at every 12th Man Foundation Christmas party we attended together over the last 16 years. And no matter how much he protested, Jacobs would inevitably consent to leading yells, making his awkward gyrations and making us all laugh until we practically cried.

It wasn’t just adults who loved him, though. Homer’s big heart enabled him to have an amazing connection to kids, even though he never had any children of his own. He adored his niece and nephews, and was the proudest uncle on the planet. He loved his sisters, Lori and Carole, but his face really lit up when he talked about his niece and nephews.

When Homer finally met the love of his life, Laurie, and married her, he quickly sold his home in Bryan and moved out in a rush, donating or trashing practically everything that wasn’t of major value. But not the fish nightlight. To AJ’s delight, Homer saved that especially for him and presented it to James fairly recently. {"Module":"quote","Alignment":"right","Quote":"When Homer finally met the love of his life, Laurie, and married her, he quickly sold his home in Bryan and moved out in a rush, donating or trashing practically everything that wasn’t of major value. But not the fish nightlight. To AJ’s delight, Homer saved that especially for him and presented it to James fairly recently.","Author":""}

Homer also adopted the kids of his close friends. He even allowed James Rodriguez’s son, AJ, to stay at his home every time they came to town to go to an Aggie football game. During those trips to “Uncle Homer’s” house, AJ fell in love with a fish nightlight in the guest room.

My own three kids loved Homer, as well. My son, Payton, loved to talk Aggie athletics with him, while my daughter, Kayleigh, constantly asked if we could have Homer over for Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner during his single days, which we often did.

But it was my nine-year-old daughter, Summer, who really bonded with Homer and beamed in his presence. When she turned five, we allowed her to invite five guests to her birthday party. She wanted to invite four little girls her age … and Homer. On the day that he died, Summer wrote Homer a note. Her opening line was this: “Dear Homer, I never knew this before, but you are more than a friend; you are like an uncle.”

She loved Homer. We all loved Homer because of his great attributes … and in spite of all the things he was not. For example, he may have been the worst handyman I’ve ever met. He knew absolutely nothing about home or automobile repairs, lawn care, electronics or anything of the sort. He paid friends to hook up his VCR and DVD players, and he paid really big bucks to avoid red tape, reading instructions or assembling anything.

He was the last person I knew to own a cell phone, and he resisted change like he was avoiding the plague. He longed for simpler, slower times — especially in terms of news-gathering. To Jacobs, the term “social media” meant leaving his USA Today at the restaurant for the next guy to read.

Homer didn’t embrace Facebook, Twitter or any other new medium. He loved his newspaper, and he still loved reading in-depth features in Sports Illustrated and writing them in 12th Man Magazine. He was a terrific journalist and a great editor, and he absolutely lived out his dream by covering A&M and working inside Kyle Field.

Jacobs didn’t just bleed maroon; he oozed Aggie pride. He dreamed of seeing the new Kyle Field and writing about the Aggies winning a national championship in football. He wanted the world to know why he loved A&M so much, and he cherished his role as a promoter of Aggie athletics.

That philosophy was more than just a work motto. Jacobs wanted to write every story to the best of his ability just like he lived every day to the fullest. He possessed an incredible zest for life, and he wanted to celebrate it every day. {"Module":"quote","Alignment":"left","Quote":"That philosophy was more than just a work motto. Jacobs wanted to write every story to the best of his ability just like he lived every day to the fullest. He possessed an incredible zest for life, and he wanted to celebrate it every day.","Author":""}

He also challenged me and the others who worked for him to be the best we could be with every story. In 24 years together, Jacobs probably used the line “write a good one” at least 2,400 times. It was his not-so-subtle reminder that every story mattered to someone, and we owed it to the readers to pour our hearts into every magazine. Jacobs expected storytelling excellence and accuracy from everyone who worked for him and he absolutely demanded the same from himself.

That philosophy was more than just a work motto. Jacobs wanted to write every story to the best of his ability just like he lived every day to the fullest. He possessed an incredible zest for life, and he wanted to celebrate it every day. Jacobs didn’t often go to McDonald’s for lunch or Subway for dinner. He wanted to meet a friend for a sit-down lunch at Abuelo’s or Outback Steakhouse for dinner. Sure, he had expensive taste, but it was really more about savoring, celebrating and commemorating every meal and every day.

His vacations were the same way. Jacobs didn’t want to walk the beaches in Corpus Christi; instead he traveled to Laguna Beach. He didn’t play slot machines in Lake Charles, La.; he met friends at luxurious hotels on the Las Vegas strip. And he didn’t drive any old car; he was a BMW man. He wasn’t arrogant; he just wanted to experience the best in life every, single day.

For most of our years together, Jacobs could afford practically any luxury because he was a bachelor with few expenses. During those years, writing and promoting A&M athletics was Homer’s identity. It’s what he lived for and it was his primary purpose. Most of us thought Homer was so set in his creature-of-habit ways that he would never find a soul mate to share his life. I was one of those people, but I was giddy to be proven wrong.

When Homer met Laurie, his life changed. His face glowed with a radiance I had never seen in him before; he bounced into the office; and to the shock of so many of us, Homer even began eating leftovers for lunch in the break room.

As their relationship progressed, it was obvious that he had found someone who meant more to him than even Texas A&M. At age 49, he finally felt complete. They were married on April 24 of this year, and on that day, he used another one of his favorite lines that I had heard so many times before, “Burson, it don’t get no better than this.”

It was the one line in which he permitted grammatical incorrectness. He’d used that line with me so many times — at the Aggies’ 2007 Sweet 16 men’s basketball game, following the 2011 national championship run by the A&M women’s basketball team, after Johnny Manziel’s Heisman Trophy acceptance speech, and even at great meals featuring friends and filet mignon.

He was just 49, and he planned on spending decades with Laurie, traveling and celebrating Aggie victories for many years to come. Unfortunately, those plans will never be fulfilled. My heart aches for Laurie, for Homer’s sisters, for his niece and nephews, for all of you and, quite frankly, my heart just aches. {"Module":"quote","Alignment":"right","Quote":"He was just 49, and he planned on spending decades with Laurie, traveling and celebrating Aggie victories for many years to come. \nUnfortunately, those plans will never be fulfilled. My heart aches for Laurie, for Homer’s sisters, for his niece and nephews, for all of you and, quite frankly, my heart just aches.","Author":""}

But marrying Laurie and developing a strong bond with her four boys, Homer said, was the single best thing that had ever happened to him. “I really mean it this time, Burson,” he said, “It just don’t get no better than this.”

I was delighted for him, but I knew then — as I do now — that he was wrong. It does get better than this. Fortunately, there’s so much more than this life awaiting us in eternity. And I ask you to please let Homer’s life and his sudden, shocking death be a reminder that none of us are guaranteed tomorrow.

He was just 49, and he planned on spending decades with Laurie, traveling and celebrating Aggie victories for many years to come.

Unfortunately, those plans will never be fulfilled. My heart aches for Laurie, for Homer’s sisters, for his niece and nephews, for all of you and, quite frankly, my heart just aches.

My life will never be quite the same without Homer in it. He was a great boss and one of the best and most loyal friends I could imagine. I loved Homer like a brother and I will miss him for the rest of my life. I will miss his laugh, smile and goofy chuckle; I will miss his stories and companionship; I will miss his texts; and I will definitely miss celebrating with him after those Aggie victories that elicited so much joy.

In this life, Homer absolutely loved to celebrate victories. And it only seems appropriate today to celebrate one more victory — one more meaningful than any other. To honor Homer’s life, I encourage you all to join me in celebrating and embracing the ultimate victory that we have over death through a relationship with Jesus Christ.

This life that we all know today does not end with death. In fact, it is only a beginning.

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