Charles W. Jory

Charles W. Jory, a true original, boarded his final ship back home in the early morning hours of October 29th. At 99 years old, Charles, a proud Navy veteran, found a fitting and perhaps long-overdue mode of transportation. He was ready to leave a world he no longer felt was home, hoping to be reunited with the love of his life, Beth Jory, their daughter Laurel, and, perhaps most pressingly, his beloved Chihuahua, Karlie, whom he missed terribly.

Charles was a hard worker who was stubborn, opinionated, and didn’t care who knew it. The ladies at his bank will undoubtedly miss their monthly calls from Charles to ensure his social security was precisely where it should be. He lived long enough to call himself many names, including “The Old Buffalo on the Hill,” Jerry L. Spiffens, and Alouicious. He had a colorful vocabulary, reserving the title of “shit ass” and other equally affectionate terms for those he genuinely liked.

To his daughter, Charles was her very first hero, a man she believed could do anything. In his final years, when he was confined to his home, she finally had the chance to truly get to know her dad. This was a change from the decades when he followed his strict routine: he worked all day, ate dinner, went downstairs and watched TV until bedtime, and then started the ritual again at 5:00 a.m. the next morning. These last years were a special time for her, and she hoped they were for him too: “He was my bestie, my confidant, and at times a pain in the ass. But no daughter ever loved their dad more than I do.”

Charles loved his family fiercely. He is survived by his son, Bill Jory, and Rebecca Coburn. Bill proudly served in the Vietnam War. Charles was the only father his granddaughter, Tiffany, ever knew, and he loved her deeply.

He taught those around him that there was only one Charles W. Jory, and as he knew, “some were thankful there was only one.” His twin grandsons, Zack & Nate, helped him with the many things his tired old body would no longer allow. There are also grandchildren and great-grandchildren who never truly got to know him. He is also remembered by his special friend Trent, who started as his Lawn Care guy and quickly became the target of Charles’s persistent, good-natured (though firmly delivered) attempts to change his religious views. We are also grateful for his wonderful, kind neighbors who kept an eye out for him and his safety.

When the ER doctor told Charles his chances of survival were slim, he simply replied, “Good. I’m happy. I’m ready. I just wanted to wait around so I could vote for another president.” He then turned his head to his daughter and said, “No boobin.”

Charles’s passing has been more painful than imagined, but his daughter is happy it was peaceful and pain-free, in his home, grateful to his oldest granddaughter, Jenny, for helping with the necessary parts of death. He is reunited with Beth, the love of his life; his daughter, Laurel; his parents; his brother; his sister; and all his old workmates who preceded him.

In closing, we won’t say goodbye to our dad. We’ll just say, “Toodaloo. Watch for me and I’ll meet you there.”

In lieu of flowers, perhaps just a moment of quiet appreciation for a man who always told it like it was.