Jack Acheson

Oh how our lives come full circle. 

Jack was always so good to everyone in our little tennis group at Wingfield Park. He touched many of us with his quiet wit and remarkable athletic talent. In today's world, with great coaches and facilities, I imagine Jack would have been a world class player... but his spirit might have been too much for the tight structure required in today's athletic world. It does sound like he enjoyed his athletic path from Reno to teaching, working, and inventing. I never did regard Jack as a trailblazer, but it appears he has led his life like a pioneer. After reading the article about Jack's bike and his riding everywhere, I was reminded of my numerous bike rides to Wingfield Park. Every M-F during summer vacation I rode from Vassar and Wells to the courts.

—Sandy Samuelson

I was lucky enough to have worked with Jack in the early 2000s for 4 summers at a country club in a small town (Fitchburg) in Massachusetts.   I was just a young 20 year old that had a young family to take care of.  I was working a full time job while teaching tennis.  My tennis skills wasn’t all that great as I was just a beginner.   During the summers, Jack taught me a lot, not just about tennis but also about life.  Although I worked directly for Jack, he made me felt like we were partners, not like a boss to employee.   We had the same work ethic and didn’t mind getting down and dirty.  Even though we didn’t really know how to resurface the 7 har-tru tennis courts, Jack bought a book on how to do it and we got the contract to do it ourselves.  We even got a contract to resurface private residence courts!  We took any opportunity we can to make money.  Jack was such a handy man too.  We would do all the maintenance of the tennis facility, fixing up the fencing, installing makeshift watering system to make sure that the courts were watered and maintained.  They were the best playing courts around!  

Besides teaching me how to resurface the courts, Jack also taught me how to restring racquets for clients and how to teach tennis.  Jack taught me the one handed backhand (I was an 2 hander) after admiring Jacks one hander.  Some would even say that my 1 hander looks just as good as Roger Federer (maybe a close 2nd ).  

The 4 fond years that we spent the summer together, I learned a lot from Jack.  Till this day, I’m still playing tennis, teaching and coaching tennis to clients of all ages, and stringing tennis racquets for clients.  My passion and love for tennis all started with those summers spent together teaching and playing tennis on the har tru courts.  Everytime I play tennis on the har-tru courts, I’ll always remember Jack.  Everytime someone compliment  my 1 handed backhand, I would think of Jack and explained to them how this one pro from Utah came for the summer and worked on it all summer to make it look so good. 

Jack lived simply and although our communication was sporadic through the years, he was always on my mind.  Even when Jack leaves this earth, he will always be on my mind because I know that I will continue to play tennis until I can’t walk anymore and every sweet one handed backhand winner that I hit I know that I would have made him proud.

—Hung Trieu

Jack came into my life in 2007 when he acquired the old mansion on the corner of Jefferson and 24th that had been converted into apartments. I worked at the library and Jack was a habitual visitor. His lurching gait, loud voice, and assertive manner was perhaps off-putting for some of the staff so I would be called upon to deal with him. 

What I recognized immediately was a kindred spirit. Not fitting into the Utah norm was the main thing Jack and I shared. We made a fine pair of refugees from the utopian 1960-70s washed up on an alien shore. I've lived in Utah since 1982 and in all that time I've never had a friend here who understood me better.

My wife, Suzanne Hogan, had her own professional encounters at the library with Jack and for the most part enjoyed his company, though he was a challenging presence. He was always alert and aware of all the social norms he was violating by his mere presence. His soigne attitude was something I deeply admired. To all outward appearances, Jack might seem some kind of bum or lost soul. Au contraire, underneath that rough exterior was a true gentleman with stories to share of a globe-trotting life you could only dream of.

It was always a memorable visit when Jack would bike across town to visit. He would announce his presence by giving a pull to the dinner bell mounted on our bike shed, then gleefully bike through our backyard orchard. He called us “landed gentry,” gently mocking our bourgeoise pretensions and responsibilities.

We loved Jack’s extemporaneous appearances, showing up unannounced, never overstaying his welcome. Reciprocating visits was fun and easy. After Suzanne and I retired there were many occasions when our paths crossed at the library, the nexus of our three lives.

Sometimes I would cross paths with Jack while biking across town, then we would bend our ways together. Being retired and biking backstreets with Jack made me feel like a kid again.  Biking along with Jack at an easy rambling pace was fun and almost certainly to be an educational encounter. There was very little in American society and culture than he didn't already know of or have an opinion about.

I'm sure it wasn't easy for Jack to ask me to chauffeur him to the U. of Utah for his cataract operations because he was so adamantly independent. On those long drives back and forth to Salt Lake City is when I got to know a lot more about Jack's family, his parents, his uncles, and their adventures in Alaska, Seattle, and Nevada.

It was my daughter Mieka who came up with the name of Cataract Jack. He didn't seem to mind.

—Bob Sawatzki