A cricket is crying

When word reached The Press newsroom Monday morning that Jim Elder had died, silence greeted the announcement. The professional detachment that journalists use like a keyboard or camera to help them do their jobs without becoming emotional wrecks failed to materialize. Everyone in the newsroom sat in stunned silence.

Elder's passing should not have been unexpected. He'd battled cancer for four years, easily surpassing the life expectancy that anyone could reasonably have predicted. But by working so arduously right up to the end, by relentlessly spreading his goodwill and sharing his very best efforts via Rotary, Fernan Village government and a host of other targets of his affection and attention, Jim Elder fooled the community. Ever so warm and positive and extroverted, he convinced us that he would not only beat cancer, but outlive us all.

Many got to know Jim well as owner of Cricket's restaurant in downtown Coeur d'Alene. As a social gathering place, Cricket's under Elder's guidance was probably without peer. But we also submit that his contributions as a restaurant owner pale in comparison to the way Elder fed the community what he thought it needed most, from bolstering economic development to providing volunteer advocates in court for victimized children.

When some semblance of reason finally returned to the newsroom, an impromptu brainstorming session began. Reporters and editors blurted out the names of people who knew Jim best, people who could paint an accurate picture for Tuesday's newspaper of this extraordinary man and the rich life he'd led. And that's when it struck us.

You could go out on the street and talk to almost anybody about Jim Elder, and they would have something positive to say about him because somewhere or other, he would have crossed their paths and made their lives just a little better. We can think of no greater tribute to Jim, or testament to any greater purpose in life.