Swan Song Part 2

In the beginning of 2012, Diamond Jim sold his CPA practice to some other company and proceeded to transition his company with theirs. Presumably learning lessons from the last time he sold his business, this time he was welcomed to stayed on with the firm who bought him out, letting his clients know they would be in good hands in future years.

This time however, Diamond Jim was finally doing what he should have done years earlier--retire. Given than he is heading into his 70s, retirement makes sense. Mrs. Diamond Jim needs him. Some small obscure town in Oregon, where he now calls home, needs him too.

When Diamond Jim left for Oregon last October, we we would e-mail occasionally, with me inquiring about Ms. Diamond Jim, his children and the grand kids--Ricky and Timmy. He would ask back about Marty Sunshine, Polly and Buckaroo.

Last winter I had questions for him and he and I talked for a while about what I wanted to do. We discussed books (Me: "Killing Lincoln" Jim: "What the Dog Saw" a 680 page tome on its third renewal from the Mesa Library because I haven't started it just yet). We discussed baseball. I even congratulated him on his Oregon Ducks winning some sort of collegiate bowl game.

In late January, in our neighborhood community newsletter, there was a notice a day from someone asking if they had an accountant referral, as theirs had retired. After about six of these notices, I e-mailed Diamond Jim and shared a few of them with him. "Looks like you have left big shoes to fill." I said, not knowing if he was the accountant all of these folks were referring to.

In the beginning of February, around 7 a.m. I got a phone call from Diamond Jim. When I went to answer it, the line went dead. I called him back and he told me he must have pocked dialed me. I didn't push it, but I happen to know Diamond Jim has a touch screen phone. Pocket dialing someone with a touch screen phone is pretty much impossible. Diamond Jim did tell me, if Mrs. Diamond Jim were up to it (her health has been wavering) he was coming back for one more tax year.

As I sat down to write this blog last week, Diamond Jim called me. We caught up and decided we would both be hungry Friday morning around 6:30 a.m. How about we meet at Cindy's Cafe? I came, armed with a red velvet cupcake Buckaroo made for "Uncle Jim" and Girl Scout cookies.

The breakfast was lackluster, but the company was wonderful. Not once did we discuss taxes, but that came this past week when I showed up for the first of two tax appointments. I had never been to Diamond Jim's new offices before (last year I managed to have my taxes done through a series of breakfast meetings). The receptionist seemed truly floored when Diamond Jim came to the lobby and greeted me with the greatest of bear hugs.

During the meeting, while we were discussing my tax options, I asked if he was really, truly retiring. Not to be selfish or anything, but I need to figure out who is doing my taxes next year. I jokingly asked if they have direct flights from Phoenix into Eastern Oregon. He suggested I just fly into Portland and rent a car.

At this time, I believe Diamond Jim plans on making this the last year he commutes for tax season. He needs to focus his energy and time on other pursuits (I suggested he sell real estate in the middle of nowhere). I will miss my friend and tax advisor. But I know he has earned a quiet season in some obscure Eastern Oregon town with Mrs. Diamond Jim.