My Brother Jack: He Was Something Else!

Some people have a way with words. Jack had a way of getting away with them.

That's Jack. Trust me, there's a story behind those glasses

My brother Jack was the funniest man I ever knew. He was also one of the smartest. But what made Jack special wasn’t simply his intelligence or his ability to tell a joke. It was his extraordinary talent for finding himself in situations that would have sent most people into a panic—and somehow turning them into comedy. He had a quick mind, a quicker tongue, and an uncanny ability to come up with precisely the wrong thing to say at precisely the right moment.

Jack was my younger brother, and growing up with him was an experience I wouldn’t have traded for anything. He had a wonderful sense of the absurd, and if there was an unconventional way of doing something, you could count on Jack to find it. He wasn’t particularly interested in following the crowd. Why do things the ordinary way when there was a perfectly good opportunity to make life more interesting?

Take reading, for example.

Now, Jack was a highly intelligent man who could discuss practically anything. But somewhere along the way, he apparently decided that reading an entire book was an unnecessary expenditure of valuable time. This was particularly amusing to me because I eventually became a writer.

When I published my first novel, I gave Jack a copy. He cherished it. He was genuinely proud that his older brother had written a book. There was just one small problem.

He never read it.

I suppose he was waiting for the CliffNotes version. Unfortunately, CliffNotes never got around to publishing one. Consequently, Jack left this world without ever knowing what happened in my first novel. Then again, knowing Jack, I doubt he lost much sleep over it.

His approach to literature actually began years earlier, when he was in high school.

Like most students, Jack was required to read the classics. You know the sort: great works of literature written by people who had been dead for centuries and who apparently had nothing better to do than make life miserable for future generations of schoolchildren.

Most students dutifully read the assigned novels. Those who preferred a shortcut turned to CliffNotes, those handy little booklets that condensed hundreds of pages of literary brilliance into something a teenager could digest between lunch and gym class.

But Jack had a better idea.

He discovered an old, out-of-print book containing brief summaries of famous novels. It was essentially CliffNotes for people who found CliffNotes exhausting.

While his classmates were struggling through hundreds of pages of literature, Jack was absorbing the great works of Western civilization in convenient, bite-sized portions.

Eventually, his teacher caught on. He knew perfectly well that Jack hadn’t read the assigned novel. But rather than punish him, the teacher was so impressed by the ingenuity of his research methods that he gave him a good grade.

Think about that for a moment.

Jack received a good grade for not reading a book because he had demonstrated exceptional skill in finding ways not to read it.

But Jack’s adventures in education weren’t limited to literature. He also made a rather memorable contribution to international relations.

One year, he had a Spanish teacher who had recently arrived from Spain. Her command of English was limited, which presented certain difficulties in a school filled with American teenagers whose command of English was considerably more colorful than anything she had learned back home.

One afternoon, the teacher returned a test she had given the class. Jack, sitting in the back of the room, glanced at his grade.

He was not pleased.

“Fuck you,” he muttered under his breath.

Unfortunately, his teacher heard him.

She approached his desk and, with genuine curiosity, asked what those two words meant.

Now, most students would have panicked. Some might have apologized. Others might have pretended they hadn’t said anything.

Not Jack.

Without missing a beat, he explained that the expression was a popular American slang term meaning “Good morning.”

The teacher thanked him for the explanation.

Under ordinary circumstances, that might have been the end of the story. But this particular school had one feature that made Jack’s little language lesson especially memorable.

Many of its teachers were Catholic priests.

And so, when the Spanish teacher left the classroom, she cheerfully greeted several members of the clergy with her newly acquired American expression.

“Fuck you, Father!”

And to another: “Fuck you, Father!”

I would have given anything to see the expressions on those priests’ faces.

I have no idea how long it took someone to explain the actual meaning of the phrase to her. Nor do I know whether Jack ever suffered any consequences for his impromptu lesson in American slang. But knowing my brother, I suspect he considered the entire episode a valuable contribution to international education.

Jack has been gone for nearly five years now. He was my younger brother, but more importantly, he was my best friend. I could fill pages describing how much I miss him, but I don’t think he’d appreciate that. He’d probably tell me to stop being so damn sentimental and get to the funny part.

So that’s what I’ve done.

I remember a man who could turn an ordinary school day into a comedy, who could earn good grades without reading the assigned books, and who was proud enough of his older brother to cherish a novel he had absolutely no intention of reading.

And you know something? If Jack were here today, I’d give him a copy of this article.

He’d probably frame it.

But I doubt he’d read it.

— J. Paddy Spaight

The Stories Keep Coming…

When I wrote about my brother Jack, I hoped to bring back a few smiles and remind everyone what a funny guy he was.

What I didn’t expect was the wonderful response from family and friends. Their comments reminded me that Jack wasn’t just my brother or my best friend. He was someone who made a lasting impression on everyone who knew him.

Some remembered his outrageous sense of humor. Others recalled his kindness, generosity, and the little things he did that made such a difference.

And wouldn’t you know it? The stories just keep coming.

So I’ve decided to give those memories a home of their own.

[Read More Memories of Jack →family

There’s More to Jack’s Story…

Jack and I shared more than a childhood. We shared a house, a lifetime of memories, and a few adventures that neither of us could have imagined. And years after we left that house behind, it had one final surprise waiting for Jack’s son.

Read My Brother Jack: The House That Remembered →