William Henry Jackson, Jr 1946-2024

William Henry Jackson, Jr departed this world on Saturday, July 13, 2024 after 77 years of a life well lived.

Hold on, he’d never forgive me for inadequate punctuation: after 77 years of a life, well, lived.

For Dad (to me and my two brothers, ‘Hank’ to his childhood friends and family, and ‘Henry’ to those who met him after his service in Vietnam) lived an interesting life, as the old proverb goes, though it wasn’t always the one he would have chosen.

Still, he had a lot to show for it and more than enough stories to tell. Which he did, often and with rather a lot of embellishment sometimes, to anyone within earshot. He loved stories and the English language and the magic of words weaved by a powerful raconteur. As I write this, I’ll try to make him proud – without bloviating.

Dad was born in Lockport, New York in 1946 to Bill and Norma Jackson. Norma was a nurse and Bill had just returned from flying B-29s in World War II. Dad gave them a run for their money right from the start – landing himself two broken legs by the time he was four years old. But he seemed to have had the sort of charmed childhood we’ve come to associate with the 1950s: hunting and fishing with his dad, running wild around the neighborhood with his friends, carrying slingshots and getting into mischief. He enjoyed his life as an only child until his two brothers, Roger and David, came along and ruined, er, changed things nearly 8 and 12 years later (respectively), and he was forced to try and become a good role model.

Growing up, Dad was surrounded by his family – his beloved Uncle Harry and Aunt Esther lived nearby with his little cousins: Betty, Mary, Kate, and Jack. And his favorite and biggest fan of all: his Grandma Jackson. He graduated from Lockport Senior High School in 1964 and went off to Princeton University on a ROTC Scholarship. But just because he was a fancy college student and training to be a U.S. Naval officer didn’t mean he couldn’t still get up to some mischief.

Once when he came home from college, he stopped in to visit Harry, Esther, and his cousins. Not much rattled Aunt Esther, but the one thing that DID was snakes. Apparently, Dad had adopted a pet boa constrictor and had snuck it home with him in a gym bag. He had brought said bag with him to his Aunt and Uncle’s house, where the snake proceeded to escape and scare the living daylights out of poor Aunt Esther. 

At Princeton, when not tending to his contraband pets (he also had two guinea pigs named Witherspoon and Pussy Galore), Dad rowed crew, was a member of Tower Club, and honed his love of literature. It was at Princeton that he fell in love with Mark Twain. The gruff American humorist had an outsized influence on Dad, who still got teary-eyed whenever he recounted the stories and adventures of the Father of American Literature. It was Mark Twain, after all, who said “I like a good story well told. That is the reason I am sometimes forced to tell them myself.” 

Once he graduated from Princeton in 1968, the war in Vietnam was raging and duty called. First, Dad headed to Pensacola for flight school. However, while training to fly jets (and looking quite dashing doing it), he met Anne Holub and rather soon afterward ended up the proud young father of his first son, William Henry Jackson, III. But when little Billy was just 9 months old, Dad was deployed to Vietnam for a 15 month tour on board the U.S.S. Barrett, carrying troops and supplies between Korea and Vietnam. He never told many stories from this dark time, but he did pick up a Korean phrase that he used with us frequently: mianhamnida (literally translated it means “I’m sorry” but Dad always used it ironically, usually when one of us kids was complaining about something in life not being fair).

Returning home from the war, Dad served some time in the JAG Corps, which led him to apply to law school. He was a natural and cruised through Vanderbilt Law (on Waffle House coffee and cigarettes, to hear him tell it), graduating in 1975. Eventually, he and Anne separated, and he moved up to New Hampshire with a few of his law school pals to start the New England chapters of his life story. After a brief stint as the city prosecutor in Hanover, NH, he began a decades-long career as an antitrust and product liability attorney. He also met Susie Kneeland, who would become his wife and the mother of his other two children, Sarah Elizabeth Jackson (that’s me) and Benjamin Hunter Jackson. Life was not always easy, but we were happy.

One of my favorite memories is from the first summer we lived in our house in Woodstock, CT. Each night during that summer, Ben and I would camp out on the living room floor in our sleeping bags and listen to Dad read from The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. These were some of his favorite books, and his deep, booming voice carried us off into the lands of Middle Earth.

My own love of literature and a good story well told was instilled in me by my Dad, through the books we read together and the stories he told us. When his own father died in 1986, he began telling us “Grandpa Stories” so that we would still have a chance to know the man he loved and respected so much. I hope I can do the same for my own young son who will never have the chance to hear his Grandpa’s sonorous voice read to him of Hobbits and dragons and magic rings.    

Dad worked hard, laughed loud, and enjoyed a good book. And he loved ice cream more than just about anything else (certainly more than he liked taking the advice of his doctors). The challenges of growing old darkened his doorstep throughout much of his later years, and Alzheimer’s is a cruel disease that robs us of our stories.

Dad lived his last few years just a few minutes away from Ben and me in Northampton, MA where he still enjoyed reading and re-reading his favorite books, admiring the accomplishments of his adult grandsons, going on outings to Friendly’s with his youngest grandson, watching the ducks swim by at Fitzgerald Lake, and telling endless stories to anyone who strayed too close. 

In his final days, he was surrounded by his loved ones. We listened to music together and each took turns reading to him from The Hobbit. We sat and talked and shared and cried and said our goodbyes to Dad.

He leaves behind him in this world many whose lives he touched, most prominent among them, his children: William “Bill” Henry Jackson III (Kristina), Sarah Elizabeth Jackson (Yochai Gal), and Benjamin Hunter Jackson (Cara); his four beautiful grandsons: William Wyatt Jackson (21), Cody Gunther Jackson (18), Sivan Jackson Gal (7), and Finnegan Alexander Paquette (22). He also leaves his two brothers, Roger Prescott Jackson and David Richard Jackson, several nieces and nephews, and his cousins, Katherine “Kate” Jackson Paine and Harry “Jack” Jackson. Finally, he is survived by his miserable old cat, PeeWee.

His family would like to thank Cooley Dickinson VNA & Hospice, especially Wendy, who cared for and supported Dad as we went through this final chapter. No public service is currently planned, as Dad was a very private person, but we ask that you please share your stories of Dad/Hank/Henry with us here. These stories help us keep his memory alive – especially if they are funny, mischievous, and/or exaggerated.

Finally, while he’d probably rather you spend your hard-earned money on something frivolous like ice cream or new fishing poles, if you feel inclined to make a donation in his memory, please choose either the Alzheimer’s Association or the New Hampshire Wildlife Federation.      

Thank you.

PS – I know if he had a chance this whole obituary would be marked up with Dad’s famous red pen!