Sail On, Sailor

My dear friend, Jeff Foreman, a lifelong sailor and lover of adventure, passed away in Eugene, Oregon on Saturday, June 8. Born in on May 2, 1952 in Salem, Oregon to Hazel and Neil Foreman, the family later relocated to Eugene in 1958. He attended Willamette High School, graduating in 1970.

Right after high school, Jeff joined the U.S. Army and served as an infantry sergeant in Germany. Following the service, he enrolled at the University of Oregon and received a Bachelor of Science degree in journalism with emphasis in public relations. Following graduation from the UO, Jeff was hired as a reporter and darkroom technician at the Siuslaw News.

Jeff then worked for several weekly newspapers in Oregon, including the Polk County Itemizer-Observer, Independence Sun-Enterprise, Cottage Grove Sentinel, Capital Press and The Springfield News. In 1982, Jeff married Barbara Bierly of Harrisburg in Eugene, Oregon. The couple had two children, Dylan and Duncan Foreman.

In 1984, Jeff transitioned into public relations, working for the Lane Education Service District in Eugene as Information and Communications Manager. He was later promoted to Marketing and District Relations Manager.

In 2000, Jeff was hired in media relations for the Oregon Department of Forestry, where he worked until his retirement.

Jeff had a passion for sailing and owned several sailboats, including the Pura Vida. He primarily sailed the waters of Fern Ridge Reservoir, but also in the San Juan Islands. He enjoyed telling the story of hiring on as first mate on the sailboat for a hair-raising trip from Reedsport, Oregon to San Francisco, California, surviving an intense storm off Cape Blanco.

The tempest began with pounding rain, blustering wind and 30-foot swells. One of the crew fell overboard but was roped to the deck of the sailboat and lived to tell the story. By the time the boat had weathered the storm and eventually reached the approach to the Golden Gate Bridge, they were greeted by a warm sun, calm waters and frolicking dolphins.

Both students at the University of Oregon, Jeff and I first met in 1974 in an upper division literature class entitled “Satire.” A couple years older than the other students in class, we bonded quickly after completing one of the reading assignments titled: Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson. It would become an epiphany for us both.

As journalism majors, we took many classes together and worked as reporters at the campus newspaper, the Oregon Daily Emerald, during a watershed moment in America: Vietnam protests, Watergate fallout, free speech movement, civil rights marches. We labored long hours for low wages with only occasional trips to the Pioneer Cemetery for inspiration.

As students, the only game in town was the UO men’s basketball team, with its audacious coach, Dick Harter, and his "Kamikaze Kids" led by Ronnie Lee. We attended all the games, of course, and the Ducks were good, even beating UCLA. Mac Court was intense. The crowd was deafening. The scoreboard swayed. And the old court felt like it might implode. What a rush. 

 

Jeff and I also attended football games but the Ducks had more losses than wins. Attendance was dismal and the weather was lousy. We’d lose to Fresno State and Pacific. As we huddled in the endzone on a gloomy day, Jeff, with a forlorn face, asks: “Do you think we’ll ever go to a bowl game in our lifetime?” “I don’t know, ” I replied. “But if we do, we’re going.”

Moving to Washington after graduation, I returned to Eugene for graduate school in 1981-83, and Jeff and I picked up where we left off. About 15 years after that damp, gloomy day in the endzone at Autzen, the Ducks were inexplicably invited to their first bowl game in 26 years. We both agreed: "We must go," and Barb handled the arrangements.

 

En route, we were delayed for de-icing in Denver, followed by a two-hour layover in Houston. Finding other Duck fans at a table in an airport bar, one inebriated Duck fan became too boisterous, and we were all asked to leave. As we left, the chief instigator of our ejection let out a loud  “Fuck Houston!”  Seizing the moment, Jeff yells out: "And how ‘bout them Ducks!?!”

Meeting my brother, Robert, in Shreveport, it was downright chilly in town on game day. We toured the downtown area and stopped at one of the few businesses open that day called “Fatso’s Sports Bistro.” Afterward, we walked to the game from our motel, well supplied, of course, where the temperature at game time was 20 degrees Fahrenheit.

 

After a comeback Duck victory fueled by quarterback Bill Musgrave, we stormed the field in our delirium. As Jeff joyously slapped shoulder pads with players, our friend Walter Olson surprised him with a blindside tackle on the 50-yard line. It was 10 degrees when we walked back to the hotel, where we watched the entire replay of the game until the wee hours.

In 1988, Jeff and I purchased season football tickets together on the 50-yard line. We wouldn’t regret it. In 1994, we had ringside seats for a dream season that started ominously but turned on a dime when Kenny Wheaton picked off Damon Huard in an epic “reversal-of-fortune” story for the ages. Yes, the Ducks had beaten the mighty Huskies with "The Pick."

The Ducks subsequently ran the table, propelling the team to its first Rose Bowl in 36 years. Naturally, we went to the game in sunny Pasadena and rubbed elbows with Ahmad Rashad and Dan Fouts at the pre-game party at the adjacent golf course. Jeff also ventured with me to the Palouse for another freeze-your-ass-off game against the WSU Cougars.

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We then adjourned to our cabin at Lake Wenatchee to celebrate and pay homage to the great duck gods in the sky, huddling around the council fire and drinking beer, burning slash and spinning fish tales. We both had our ways of making each other laugh. Sometimes all it took was a look, or even an eyebrow, to instigate uproarious fits of laughter.

Toward the end, Jeff weathered his affliction with great patience and good humor. He was a fighter. Each season, we would continue to meet to consummate our annual bet on Duck football. Our last meeting was with Walter at Jeff and Barb’s home for the spring game, where we dined on Coburg Pizza and opened the envelopes from last year’s “bet.” 

Despite an extraordinary season of success with Duck quarterback Bo Nix at the helm, Jeff went against form and won by a nose. Yes, Jeff won our final bet. Watching the game with him and Walter, it was clearly apparent  that despite the ravages on his physical being, his intelligence, spirit, humor and goodness still shined through as brightly as ever.

Auf wiedersehen, mein freund. Thanks for for your loving friendship over the many years we have known one another. I will miss you, to be sure. To quote Tom Petty, “You and I will meet again. When we’re least expecting it, in some far-off place, I will recognize your face. I won’t say good-bye, my friend, for you and I will meet again.” It will likely be in a bar.