Jerry Nusbaum
Oct. 25, 1941 - Dec. 24, 2023

Jerry Wayne Nusbaum was born on October 25, 1941 in Elkhart, Indiana, a milling town which by the time the war started had become a Midwestern rail hub within hitchhiking distance to South Bend.

He grew up with his mom, Frances, a telephone operator, and his elder brother, Richard, in his grandfather’s house on Potawatomi Street with plenty of extended family nearby. A solid beginning.

After a stellar career in Catholic high school and some short but interesting retail jobs, he joined the Marine Corps as had Wayne, his father, who served in WWI. The Marines brought him to San Diego in 1959 to fix radios, and after his stateside tour ended in ’61, he visited his mom in Elkhart and then migrated back to California, first to San Francisco, where Richard was working, and eventually to Humboldt, to go to school where he could read as much as he liked.

At Humboldt he again excelled, earning a degree in English, a Green and Gold Key, some Who’s Hooey, and friends to last a lifetime. While there he dabbled in the theater, and was much appreciated for his steadfastness and willingness to take on any job.

Jerry had skills, habits of neatness and order, and plenty of nervous energy, so he always found work — interesting work where he could learn something or go some unusual place he’d never been. Baking, building, planting trees, restoring streams, checking IDs … work was work. And when he didn’t want to work, he didn’t. A job was a means to some other end probably found along a hiking trail or near a river or discovered while paddling the bay or taking a hard role in a challenging play.

Most consistently over the years were working as a carpenter for Bob Schultze, acting in dozens of local theater productions and stage managing a dozen more, and over two decades spending his winter months on the Farallon Islands off San Francisco, where he baked bread and counted birds and painted numbers on the backs of elephant seals. The Farallons are a special place, sitting as they do on the Continental shelf, and Jerry quickly picked up the way of the work there and gradually took on more responsibility. At one point he’d spent nearly 1,700 nights on the island, the third-highest of all time. He was tasked to hire and supervise the younger researchers who would come to work on the Island. Many talented young men and women got their start in field research when Jerry was hiring. They adored him.

Back at home in Arcata he danced at the Jambalaya, walked the marsh and the hill trails, went out in his boat, rehearsed a play, made some nice woman feel special and loved.

Every election when he was in town, he worked precinct 300110 (3A -7), where he stayed the course of democracy and visited with the folks who lived in his neighborhood.

Jerry said: “Never do for free what you do for money” and “There are only two important books, the one I’m reading now and the one I’ll read next.” He would talk with anyone about everything.

Jerry was a solitary soul who paid his own way, pulled his own weight, and was loved well and often — equal to the love he gave. His friendships are legendary, his correspondence voluminous, his five decades of journals an eloquent companion to his adventuresome travel thru the compelling landscapes of his life.

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