Will the Real Jason Coker Please Stand Up?
Most of the traffic that ends up here is a result of someone searching for “Jason Coker.” I seriously doubt you’re all looking for me, so I wondered what might be going on and I figured I could, at the very least, help some of you wayward surfers find the guy you’re looking for.
My investigation has revealed a fantastic array of “Jason Cokers” on the interwebs.
Jason Coker the Power Lifter
If you’re searching for Jason Coker, chances are you’re looking for this guy. I assure you, this is not me. Here’s a video of Jason squatting over 900lbs and bench pressing over 800 lbs:
Uh, right. Enough said.
Jason Coker the Video Game Producer
Or you might be looking for Jason Coker the Associate Producer of the Playstation game Pain. Jason apparently also lives in San Diego, but we’ve never met. However, according to this Playstation blog we share something in common related to our name:
“When people ask me, “Hey Coker, what project are you working on?” I reluctantly tell them that it’s PAIN. I say “reluctantly” because I have found that it’s pretty much impossible to…”
Wow, you too? Why is it that sooner or later everyone ends up simply calling us “Coker?” Weird.
Reverend Jason Coker, Wilton Baptist Church
You could be forgiven for mistaking this Jason Coker for me (actually, the far greater danger for poor Rev. Coker is that others might think I am him). Anyway, this Jason Coker is obviously much sharper, having attended Yale Divinity School not Fuller Seminary (like someone I know), and apparently leads a beautiful old church in Wilton, Connecticut. I mean, seriously, check out those church grounds!
I would kill (that is, in the Cameron-Diaz-anonymous-cowardly-murder-by-alien-death-box kind of way) to daily stroll the cloistered halls of a church like this, leafing dusty tome’s of theology and communing with the local fauna. Oh. God. Yes.
Jason Coker, Infielder, UNC at Pembroke Braves
Again – and I can’t stress this enough – I’m not an athlete. The real Jason Coker, on the other hand, shows promise as a collegiate baseball player, with a batting average of 284% and a fielding percentage of 943%. You go Jason.
Here’s where our search turns somber.
Jason Coker, Died January 11, 2005, Automobile Crash
On October 3, 2004, 17-year old Jason Coker, from Tavares Florida was riding in a car with friends Blake and Nicolle. Jason was in the passenger seat and Nicole was driving when Blake – intoxicated and sitting in the back – reached over and inexplicably grabbed the steering wheel, jerking the car sideways and causing the car to flip several times. Jason succumbed to his injuries on January 11, 2005.
The ironic twist is that Jason and Blake were lovers. However, the real reason the story gained media attention was because apparently nobody knew Blake had caused the accident until Blake confessed his guilt and deep grief on his blog:
I did it. It was me who caused it. I turned the wheel. I turned the wheel that sent us off the road, into the concrete drain, and caused the car to flip seven times, ejecting Nicole and crushing Jason. Jason. He’s in a coma. Every bone in his face is broken. All his ribs are crushed. His brain is still swollen. If he comes to be, he may be blind. If he comes to be, he may have permanent brain damage. [...] Am I in denial? It seems as if none of this really happened, have I convinced myself that it didn’t? Do I truly believe Jason will just be okay tomorrow? What if he dies, which is very much a possibility? How can I go on?
One of the things that disturbed me about this story when it first broke was how quickly people rushed to turn it into a cautionary tale about social media. Blake was vilified, not only as a murderer, but (perhaps worse in the eyes of some) as being naive about the public nature of blogging. It was like the collective golem of baby boomers rose up and howled, “We told you blogging was stupid!”
Seriously? Lost in all the ugly, detached judgments about Blake’s stupidity was the incredibly tragic and all-too-common story of parents, friends, and family who lost someone they loved…including Blake.
Jason Coker, Died December 21, 1988, Pan Am Flight 103
On the first day of school after Christmas break during my senior year in High School I walked into my theater class, conspicuously mourning the death of Christmas vacation. The teacher, Mr Abry – an influential mentor – looked at me, turned white and exclaimed, “Jason!” I turned to him and said, “Yes?” To which he stammered, “I thought you were dead!”
I knew about the Lockerbie bombing – it had been the major news story during Christmas that year. 270 people died in a terrorist attack that brought down a transatlantic Pan Am flight. Frankly, it didn’t mean much to me. It was just another tragic event that didn’t reach home.
I didn’t know Jason Coker died on that plane.
Abry had seen Jason’s name listed in a newspaper account of the victims: “Jason Coker, Student.” He believed it was me, perhaps vacationing with my family for the holiday, and was quite shaken upon seeing me stroll into class. Suddenly the tragedy came home. I saw Abry’s genuine love for me in the shadow of grief that still loitered behind profound relief. I wrestled with the thought of another Jason Coker in the world. A real Jason Coker. Now dead. Where had he lived? What was he like? Were we related? Why didn’t we know each other? Uncorked, the absurd questions of an insulated narcissist fizzed to the surface, threatening to spill out – and my tiny life of shallow friends, weekend beer, and superficial girls strained under the weight of a terrifying breadth of reality. Jason walked into my story, a spectral reaper swinging his scythe across the stalks of my naiveté and self-importance.
Jason’s story is tragic, but also inspiring if you look closely enough. He died with 34 other students from Syracuse University, including his twin brother Eric. They were all traveling home from a study abroad trip to London when the bomb ripped their plane apart over Scotland, ending Jason’s future career in journalism and killing 269 other dreams as well. Jason’s close friend, Mike Toole, reflected on Jason’s death 10 years later (the pic above shows Mike on the left and Jason on the right):
Jason’s loss hit me the hardest. He was the first person I met at Syracuse. He was also the first person to dare me to think about the world around me. He was incredibly quick, like a comedian. He could take a person with a huge ego and cut him down to size in an instant. He enjoyed beer, women, and sports like any other 20-year-old guy. But, unlike most 20-year-olds, he was very aware of national and international events. He was well-read. He had traveled to the Soviet Union in high school. It was this passion for learning and exploring that led him to London, and eventually led me there as well.
People have an astonishing impact on each other. Our souls intermingle quickly with those we both like and don’t like, love and judge, honor and hate, and sometimes – as with me and Jason – even with those we’ve never met. Like billiard balls knocking around the table, those collisions tend to transform us by altering our trajectory. Jason’s friendship had a profoundly transforming affect on Mike Toole, and my guess is he changed the lives of countless others as well.
He certainly changed mine.
“If you’re searching for Jason Coker, chances are you’re looking for this guy. I assure you, this is not me. Here’s a video of Jason squatting over 900lbs and bench pressing over 800 lbs:”
Bwahahahahha….yeah, that’s *obviously* not you! *cough* Sorry too mean?
Seriously though, I actually ran into that Coker when I googled your website once as well. Interestingly enough, I had NEVER even heard of the name Coker until you and Jenell came to the Vineyard.
As far as the Cokers who’ve passed on – that actually happened to my dad once. When I was about 6 (three yrs. before my parents spilt), we were all at home when the phone rang. My dad answered only to stun the person on the other end. Long story short, someone from our church had read that a Don Little had passed away and called to give my mother their condolences. My dad quickly set them straight with the way he always answered the phone, “Little’s residence, Don speaking.”. LOL!