My family and I moved to Irvington in August of 1978. Living across the street from us were Jimmy and Mary O’Donnell. As we were moving into our house they quickly introduced themselves and offered any assistance they could to help us orient ourselves to our new neighborhood. They were our first friends in the neighborhood. Jimmy liked to sit on his front porch after the work day, enjoy a cold brew and keep tabs on what was going on in the neighborhood and greet any passers-by who walked or drove by their house. They seemed to know everyone and could give an informative background of almost all the houses in the neighborhood and the families who lived in them, including the house we lived in.
We learned that Jimmy was a fireman and a stagehand. Jim and Mary had a lovely high school aged daughter Mary Teresa. We met the boys Jim, Tom, and Tim and their families. They met our families. I found out that like my father-in-law Eddie Collins, Jim had served in the Navy during World War II. Jim and Mary were proud of their neighborhood and they kept a close watch over it. Jim was the guy everyone went to if they had an electrical problem, a backed up sink, or a car that wouldn’t start. He was always ready to take a look at the situation and advise you what to do about it. He and Mary were better than a crime watch and as valuable as Angie’s List.
The summer of 1979, on July 29th to be exact, I saw a satellite news van from one of the local stations parked in front of the house. On the porch was a reporter holding a microphone up to Jimmy and a cameraman recording the interview. After the van left, I went across the street and asked what was going on. Jimmy said, “Tomorrow is July 30, the anniversary of the sinking of the USS Indianapolis. I was a crewman aboard her when she was sunk.”
I was stunned. He hadn’t mentioned it before. He added “the local news usually comes out to talk to me about this time of year. They always want me to come up with some new angle about it, but I’ve pretty much told the story about every way it could be told.”
I was in awe of him, but he quickly told me that he wasn’t a “hero,” just a guy who did what he was supposed to do. He reminded me that he was the same guy who was my neighbor and friend and he didn’t want me to treat him any differently than before. I came to realize that while Jimmy didn’t object to talking about his experiences aboard the USS Indianapolis, he did not want his whole life defined by that single incident in his life. He was so much more. Jimmy believed that the greatest part of manhood was taking responsibility for your life and not waiting for others to get things done. Jim always had something going on, no matter if it was with his family, friends, church, or community. Jim was always a busy man, with little patience for slackers. Jimmy belonged to so many different service organizations that it is difficult to keep track of all of them. Jimmy’s life was about service, honor, friendship, and family. Particularly honor. Jimmy honored God, his country and his fellow man.
Jimmy lived a long and fruitful life. The key word is lived. He wasted none of his life. Every moment he lived meant something. He and Mary Alice, his wife of 70 years, made a difference in the community. Jimmy was the Indianapolis Star’s Man of the Year in 1995 and a Sagamore of the Wabash in 1998. He was instrumental in the creation of the USS Indianapolis Memorial on the canal, and there is a statue of Jimmy on the City Market’s Commons. Jimmy accepted all these honors with humility and grace, but I think he felt that he was accepting them on behalf of his shipmates and all those who had gone on before him.
Jimmy had many, many friends and I am proud to be one of them. It would be impossible to calculate the number of lives that he touched in his 92 years. Let me just say that he lived his life in a way that all of us aspire to, and he left the world a little better place than when he came into it.
