Morning clouds will give way to sunshine for the afternoon. High 42F. Winds light and variable..

Generally fair. Low around 25F. Winds light and variable.

James W. Hourigan James "Jim, Jimmy" W. Hourigan passed away on November 16, 2025, following a lengthy and complicated relationship with gravity that finally took a turn for the worse. He handled every fall the same way he handled life, with grit, humor, and a refusal to admit it might be time to sit down.

Born on February 8, 1950, Jim lived 75 years fueled by Bud Heavy, stubborn determination, and an unshakable belief that no one, and we mean no one , was going to tell him what to do.

Jim moved to Rotterdam as a toddler in the early 1950s and always spoke warmly of the neighborhood where he grew up. He liked to remind people he was the only Irish kid in an Italian neighborhood, which mostly meant he learned early what real food, especially sauce, was supposed to taste like. One of his favorite stories to tell from those years was about Daisy, the horse who delivered milk and bread up and down the street, a detail he shared often and proudly, as if he alone had grown up in some magical era between The Godfather and Little House on the Prairie.

He graduated from Mohonasen High School in 1968 and went on to attend the University of Tampa, where one might say his lifelong falling troubles truly began. He later attended Siena College.

Jim was notorious for noticing nonsense when it showed up and calling it out. He had a talent for spotting the absurd in just about everything and teaching his kids to laugh at it rather than get swallowed by it. In true Hourigan fashion, his kids took the lesson and ran with it. They carry on his legacy of independence, defiance, and selective hearing. His one grandson is already showing early promise. He was immensely proud of his kids, though he preferred to show it by bragging about them to everyone except them.

He was a girl dad before anyone came up with the term, probably because his own father had been ahead of that curve long, long, before labels existed. He raised his daughter to be a whole person: independent, outspoken, and unafraid to take up space. He taught her that she could hold her own in any room, fix almost anything with the right tool, and never needed anyone's permission to do either.

Jim's working life unfolded in a few distinct chapters, each one marked by his quick wit, loyalty, and ability to keep things running (and people laughing). In his younger days, he worked as a bartender and bar manager, perfecting both the art of a proper pour and the even greater art of handling every kind of personality that came through the door. In his late thirties, he swapped bar stools for service bays, moving into management at Pep Boys, where he was known for knowing his way around both engines and arguments. Eventually, he joined the flour mill at the Port of Albany, where he served as a shop steward and proudly helped organizing efforts to keep the union strong, even after his retirement.

Jim was also known, though only in very select circles, for "the incident" at the Bronx Zoo, where he allegedly saved a group of nuns from a rogue peacock. Details remain unclear, as every telling of the story became more dramatic over the years, but the Sisters maintained he deserved a medal. Jim maintained they should've watched where they were walking.