Jay Hurley died last Saturday. A sad day for our town. A sad day for hundreds of his fans and friends.
We knew it was coming. It’s a small town. We were prepared. Or thought we were. You can prepare the mind, but you can’t prepare the heart.
The heart is defenseless.
Once upon a time, long ago, Jay left Shepherdstown without a penny in his pocket. He worked long and hard in distant lands and in 1979 returned with his pockets full.
He had a vision for what a dilapidated building on the edge of town might become. In that drab space he created poetry. He created a 19th-century oasis.
There, you left the tinseled world behind, you touched wood and iron, you sat around a potbelly stove and sipped coffee with Abe Lincoln, Frederick Douglass, Susan B. Anthony, and Walt Whitman. There, something lost was found.
Last month I sat with Jay in his den above his store. He wore overalls, reposed on his recliner, and occasionally stroked his Gandalf beard while expounding on life and death, time and space, and pride in work done well.
Jay knew death was coming. He was ready. Unworried. Untroubled. Content. Happy.
I wouldn’t trade that hour for 10 hours with the Dalai Lama.
Just before I left, I told him (in case he didn’t know) that he was the heart and soul of Shepherdstown.
I didn’t know that.
Well, now you do, I said.
Then I thanked him for his friendship and for paying me a high compliment 40-some years ago.
What was that?
You came to my office in the Presbyterian church with a marriage license and asked if I’d marry you and your bride. I usually require six months notice, but for you, I made an exception. We had a little ceremony on the spot. You were in your overalls.
Ah, yes, now I remember.
Well, afterward you told me you admired me, but you said you weren’t a church person. You didn’t go to church. But for what it’s worth, you said, of the eight churches in town, mine would be the one you would choose not to attend.
I said that?
Yes.
I don’t remember, but I must admit that’s a good line. I’m just not sure it was a compliment. But if you think so, I’m happy.
Jay is happy. And we can be happy too.
* * *
First George Kalathas now Jay Hurley. The icons of my Shepherdstonian youth are passing on. Jay’s store will always exist in my mind and heart as a warm and dusty beacon of dim firelight when the wind whips cold and the Celtic reels trail off into the horizon. Rest in eternal peace to the architect of old times, Jay. ❤️
Such beautiful words this morning. I have many wonderful memories of sitting in the great room of O’Hurley’s General Store at Christmastime. Jay would recite, by memory, “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” and we would sing Christmas carols. It completed my spirit. May the memory of HIS spirit live on in this magical place! ❤️
When my wife and I moved to Jefferson County in 1981, Jay was one of the first locals that I got to know. He taught me rudimentary blacksmithing and inspired me to buy a portable forge, bellows and anvil and tools.
When a two-hundred-year-old oak (3 feet in diameter) fell over in our back yard
he brought a crew, cut it up, and had the wood milled for the floor of his “great hall” One day during a snowstorm, I ran across him driving a one horse open sleigh and talked him into giving me a ride around town. A bucket list item checked off.
Trivia fact: After he and his wife broke up, she appeared at his store driving a dynamite truck. Her new occupation.
Along with Jim Price and Billy Piercy, Jay represented the wealth an charm of a now gone Shepherdstown. I am so glad to have known them all.
While touring the Midwest this summer, I spotted the following statement on a memory bench in the Quad City Botanical Center in Rock Island, Illinois: “Your wings were ready but our hearts were not.” Your beautiful tribute to Jay Hurley seems to reflect those poignant words. May his memory be a blessing.
O’Hurleys -One of a number of things that I miss about living in the area. Year round it was an experience but oh at Christmas! The tree in the store , cat in the rocker , potbelly stove glowing, treasures in every corner. The Great room inviting one to sit and perhaps there was dulcimer music playing. Kids and adults loved to explore its mysteries. One of a kind – nothing like it up where I am now. RIP.
Thanks for your wonderful Sunday story a part of the magic of this place.
Over thirty years ago, when our oldest, Will, was only a week old, there were complications, and we needed to monitor his weight carefully. Where else in Shepherdstown? Jay has a picture of Will christening the store’s vintage counterbalance scale, nestled in the large brass hardware scoop—not exactly “dry” goods. We repeated the process several times over the next few days. I can still see the delight in Jay’s eyes as the utility of his store took on that new dimension. ~May the road rise up to meet you, my friend, and may the wind be always at your back.
Bill, what a wonderful story to add to the legacy of Jay.
A bright beacon and local spot that makes you feel at home. It’s one of those many things that makes Shepherdstown, Shepherdstown. I have many trinkets scattered around my home from O’Hurleys to include a handmade pottery coffee mug with the town’s name printed proudly on its side. My daily salute to Jay!
Am I one of the few people who know Jay’s middle name? It is Garland. One year, when more than five or 10 people voted in the mayoral and town council elections and I was working the polls, Jay walked up and I checked his name because that’s how it’s done and he allowed as how he couldn’t stand the name “Garland” and I said, I like that name, it was my father’s name and you, Jay, you would’ve liked my dad. Rest easy, Garlands.
On this gray, wet day, your words–as usual–evoke a welcome contentment with the ineffable in the seeming ordinary–and affirmation that it really is extraordinary. You have reconstituted moments of an enduring friendship that say it all. I did not know Jay, but his store that is the essence of community, warmth, wonderfulness, and tradition draws an accurate image. Your words make it a masterpiece. Thank you, and Jay, “happy” is the way to go. R.I.P.
An artist is careful, I would think, to choose the proper brush be it broad or narrow, fine bristle or slop it on wide. Jay was an adept artist selecting the proper brushes in creating a tapestry of life, of place, of town, of community.
He is one of the first folks I met newly out of the Army and new to Shepherdstown in 1976. He was among the cast of town characters that convinced me that I had found a fine place to live and eventually raise a family. His life is a vivid fabric block of the Shepherdstown quilt. His work and antics will continue as legend. That is a life well lived.
Thank you for sharing this amazingly heartfelt and true tribute to such a pillar of Shepherdstown.
His spirit will live on in all of us.
Sending lots of love to all of my friends in the most magical town I know.
When my friend Rachael’s 8 year old son River passed suddenly & tragically, in 2002, they lived in Hurleyville. On the day of his funeral, Jay brought his horse & rig, loaded the casket and hundreds of Sunflowers (his favorite flower) onto it. His mother, family, friends young and old, & good folks of the community followed up the streets to Elmwood… Genevieve was there, waiting with her harp… Rachael will always be grateful for this kind gesture… and those of us who were part of this will always remember …Peace be with you Jay.
Ardyth, that is amazing. The more we learn, the more we realize.
Thank you for this lovely tribute to Jay and for sharing the story of your last visit with him. Thank you also for all of the great photos of O’Hurley’s General Store. You’ve missed nothing; you’ve captured all of it … except the English pull-chain toilet… maybe that can be shown another time. Are these Paula’s photos?
The photos are from O’Hurley’s General Store website.
It was snowing a lot. Maybe Jay would close the store and I would not have to work today. (present day snicker…I didn’t know him very well back then, did I?) I could draw up my feet in the arm chair with my book, earl grey tea, and listen to the tiny ticks of snowflakes on the window. Instead, I hear in the front yard, a sliding sound, like GIANT ice skates, a whinny. “Your boss is here for a ride to work.” my husband called to me from the kitchen. I peeked out to see Jay, shoulders and hat covered in snow, reins in hand, and Kate (the horse) hooked up the little sleigh, tossing her snowy head. Guess I better go to work.
After an exhilerating ride through town, (was Jay driving? or Kate?) It ended up being a day of endless snowy visiters not necessarily customers,but guys who entered in the world of Jay Hurley, with snow shovels to pile snow from German street into the big blue truck and me at the store, filling the pot belly stove, sweeping snow off the porch, and drying off the sleigh hauled into the store by Jay and the guys, so it could be transformed into Santas sleigh.
Jay was the best of story tellers, he lived his life a story maker, he did it, with all of us being his cast of characters, off and on through the years. We went along for the wackiness of it (or the love of it) and became story tellers ourselves. It really exists, this world. And Jay invited us to work and play in it. Randy, my heart was warmed by your visit with Jay. I felt like I visited him too, and to know he was happy, and content was a lovely gift.
I have lived in Martinsburg for 30 years (1988 to 2018) and at Christmas time, unfailingly, I would visit O’Hurley’s store to find the white or red candles that fit in my little German silver clip-on candle holders for our Christmas tree. I would find an old-fashioned toy for my Liz and Dave, a stuffed hedgehog or a fox, a slide-whistle or ocarina, a new ornament for me and a wooly scarf or hat for my husband, and none ever said “made in China”. I loved petting the cat and listened to Terry Tucker’s latest CD playing and spent more money than I had intended but I left with Christmas in my heart.
One day I found an apothecary-style cabinet at the Good Will in Hagerstown which I had to have and it became my beloved coffee table. It has twelve little drawers and a metal pull for everyone of them, except one was missing! After searching in every hardware store and coming up with nothing that even matched halfway I took one of the good pulls to O’Hurley’s and Jay looked at it and pulled most of his drawers open to search for something but came up empty. He saw the disappointment in my face and finally said, “You know, I could make you one out of this…” And that’s what he did. It never really matched as to color but it was the same diameter and it functioned perfectly and it is my Jay drawer pull. That someone would go to such lengths to make someone happy was a gift and the memory will stay with me forever.
By the way, an artist painted his picture playing music in the window of the Mexican restaurant on N. Queen Street in Martinsburg across from the lawyer’s office.
Wonderful stories all!!
Wonderful memories from you and our town. This is why we love Shepherdstown. Thank you.
I worked part time there years ago and was always amazed at all the folks who came from far and wide. Also, being the daughter of a German carpenter and architect building custom homes, I was always intrigued with Jay’s skills. When I noticed the flooring in the Great Room one day, Jay told me the story how he kept the integrity of the tree by keeping the boards unique scale of the tree instead of having the boards planed uniformly…he was a master of design.
I’m sure he is resting happily in peace.
It’s sad to hear this news, but thanks for sharing it. I’m glad I was able to see Jay one last time at the Thursday music jam in the Great Hall this past summer. In his memory, I have been reading articles about him in the Good News Paper from years past. Thank goodness these have all been preserved.