Jim Crandall

Jim Crandall died on September 20, 2026, worn out from too many illnesses and physical malfunctions to enumerate. A fall six months earlier triggered an avalanche of woes, but he clung stubbornly to life, buoyed by his conviction that pain is real and suffering is optional. This was the belief that had kept him going for the last 20 or so years of his life—a belief that rested on a foundation of optimism that came from surviving bouts of cluster headaches, cancer, sepsis and the above-mentioned non-enumerable conditions. He was 72.

After growing up in Marshalltown, Iowa, and graduating from Cornell College, Jim moved to Chicago in 1976. He was a left-handed science-and-math type of guy who loved birds, music, and working with his hands. He apprenticed himself to a metalsmith by day (he pierced his ear to see if the earring he was making would dangle correctly) and waited tables at Fondue Stube by night: a career path was not top of mind.

Eventually Jim landed a job in the production department of the Chicago Reader—doing layout and paste-up and absorbing the fundamentals of typography and graphic design. Time passed. He moved to an airy loft where he built his own furniture and fashioned a giant birdcage by taking apart matchstick blinds and reassembling them—all while listening to classical music and rock and roll really loud.

In 1983, Jim married A.J. Buckingham—a right-handed English-and-grammar type of woman who loved literature and writing and knew nothing about classical music. She was delighted by the bird cage and the handmade couch and the fact that he had a vintage tuxedo in his closet and didn’t own a single thing from LL Bean. And when A.J. had to take statistics in graduate school, Jim was able to explain the difference between karma and probability.

Shortly after marrying, Jim enrolled in a weekend program at DePaul to learn computer programming and software design and was likely the first person on his block in Albany Park to have a home computer and his very own daisy-wheel printer. Soon after, he and A.J. and a friend bought a two-flat and moved to then-sleepy Lincoln Square.

Jim continued at the Reader, with a brief interlude at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago as director of communications. Along with freelance design work, he tiled the kitchen counter and the entire bathroom in the new apartment and performed myriad other feats that required a table saw and a shiny red Craftsman tool chest in the basement. His day job morphed from production assistant to computer systems geek.

Parallel to that, efforts to start a family resulted in two miscarriages, so adoption became a project. Told that resumes for open adoption always look better wth a church affiliation, Jim and A.J. checked out St. James, the Episcopal cathedral downtown (excellent music, beautifully stenciled walls—it seemed promising). Jim, who had not been baptized and had no known religious impulses, did a deeper dive than anticipated and was baptized a few months later during the Easter Vigil. Hope Crandall Buckingham arrived on April 1, 1989—four days old and without an owners’ manual. Also barely a week after Jim’s baptism…cause or mere coincidence, one might ask.

The demands of new parenthood superseded attendance at St. James. A year or so later, however, A.J. and Jim checked out All Saints’ —an Episcopal church a little east of Lincoln Square. Rundown and faltering with a tiny congregation, it became Jim’s next big project. He joined the vestry, became a warden, sang in the choir, and had a significant role in bringing it back from the brink of extinction. After his time as warden, he became a mainstay in the choir—which leant a rhythm both literal and figurative to his week and life.

Jim took immediately to being a parent. Indeed, his care and tending and love for Hope carried him through the hardest of times. When life was handing out bodies, Jim got a lemon, and it started acting like a lemon in the 90s. No lemonade ensued. Still, he bicycled and roller bladed and sang his way through the pain. Toy robots appealed to his sense of whimsy and he built a collection. Electric and acoustic guitars were replaced by an assortment of hand drums after he enrolled in classes at the Old Town School of Folk Music. Drumming became a more regular feature of the music at All Saints’.

Jim and A.J. parted ways at the end of 1999 but lived close to each other and did their best to stay connected. Hope lived with Jim, as his work schedule was more flexible (bless the Chicago Reader). They moved through a series of apartments until settling into a condo in Albany Park. Little dogs became central to their lives, and Hope’s friends discovered that Jim’s apartment was a safe haven when one was needed.

Jim’s long run at the Reader came to an end when the paper changed hands in 2007. He took on a number of web and software design projects as he experienced one health challenge after another. He found joy in recipes and food preparation; he never met a small appliance he didn’t like. The Cooking Network became the soundtrack of his increasingly insular life. The irony: cancer treatment had wreaked havoc with his mouth and ability to taste.

Even as the edges of his life narrowed, he remained patient and kind and stoic. His sense of irony remained intact.

The last many months were made easier by his longtime friend Patrice Michaels, who interceded on his behalf to make sure he got the care he needed as his pain slowly gave way to untenable suffering.

Besides his daughter Hope and former wife A.J., Jim is survived by his sister Julie Giove (Sonora, California), brother Tom (Belfast, Maine), half-sister Kristine (Sedona, Arizona), and a number of nieces and nephews.

The family has chosen a private, green cremation.

Services are being held Friday, October 2. Visitation at 1pm, followed by 2pm service at All Saints' Episcopal Church, 4550 N. Hermitage Ave., Chicago. Reception to follow.

Memorial donations may be made to Ravenswood Community Services, https://ravenswoodcommunityservices.org/.

Arrangements by Inclusive Funeral Care, 773-318-1305 or www.InclusiveFuneralCare.com.