Joseph Julian
In Memory of
Joseph James "Jimmy"
Julian
1947 - 2018
Memorial Candle Tribute From
Bibber Memorial Chapel
"We are honored to provide this Book of Memories to the family."
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Memorial Candle Tribute From
Sandy Lepine
"So sorry to hear of Joe's passing. I taught with Joe at BMHS and will always rem"
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Memorial Candle Tribute From
Judith Cervone
"Dear Heidi, my sincere condolences! You have never left my thoughts and Don and "
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Memorial Candle Tribute From
Peter Ference
"God Bless Prayers to all of your friends and family"
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Condolences

Condolence From: Bud Krouse
Condolence: Dear Heidi,
I taught with Joe at McMahon for 26 years and both of my daughters had him for geometry when they were freshman. Both of my daughters accompanied Joe and I on fishing trips on the Sound after school but my youngest daughter Sarah was the real fisherman of my two daughters. Rebecca believed in catching not fishing and often opted out of “fishing” trips. Know that our family loved and admired Joe (even if he put Ketchup on tuna sandwiches) and we count knowing him as a blessing in our lives.
Bud Krouse
Sunday May 13, 2018
Condolence From: Steven A. Baird
Condolence: Dear Heidi and family,
As your Realtor as you moved to Maine, I got to know you. There are some people that you have a sale and then there are people like Joe and Heidi that you want to have a connection with. Joe was the kind of guy that you wanted to get to know more. He was an angel on earth. You loved him from day one!
Joe was taken at an early age, but the good Lord needed him in heaven to help out!!
Heidi all of us love you and if there is anything we can do, please let us know.
Hugs and blessings,
Steve Baird
Wednesday May 02, 2018
Condolence From: Steve Gianantoni
Condolence: I just want to offer my deepest condolences to you and your family, Heidi. May the good Lord bless all of you during this most difficult of times.

Sincerely,

Steve Gianantoni
Monday April 30, 2018
Condolence From: Richard and Bettyann Lupia
Condolence: We are so sorry to hear of Jim's passing. I think back on all the times in Oxford that we had together. I remember all our neighborhood softball games and our volleyball team. As our neighbor for years, I remember his love and passion for fishing. Our sincere condolence to you and your family.
Monday April 30, 2018
Condolence From: Arthur Gately
Condolence: Heidi

Our lives have all been changed by this terribly sad and shockingly sudden news. The loss of Joe is a cruel blow to his many friends and I'm sure is devastating to you and the boys. Our hearts are with you.

To have been lucky enough to know him was truly a gift and to lose him is heartbreaking. I well remember how kind, considerate, and helpful he was to me during my recent physical problems and I will never forget it.

There was no disputing Joe's skills as a fisherman, but the important thing was that he shared his knowledge, was generous with his time , and was always willing to help and teach others.

Joe was personality plus; kind, generous, thoughtful, and so very much fun to be around. He will be so remembered; so missed. I will never again be able to cross the Ogunquit Bridge without a tear in my eye as I glance northward to the turn in the river where he caught so many fish and lovingly, yes lovingly, released. We call that spot Joe's Bend.

Goodbye pal, we'll think of you often

tight lines

Sunday April 29, 2018
Condolence From: Paul Sénéchal
Condolence: Heidi
I just finished reading about the Jimmy's passing in this mornings Courant. I am at a loss for words on what to say.
I still picture us as teenagers in Stafford Springs without cares in the world and can't imagine that was over 50 years ago.
My extreme condolences to you, your children, Jerry and the rest of the Julian and Wagoner families for such a loss.

Paul Sénéchal
Sunday April 29, 2018
Condolence From: Gary Gelormino
Condolence: My condolences go to Joe's wife and family. I truly enjoyed striper fishing with him in Maine. His deep passion for fly fishing was second to none. Many good memories and the Farmington and the Ogonquit Rivers.
Rest In Peace
Gary Gelormino
New Hartford,CT
Sunday April 29, 2018
Condolence From: dr john rothschild
Condolence: i also met Joe last fall through my friend Leon; before i arrived Joe told me what to bring, and we spent two mornings together while he patiently tried to get me a striper on the fly; i didn’t succeed but it really didn’t matter ; Joe did very little fishing himself those 2 days but watching him cast was like listening to the slow movement of a symphony- effortless grace with that line shooting out 90 feet ; i was certainly looking forward to seeing and talking with him again in the fall ; a good man gone much too soon
my sincere condolences to his family
john rothschild
Saturday April 28, 2018
Condolence From: Josh Pinchuk
Condolence: A few years ago I was surf casting for stripers in Ogunquit with my cousin Leon. Noticing that some guys were fly fishing in the River, I mentioned to him that I loved fly fishing and was unaware that you can catch stripers on a fly. That afternoon he introduced me to Joe (one of the guys on the river). Joe, without any hesitation offered me some hand tied flies and told me try them out. That evening’s outgoing tide I went back to the river with my fly rod and stood in the river not far from Joe watching him catch and release one fish after another. It was a pleasure to see how easy he made it look; he was one with his gear. After about a half hour he noticed I hadn’t caught a single fish so he called me over and told me take his spot. He told me to stand where he said was the best place to stand and, to cast over there (he pointed). He stayed with me for about ten minutes and coached me until I caught my first striper on a fly rod. Over the following years he would have new flies for me and never asked for anything other than making sure I would use them. He was the ultimate teacher a great fisherman and real gentleman. I will never forget him.

Josh from Montreal
Saturday April 28, 2018
Condolence From: George Jacobi
Condolence: An Empty Space on the River: Ode to Joe Julian ©GeorgeJacobi2018
(This will go some TU Chapter newsletters)

Jay called me up this morning with the sad news that Joe had passed away. Spring had been slow getting going this year and I hadn’t even gone out yet, but I was ready. Hendricksons were hatching here in eastern Connecticut and Pete said the Baetis Vagans ( #18 BWOs) were going good at the Farmington. Coming out of the bottom of the dam, the Farmington runs colder than every river in Connecticut and everything happens later. Turns out that later can be too late.

I have trained myself (poorly, I admit) to get up at night when a decent writing idea comes along even if it means sacrificing sleep. Last night I pulled it off and scribbled down the following paragraph:

Every time you see a mayfly you think how fragile and short its life is. That magic little bug that means everything to us stream-focused humans, that delicate lifeform that dances above running waters for brief hours and then becomes trout food, returning its body to the never-ending cycle of nature…yes, THAT poignantly ephemeral creature. You don’t know, the very moment you watch it, if it will outlive you. That’s right. No matter how strong you feel, no matter how weak you feel, the next minute of your own precious existence is imaginary.

We have a limited perspective. In my limited perspective, I’d rather not be writing this now. I knew Joe was sick and they couldn’t figure out what was wrong. We had cheerfully ranted about the past – and of course the future – in late fall alongside the water. And we shot the bull over the phone during the long winter. Was I prescient last night? Was I cosmic? Don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. This comes as a painful surprise.

In the ‘80s the Housatonic blossomed as a trout fishery, not that it wasn’t good before. Newly made into a No-Kill Trout Management Area and full of millions of mayflies, caddisflies, and every other aquatic insect, it drew us in from wherever we lived. The state DEP worked hard at it. Spring water releases from the Falls Village Dam would get to the lower end of the Trout Management Area at noon or so, but were rarely high enough to prohibit wading. The water stayed just cool enough and the brown trout grew fat on that diet, a gift of the rich limestone valley. Thick hatches of Ephemerella Subvaria, the “Hendrickson” of classic fly fishing lore, were consistent and covered the afternoon pools with little gray sailboats. I started showing up regularly despite the 2 hour drive and found myself at the Sand Hole; you couldn’t miss the many riseforms no matter how fast you drove by. Wide and easy to wade, the Sand Hole beckoned. Some of my happiest days fly fishing began then and there, and lasted for almost ten years. I met new friends. Pete and Jay were ubiquitous, as were Joe, Tommy, and E.T. (Ed). Sometimes Joe’s sons Jim or Jeremy tagged along. Between the group of us, we appeared to fill up the Sand Hole, so every other car or truck full of anglers would slow, then speed up again and pass by in search of some other spot to fish. Gleeful, we shared that pool freely, switching around so that each of us caught and released plenty of trout, our individual techniques working on fish that otherwise would have become stale and selective. We got to know each other. Pete always had a wide-brimmed white hat (still does), the one that made him into a postcard figure. He bought every one of those postcards with him on them; he’ll send you one today if you ask. Joe was “Joe Redbeard” at first. He always had that camo jacket on and he called each of us “Little Buddy”. I hope Jeremy and Jimmy knew while hanging out with their Dad what I too eventually knew – it doesn’t get much better than this.

All of us retain a bond from those Sand Hole times, though nothing remains the same. The Housatonic, while still a fine fishery, has lost the glamour of that decade. Most of our time now is spent fishing in the Farmington River, or someplace else. Maine, Pennsylvania, and the Catskills are close. Stripers and False Albacore call out from the New England shore. Yellowstone and the Bighorn await our regular visits. One August day in the Nineties, who knows exactly when, I was fishing the difficult braided channels just upstream from 3-Mile Access on the ‘Horn. You could get happily lost in there, lose track of where they were shallow enough to cross. PMDs were on the surface, and I hooked a pretty good brown on a dry. There were enough rocks and logjams for a fish to get into and I had to play the trout for real, using the rod as a lever, turning his head, keeping him off balance until he was spent. It took a while.

As I slipped the net under him and lifted, Joe’s voice surprised me from behind. He congratulated me on doing it skillfully, that it had been a joy to watch. Nice going, little buddy. The same could be said for every time I watched Joe land a trout; he was good, really good. Joe showed up at the Farmington all the time despite having retired to Maine, and shared stories of the Mousam and other rivers. I can’t think of anybody that was as full of enthusiasm for fly fishing, as appreciative of the joy spent on and in moving water.

Today the river went on by, oblivious to those of us on the bank with rods. Yet spring came with an explosion; Cowbirds showed up, Garter Snakes, Bumblebees, some Warblers, and those little tiny blue butterflies. No matter how late, spring always shows up. Always. Indigenous Americans have a philosophy that time is not a one-way street, a series of moments that cannot be relived. Time to them runs circles around us, a river that you can step in and out of at will. If so, somewhere we may still be waist deep in the Housatonic, swallows circling above. Hendricksons float by and disappear as fat trout, heads coming out of the water, eat steadily. The Mayflies are vibrantly alive, dodging death from above and below, flying fast toward sheltering Sycamores. We’re laughing about the wonder of it all, just some guys on a river on a spring afternoon.

Friday April 27, 2018
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