DONORS:

Tom and Cheri Smylie, Steven Haber, Dennis and Rosalina Grisco, Alan and

Venice Beske, Jim and Chris Weaver

Remembering Jimmy C. Adamson

By Bob McCallum

I’m in my study, sitting at my

desk. On a shelf, eye-level, is a

small sarcophagus – about twelve

inches long and three inches

square. The lid is in a closed

position so that the interior is

hidden from view. Egyptian

hieroglyphics on the side of the

cofﬁn translate to: Personal . . .

Conﬁdential. On top of the cofﬁn

is a body, wrapped in the fashion

of a mummy; only a beak is exposed. The mummiﬁed body is that

of a small falcon. The entire piece is made of clay, colored dirty tan,

and ﬁred in a subdued ﬁnish.

Jimmy Adamson made

this piece for me in 1990.

He taught art at the local

college (Sierra College in

Rocklin, Ca.) and was a

master of that profession. At

times he was commissioned

by contractors and

homeowners to produce

wall-sized carvings on

damp clay bricks set up on

an easel 10 by 10 feet. Each

brick had been numbered,

and when the carving was complete, he would remove it from the

easel one brick at a time, trailer it to the local brick producer and

have them ﬁred. Once ﬁred, he would trailer the entire load to a

home, school, business, where he would mount it on a chosen wall.

Jimmy was also a master of the art of falconry. His falcons ﬂew high

and responsive to Jimmy’s signals. His understanding of falcons was

evident in the partnership he had with them. Never rushed – almost

shufﬂing (which on some days was aggravating, especially when I

was eager to cast off a falcon and the sun was disappearing on the

horizon), always gentle in his hooding, unhooding and approaching

a falcon, etc., he deﬁnitely saw from within the eye of the falcon.

Jimmy and I ﬂew together from 1989 until the early 2000’s when he

and his lovely wife, Joanne, moved to Idaho. But he did more than

just ﬂy falcons, he was also a pioneer in falcon breeding.

Jimmy was a gentleman at all times . . . I don’t recall ever seeing him

angry or disparaging – which is difﬁcult in the falconry world.

A few weeks before Jimmy passed, he asked me to edit a piece he

had written about his coming to the Mormon religion. It was to be

published in a Mormon magazine. I read and edited the piece and

was amazed by what I didn’t know about Jimmy and his Mormon

belief.

I never knew what I was going to hear out of Jimmy – some days he

would blurt out some Lakota phrase before going on to some tribal

pow-wow dressed in appropriate regalia – oh, by the way, he also

made beautiful hand-carved cedar tribal ﬂutes – the long type. Other

times, he would start speaking French . . . I never knew what he was

saying . . I guess he did.

When the ﬁlm, Dances with Wolves, came out, I had the pleasure of

watching it with Jimmy . . . He wept . . . as I did with his passing.

I miss you, Jimmy . . . Man who looked through eyes of falcons.

Jimmy was also a master of the art of falconry. His understanding of

falcons was evident in the partnership he had with them.