Jim's nephew Christian followed him into the business and remembered him beautifully. Jim covered the Twins when I was a kid, and I thought his job sounded like just about the coolest damn thing in the world. When I was 16, he invited me to shadow him at a Mariners game, from the press box to the clubhouse. Let me tell you: there are few things that could have impressed 16-year-old me more than seeing Dave Freaking Niehaus greet my uncle like they were old pals. There was no ego, no gatekeeping. Those old writers who joke that the best advice for aspiring journalists is “don't do it” — Jim would never. He was thrilled that I admired him, and was never too busy to read whatever dogshit story I'd sent him to look over, never failing to offer encouragement in return. Before he filed a big story, Jim might email me two different versions of the lede, asking which I liked better. He was a night owl, and we'd sometimes exchange messages until 2 a.m., discussing the craft or simply exchanging jokes. I got to see him work up close in the summer of 2009, when I covered the Mariners as an intern for MLB.com. The job didn't pay that year, so Jim and Vicki invited me to stay at their house, rent free. I declined at first, not wanting to impose. Jim called me the next day. “I insist,” he said. The next three months were like a coming-of-age movie with no conflict. I drove my uncle's car to and from the ballpark, and would deconstruct the day's happenings when I arrived home, usually after midnight, Jim still typing away in his office. He'd make three different phone calls for three different stories one day, and catch a flight to St. Louis or Los Angeles or New York the next. Jim and Vicki included me in their social life, too, inviting me along to outdoor movies or to meet friends at a bar somewhere in Seattle. They were always on the go, always having fun, always in search of the next adventure. Late in my internship, Jim asked if I wanted to get lunch before a Mariners game. After we sat down, he said: “Hey, I just wanted to tell you what a great job you're doing. Just keep showing up.” A few years later, when I worked at The (Tacoma) News Tribune, I'd cover the occasional Mariners game so Bob Dutton, the beat writer, could take a day off. Sometimes, Jim would show up at the park, too, to interview a player or manager or simply work in the press box, just because he liked being at the game. We'd chat in the clubhouse and eat lunch together. Then I would go write, and he would go write, and it occurred to me only recently that these were some of my favorite days, my uncle and I showing up to the same place to do the same job, like it was the most normal thing in the world. A few years ago, Jim did some freelancing for The Athletic, overlapping with my time there. I took a screen-shot of the Seattle site's home page one day. Our bylines were right next to each other. https://www.onmontlake.com/p/remembering-jim-caplehttps://www.onmontlake.com/p/remembering-jim-caple