Obituaries in Burlington, VT | The Burlington Free Press (2024)

James DeForge was a man of many names: JD, Jim, Jimmy, Jim-Jim, Uncle Jim, Master James, Hawg, Hawg Man, the Gatekeeper of Broadlake Road (self appointed), and the list goes on.

Born on July 30, 1960, Jim was the youngest child of Barbara and Norman DeForge. His childhood was rich with activities and adventure — from backyard hockey to boating on Lake Champlain, where summers were magical and endless.

Jim’s outlaw spirit and infectious personality were apparent at an early age. His second grade teacher once declared, “Jim lives every day like it’s a birthday party.” That attitude continued into adulthood, where Jim’s razor-sharp wit, good looks, humor and gift for storytelling drew people to him. Many considered Jim to be their best friend. Recently, an old friend said, “Jim had a golden heart.”

That golden heart was tempered with electric blue eyes and a striking gaze that always held a glimmer of mischief. Jim often pushed the limits — especially in his younger days, making him a local legend. His edges softened over the years and he found fulfillment in quieter times.

He loved fishing, from a charter boat on Lake Ontario to the ice on Mallett’s Bay. He was an excellent marksman (stationary targets preferred) and spent many deer seasons with his cousins at their family deer camp.

One of those rare people who are good at everything they do, Jim learned to drive a boat at age seven, could ride a horse bareback just for the hell of it, or hop on his dirt bike and change gears while doing a wheelie. Despite his slim stature, he was a skilled hockey player completely at ease on the ice. He played a mean Harmonica, and famously accompanied the Phil Abair Band on “Mustang Sally” at his 50th birthday party.

These abilities translated into his career as a truck driver, earning Jim the nickname “The Natural” for his mastery of an 18-wheeler. He could back into the most difficult spaces with confidence. Once on a big city run, he dismissed a doubtful dockhand and said, “I’m from Vermont and I do what I want.” Jim only needed one attempt to park his trailer, a feat that left bystanders awestruck.

When his driving days were over, Jim spent much of his time at home on Colchester Point. You never had to call first when visiting Jim, just head down the basem*nt hatchway stairs to “The Bench.” There, countless stories were shared with Jim holding court. He loved being at the helm. Spending time with Jim was an escape from the pace of modern life. He never had a cell phone or a computer, watched “M.A.S.H.” and “Gunsmoke” on repeat, and rode on an airplane exactly once (one way to Pittsburgh).

Jim was a man of nonnegotiable absolutes — dog: German Shepherd; truck: Ford F-250, black, even years only; beer: Budweiser; smokes: Marlboro Reds (he was a real-life Marlboro Man with the voice to match), followed by Black & Milds after he quit cigarettes; haircut: once a year on April 1st, given by his friend Rhonda; long johns: six months on, six months off.

He had an variety of signatures phrases. Someone do you a favor? “I appreciate the appreciation.” Not up to the job? “Sub it out.” Need some flexibility with your arrival time? “Put an ‘ish on it.” Plans with Jim? “No pressure.”

Jim was creative, a great gift giver and far more sensitive and observant than he let on. He was generous, sometimes overly so, and held so many people in his heart, especially Sue Ellen Bennett, his partner of 25 years.

During Jim’s final days, friends and family gathered at his bedside, in the house, on the lawn and at the beach. The day before Jim passed, his dear friend Mark Abair stayed late into the night, holding vigil with a serenade of acoustic guitar and soft songs that drifted peacefully through the house.