By his wife, Lora C. Kerns, at his death

Dad—when I first met him—about twenty one years old.  Picture this—A church social at the Kerns' home—otherwise "Jimmy" would not have been present.  A lonely looking boy sitting off by himself—head shaved clean.  A girl thinking it some of her business to help entertain lonely boys at church socials.  The adventurous girl asks the lonely boy why did he shave his head.  Lonely boy says solemnly, "To keep girls and fleas from bothering me."

That's introduction enough to please even modern times; also to index the character of Dad.  His honesty, loyalty, courage, and good judgment were always made enjoyable, tempered by his wit and humor.

His father had died a few months before this church social.  He at that age had charge of his father's affairs as his mother was most an invalid.  She had been taken to California by his two sisters for her health; but not improved by the change, she wished to come home to die.  Grandpa Johnson said Jimmy must go to get her.  Jim found her in such a condition that it was his difficult problem to decide for the best.  She wanted to come home.  He said he was most sure she could never make it.  His decision was to try.  She died in the high altitude of Colorado.  But they had done all they could.

He was appointed guardian for the three minor children besides administrator of the estate which was then considered "children amply provided for"—about $2500.00 each.  And as one sister said to me in a recent letter, "Settled everything without one word of complaint."  The three minor children were looked after to the very best of his ability, and with the utmost honesty and judgment.

Dad often regretted his meager schooling.  Law would have been his choice of a profession.  But one or two years away to school was all that could be afforded.  Then "Chicago was calling."  It was always interesting to hear him tell how Chicago called and how she treated him.  Of the many things I remember—he said he was a night cook (but was caught sleeping); picked chickens (but gave over the few he had cleaned to another after deciding that was not his goal); he "buttled"—was a butler—set the table—How?  "Oh just sort o' careless like;" worked in a piano factory, etc., etc.; finally bummed part way home on top a freight train; farmed; sold organs and pianos; bought a plow factory; made plows; traded in real estate; bought tax-title land through encouragement of a Deputy Treasurer; taught school; finally married Deputy Treasurer on the ninth of February, 1896; farmed on a recently purchased farm four miles out of Osceola, Iowa; sold farm and purchased hardware in Truro, Iowa; sold and bought hardware in St. Charles, Iowa; bought a ranch in Wyoming with Will Cooley; ranched several years; bought out W.C.; eventually leased to W.C. and moved to Spokane for the children to be more convenient to school.

In Spokane, he worked in real estate.  Was active in putting Steptoe Butte on market.  Wrote items for the Spokesman Review.  Two years in Spokane and the ranch seemed good again.  One winter in Macon, Missouri, for the children's schooling.  The most of the time from then on was spent entirely on the Wyoming ranch, until about six years ago when he turned over the ranch and stock to John and left for Eugene, Oregon, where some of the family had preceded him.  An occasional visit back to Wyoming.  Then a sick call brought him back with the Wyoming part of the family for two years.  One winter in Macon, where he thought he contracted the asthma—but it was heart trouble that the doctor thinks he had had for twenty years, caused possibly by hard lifting or straining.  It was just a little over a year from the time he consented to see a doctor about his trouble of breathing till he made the "great adventure."

Dad has had an active life.  He had an active mind—anything in figures were of absorbing interest.  He used them for everything.  I have many old envelopes laid away from time to time that are completely filled with figures.  It has been a game to me to see if I could tell by his figures what his brain was solving at that particular time.  Sometimes, I would not have time to solve them—hence the putting aside for future reference.

His love for his children surpassed all.  While he was not demonstrative, his whole time and thought was for ways and means that they might have the things that would make them good men and women and happy.  He cared little for good living for himself, but was selfish that his family might enjoy together, all that was within good sense and reason.

As he was so inherently honest, any unnecessary expenditure for pleasure or otherwise was not thought of unless there were ways "figured" out to meet the possible outlay.  No debt was ever contracted without ample security.  His keen judgment decided almost immediately questions of business or domestic problems.  I learned early to respect that judgment—so few of us know the sharp line between right and wrong as Dad did, or respect it so decidedly.  I have never known Dad to do a dishonorable thing.  He was exact in his dealings and demanded exactness.  As one neighbor once said of him—"If he owed a penny, he'd pay it; if you owed him a penny, he'd want it."  If he contracted a debt, he knew without doubt he would meet it.  If doubtful, he could not be urged to make it.  In his words,—he  never gambled with other people's funds, not thinking they were his by legal note.  One rule he made early in life—so hard sometimes to adhere to—only one time, except for his boys, did he break it.  Never to go "security" on another's note was the rule.  One who asked for such, he analyzed as not seeking your judgment or advice about the outcome, but merely asking for a favor.  The one time that he broke this rule was when a dear friend was about to lose his car—payment of that security would have been met without any feeling of out-of-pocket, so loyal was he to him whom he called his good boy friend.  He could be wise in time to break a solemn contract to himself for loyalty to a friend.

He was so loyal to me.  He's been kind and generous in silence with my faults—even boosting my wild ideas, though knowing them to be wrong.

His humor has made our family life of work and play a happy one.  His happy humor made him the royal entertainer of the children's parties.  Even the Indians enjoyed his laughter—naming him "Kauhtah," meaning "laugh much."  He had many Indian friends.

If the old road to Parkman, which he traveled to meet children, relatives, or friends, could tell of the trips in cold, mud and snow, and give the conversations he sometimes indulged in with himself, it would be memorable history for us.  As on one Christmas as he bucked snow a whole day there with pack horse, and another day to return with a few extras so that Xmas could be what it should be for the children.

Generous, if it was needful—never to be considered a "good fellow" or to gain favor.  Not his interpretation of honesty, but generous to the needy and his church.  He could have belonged to no other church than his for he must keep his mind open.  No creed but his own—seeking of the truth.  He was good.  Good was his creed.  And courage to live his creed—courage to meet failures, to face lonely days and nights alone, that his children might have educational advantages.

When the end seemed near, he was glad he had had that courage to fight on, though suffering, to the "great adventure"—that with his smile, while I held his hand so tight.

He wanted his body laid near his family.  "Maybe, it will keep them together."  Yes, Dad, I'm sure your boys and girls will—as one said to you then—"Dad, I'll think of you."