James W. "Jim/Jimmy" Hourigan

Hourigan, James "Jim" "Jimmy" W.
SCHENECTADY - James "Jim, Jimmy" W. Hourigan passed away on November 16, 2025, following a lengthy and complicated relationship with gravity, that finally took a turn for the worse. He handled every fall the same way he handled life, with grit, humor, and a refusal to admit it might be time to sit down.
Born on February 8, 1950, Jim lived 75 years, fueled by Bud Heavy, stubborn determination, and an unshakable belief that no one, and we mean no one, was going to tell him what to do.
Jim moved to Rotterdam as a toddler in the early 1950s, and always spoke warmly of the neighborhood where he grew up. He liked to remind people he was the only Irish kid in an Italian neighborhood, which mostly meant he learned early what real food, especially sauce, was supposed to taste like. One of his favorite stories to tell from those years was about Daisy, the horse who delivered milk and bread up and down the street, a detail he shared often and proudly, as if he alone had grown up in some magical era between The Godfather and Little House on the Prairie.
He graduated from Mohonasen High School in 1968, and went on to attend the University of Tampa, where one might say his lifelong falling troubles truly began. He later attended Siena College.
Jim was notorious for noticing nonsense when it showed up and calling it out. He had a talent for spotting the absurd in just about everything, and teaching his kids to laugh at it rather than get swallowed by it. In true Hourigan fashion, his kids took the lesson and ran with it. They carry on his legacy of independence, defiance, and selective hearing. His one grandson is already showing early promise. He was immensely proud of his kids, though he preferred to show it by bragging about them to everyone except them.
He was a girl dad before anyone came up with the term, probably because his own father had been ahead of that curve long, long, before labels existed. He raised his daughter to be a whole person: independent, outspoken, and unafraid to take up space. He taught her that she could hold her own in any room, fix almost anything with the right tool, and never needed anyone's permission to do either.
Jim's working life unfolded in a few distinct chapters, each one marked by his quick wit, loyalty, and ability to keep things running (and people laughing). In his younger days, he worked as a bartender and bar manager, perfecting both the art of a proper pour and the even greater art of handling every kind of personality that came through the door. In his late 30s, he swapped bar stools for service bays, moving into management at Pep Boys, where he was
known for knowing his way around both engines and arguments. Eventually, he joined the flour mill at the Port of Albany, where he served as a shop steward, and proudly helped organizing efforts to keep the union strong, even after his retirement.
Jim was also known, though only in very select circles, for "the incident" at the Bronx Zoo, where he allegedly saved a group of nuns from a rogue peacock. Details remain unclear, as every telling of the story became more dramatic over the years, but the Sisters maintained he deserved a medal. Jim maintained they should've watched where they were walking.
He loved a good day at the track almost as much as he loved calling out everyone else's bad bets. Saratoga was his happiest place on earth, part racetrack, part social club, part proving ground for all his expert opinions on horses, jockeys, and life in general. Right behind it was Lake George, where he was happiest on a boat, jumping in the water, and enjoying a cold bud (or five) by the lake.
Jim was a notorious floor sitter, a habit that started in his postwar childhood home, which was heated from the ground up. Long after everyone else discovered chairs, Jim stuck with the floor, usually sitting on his knees, making people vaguely uncomfortable, as he settled in, completely content.
A lifelong Dodgers fan, Jim stayed loyal through every heartbreak, every extra inning, and every questionable move across the continent. He raised his children to know that the Yankees were overrated and that loyalty, unlike a New York fanbase, isn't something you buy, it's something you earn.
Jim had an insatiable love of live music, and made sure his kids caught the bug early. Every summer meant concerts, mostly the Beach Boys, with a few detours to America, and even the Smashing Pumpkins. In his 60s, he and his daughter took that tradition on the road, traveling to see some of the world's biggest acts, including The Rolling Stones, Paul McCartney, Ed Sheeran, and Genesis. One of his favorite stories, told with great pride and increasing exaggeration, was the night he, his son, and his son's friend had a wild night with Levon Helm at a Midnight Ramble. Jim insisted it was one of the great evenings of his life, and based on the way he told it, you'd think Levon personally invited them back every month.
He was also a devoted fan of The Voice, never missing an episode, and offering commentary as if he were on the judging panel himself. His love for the show dimmed only slightly, and very vocally, after Blake Shelton's departure, a loss he took almost as hard as a Dodgers playoff exit. If he hadn't talked to his daughter in a few days, he'd call exactly 30 minutes before the show started, not to chat, but to remind her not to call, because The Voice was on that night.
He was preceded in death by his sister, Joan Godlewski, who no doubt greeted him with a cold beer, eager to discuss the absurdity of it all.
He is survived by his daughter, Cari, of Washington, DC; and his son, Coilean, and Coilean's wife, Angelica, of Salinas, Calif.; and by his grandson, Owen.
Other survivors include his big sister, Jeanne Deyrup, who could talk with him for hours about absolutely nothing, and laugh the whole time (and who wasn't exactly subtle about having a favorite); his brother-in-law Edward Deyrup, a steady and quietly grounding "older brother" figure throughout Jim's life; and his brother-in-law and true partner-in-crime, Ron Godlewski, who was more like a real brother than anything else. He is also survived by his niece, Maureen Deyrup; and her son Conor; his nephew, Kevin Godlewski, and Kevin's wife Erica; and daughter Ava; and Jeanne's sons, Danny and Victor; along with Victor's wife, Becky; and their children, Timothy and Caroline.
Jim's time as a live-in uncle to Kevin was, by all accounts, his first real test run at fatherhood, one that convinced him he might actually be pretty good at it. It's what made him want to be a dad.
Calling hours will be held at the Gleason Funeral Home, Sunday, November 23, 2025, from 2 to 4 p.m. Per Jim's wishes, he will be cremated, though his daughter would like it noted that for years, she threatened that if he pushed her buttons before he died, she'd give him an open-casket wake, complete with paid professional mourners. He behaved just well enough to avoid that fate. A funeral mass will be celebrated at St. John the Evangelist Church, 810 Union St., in Schenectady, at 11 a.m. ,on Monday, November 24.
In lieu of flowers, the family suggests you raise a Bud Heavy, place a small bet, cheer for the Dodgers, and make a donation in Jim's memory, to the Backstretch Employee Service Team (bestbackstretch.org), exactly how Jim would've wanted.
Condolence messages may be left at www.gleasonfuneralhomeinc.com