The privilege was all mine, Jim Maloof

My fingers have been poised above my keyboard frequently in recent days as I try to describe the heartache after learning of the passing of former Peoria mayor Jim Maloof, a local institution and someone with whom I had a unique and special relationship since we met in 1985.

It seems like yesterday when I stood in line for more than an hour at St. Mary’s Cathedral to give Jim and his family my sympathy after his wife, Trudy, passed away in 2001. Jim got off his stool and walked with me to Trudy’s open casket. As he took my arm, he thanked me for being someone very special to Trudy, a compliment I had carried deep inside me for a decade.

Trudy was one of the most generous and kindest women I had ever known, but she stayed out of the media limelight. She let Jim soak up all the attention, which fit his outgoing and entertaining persona well. I had the privilege of being the only reporter she “allowed” into her private world to do a story on the occasion of the couple’s 50th wedding anniversary in 1991. I was gentle, yet persistent, in trying to win her over, and someone Trudy had come to trust in my role as managing editor of the weekly newspaper.

I remember that June day so well when she and Jim invited me into their home. Like the perfect hostess, she offered fresh lemonade and wanted to make sure I was comfortable. It took her a little while, but she warmed up to my questions as the three of us engaged in conversation, laughed and even wiped a few tears.

This was also an opportunity to see another side of Jim Maloof, whose boisterous public face softened when he talked about his blood family and the countless families he and Trudy had adopted in their never-ending crusade to defeat childhood cancer through the miracle of St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. We talked for more than two hours, and I absorbed every word and emotion.

Jim and Trudy loved the article when it appeared a few weeks later. To me, it was more than a story, but a bridge to a deeper personal connection with the family. A few years later when I became a freelance writer, Jim and Trudy were being honored at a benefit, and I was asked to do the research and interviews. It was a huge undertaking but one I relished.

A while back, I ran into Jim, and he asked what I was doing. I said I was focusing on books that deal with brain-related injuries, illnesses and diseases because there was such a need for more understanding and help for individuals and families. We had a lengthy and emotional conversation. Hugging him as I left, I added a few more topics to my book “to do list.”

Jim, I haven’t forgotten our heartfelt talk. The education I’ve received in recent years working directly with families coping with Alzheimer’s, stroke and brain injuries has laid a firm foundation that has better prepared me for other tough topics, especially the one I pledged to you that I’d fulfill. I wasn’t ready when we talked, but I am now. And I know you’ll be right over my shoulder to growl, “Get ‘er done!”

I love you, Jim Maloof, and everything about you … from your trademark stubbornness to your habit of breaking into song … from your passion for cheerleading to your compassion for those who need the most help … from your warm embrace to your command to “Get outta here!” when the conversation was over.

While you’re singing and dancing in heaven, be sure and give Trudy my love. And Jim, please don’t interrupt while God is talking. Give Him a chance to get a word in, too!