Jerry Mitchell had a charming behavioral trait. When he engaged in a conversation with you, his head would shake. Nothing dramatic. It was slight, subtle. But his head would shake, as though it was accompanying the inflection of his voice. Most of us do this now and then, in emphasizing a point or trying to capture someone’s attention. Jerry Mitchell’s head shook in every conversation. He was fully engaged — all the time — and enthusiastic about speaking with you, regardless of the subject. I never saw Jerry argue a case in a courtroom, but this had to be a form of performance art in his profession.
This trait grew problematic for Jerry, though, on Halloween. He could cover his entire head with a monstrous mask, and even disguise his voice. But Jerry simply could not disguise himself, not if he spoke so much as two words. That growling ghoul with the subtle headshake? Hey there, Jerry! Happy Halloween! (My source for such an encounter is my wife, who spent a few years as a paralegal with Thomason Hendrix Harvey Johnson & Mitchell.)
I’ll remember his uplifting vibe, his wise perspective on the things that matter most, and leaving our conversations — every one of them — feeling better for having engaged.
Jerry, who died on August 26th (four days shy of his 79th birthday), served many years as legal counsel for Contemporary Media. You may know we’ve covered our share of controversial topics (and people) over the years, particularly since the Memphis Flyer increased our publishing frequency from monthly to weekly in 1989. Jerry’s wisdom and multilayered reasoning were invaluable on countless occasions. That friend who keeps you out of hot water? Keep him (or her) near. And listen carefully when he (or she) speaks. Whether or not there’s a shake for emphasis.
On a personal level, Jerry was somewhat of an uncle to me. He and my father, Frank Murtaugh Jr. (an only child), were running buddies throughout their youth in Memphis, graduating together from Central High School in 1960. Jerry was a groomsman in my parents’ wedding. His high school senior picture adorned a wall in my parents’ family room.
When my dad died suddenly in September 2005, Jerry almost beat me to Northfield, Vermont, where my parents lived at the time. He was there early enough to greet most of our guests during that challenging time. On the day of my dad’s memorial service, I asked Jerry how he sees (present tense) Dad when he thinks of him. Age 17? Age 30? Age 60? He told me he had always pictured Dad as a teenager, and always would. That resonated with me then, and has ever since. Those friends who remember us when we were young — and help keep us young as the years go by — are among life’s treasured jewels.
My last visit with Jerry came in 2017, at a book-signing Burke’s hosted for me. It was not the kind of gathering for which Jerry Mitchell would have been counted absent had he not appeared. But he was there, and he made me feel like a part of my father was there, smiling at me on a significant day in my life.
Being of my parents’ generation, teenage Jerry is not someone I’ll be able to say I remember. But I’ll remember his uplifting vibe, his wise perspective on the things that matter most, and leaving our conversations — every one of them — feeling better for having engaged. And Jerry’s headshake. I’ll remember that. Always with a smile.
We at Contemporary Media offer our condolences to the Mitchell family and his many friends.
