“Jason Richards Martin, 52, passed away unexpectedly of natural causes at his home on July 4, 2026. While his passing came far too soon, the impact he made on the lives of so many will be remembered for years to come.”
So began the obituary this week for our friend Jason “Big Jim” Martin, a husky, big-hearted, “Aw, shucks” kind of guy who was quick to laugh and slug-slow to seek a spotlight. The “Big Jim,” with all sorts of variations, was a sort of inside joke between him and his buddies, of which he had tons.
He had other nicknames too. “Gentle Giant” was the one most tossed around during several short and from-the-heart eulogies Monday morning at his service in Ruston. “Servant Leader” was another.
Other handles were son, brother, uncle, golf partner — solid player who could hit it a country mile — dependable sidekick, adopted family member.
As “famous” is generally understood, Jason was not famous. Unless you were us. “Us” being people who saw him all the time, people who really knew him. So when the holiday weekend news came of his passing, the immediate feeling was of loss, not just for ourselves but for everybody. The world had lost a friend it didn’t know it had, a friend the world didn’t know it needed.
He was that kind of famous, made that kind of in-the-shadows impact. “A life of quiet service,” his obituary read.
Amen to that.
Jason didn’t want to be a groomsman in one of his best friend’s wedding. Even being an usher was too much spotlight for Jason. But to help out with the honeymoon by being the long-distance airport cabbie for the couple? Bingo. Big Jim was your guy.
He didn’t want to be a distraction beyond that hole in the wall in the sanctuary when he ran the sound system for Sunday morning services. Instead, a blind was hung so he could be the opposite of seen but not heard: you could hear the preacher and you couldn’t see him.
We call that “serving The Big Jim Way.”
He was an equipment manager as a Louisiana Tech student after he graduated from Ruston High in 1991, then on the payroll as head of all athletic equipment years later. There are few jobs more invisible to the masses and more important to a coaching staff than that one. Being invisible is one of the job requirements. Be efficient, tie every loose end, be invisible. Be an ear and a shoulder for teammates who need it. Serve and let the big dogs eat.
Right down Big Jim’s alley.
In the service Monday were several peers like Dan Takata along with “kids” he’d worked with, now young men, students he’d managed while they’d literally managed together down West Alabama Avenue at Joe Aillet Stadium and in each of America’s time zones. Ethan Porta. Cam Ayers. Russ Hillhouse. Dempsey Flannery. Brayden Wilkinson. Like most everyone else, they were in Tech gear, as the family had, for Jason’s service, requested. Unlike everyone else, they’d been with Jason at literally every hour of the day, working side by side, learning how it’s done, how to be loyal, how to be selfless, how to be kind in chaos.
He evolved last year out of Athletics and into the University’s residential life department. In a way, his job hadn’t changed: he was still making students feel at home away from home.
“You raised an amazing man,” one of his golf buddies, fellow managers, and “adopted” brothers Marty Stokley said Monday to Jason’s family in a short testimony to his friend. “I was lucky to be his friend. It was an honor to know him.”
Contact Teddy at teddy@latech.edu