Lt. James Marshall Black

Born on May 17th, 1971 in Silver Spring, MD to Randall Marshall Black and Kathryn Pendleton Kenney, James passed away suddenly on September 17th, 2024. His wife, Anne, his children, Katelyn, Victoria, Corey and Connor, his sister, Kathleen, his mother, Kathryn, his many friends and fellow officers, and all those he touched during his 53 years will miss his brilliance, his love and, most of all, his stories and his laughter.

Jim was a man born several hundred years after his time. His concepts of self, honor, loyalty and right were formed from countless novels of heroes defying the odds with spectacular brilliance. He dreamt of becoming a United States Marine or joining the Police Department. He spent a lifetime adapting his foundational truths to his life and career. And he gloried and suffered for it. His life story is full of humor wrapped around the juxtaposition of his ideals and the world around him.

His childhood and young adulthood was spent being tormented by his sister and his best friend. He was severely allergic to peanuts (but not the oil!) and his sister used to sit on his bed eating Reese’s Peanut Butter cups as messily as possible. His best friend repeatedly fed him delicious food like lobster until he collapsed on their apartment floor and developed shellfish allergies. Somehow he not only survived all those attempts on his life, but also continued to forgive them both. Luckily, his Uncle Bill was around to inject some normalcy in his life. 

But between episodes of anaphylactic shock (which lasted his whole life), Jim consumed books with a truly voracious appetite. If it wasn’t Sci-Fi or Fantasy novel, it was D&D rulebooks, or Shadowrun, or Werewolf: The Apocalypse, or Warhammer 40K. Followed shortly by Jim abusing those rules with his signature genius to confound and infuriate his fellow players and whatever poor sod was attempting to GM the game. Pity the fool that was in a game where Jim was gamemaster. Dice were often thrown with more vigor than was strictly necessary in those sessions. His campaigns were complex, full of plot twists and supporting material, not to mention oddities like “sentient wheelbarrows.”. His voice-acting was superb and brought the NPCs to life. And he was particularly proud of the new table that he and Anne had built, complete with a map board inside the table. Unfortunately, he couldn’t draw worth a damn so you couldn’t really figure out if you should go left or right… Luckily, Jim was often late to those sessions so his players weren’t subjected to too much abuse.

Jim was never on time, except for work–despite often driving like a maniac, he arrived as if he’d walked uphill both ways in the snow while wearing a kilt. His childhood friends would often tell him they were meeting up at least two hours before anyone else was showing up. And he’d still be late. But his arrival was always heralded by his infectious belly-laugh giggle and some epic story about his recent adventures at work.

His stories from his early days at 6D where he learned the art and science of policing regaled his friends, family and fellow officers with lessons from an era long-past. Each story from his 27 year long career gave glimpses into his brilliance, his commitment and his leadership. His tenure at Robbery Intervention Program and Intel showcased this most broadly as he tackled city-wide crime problems, often with a flair and panache that defied convention–particularly when he showed up on-scene in a leather jacket and his cowboy hat. As a Sergeant and Lieutenant, particularly in 4D where he ended his tour of duty, he could often be heard cursing “what’s wrong with you?” and then offering sage advice to mentor the next generation of officers. Moreover, he led by example. He was first through the door and last to leave. And the consequences of doing the right thing never stopped him.

Those consequences were often the poignant moral of a story that no one could ever figure out how to apply to their own lives. The story itself however was always funny. They ranged from climbing down a 100 year old sewage drain in the rain in an attempt to collect a key fob that had already washed away to gremlins that broke everything in his house from sump pumps to bird feeders.

This was compounded by a persistent curse on his luck that he long suspected was cast by a gypsy at a county fair he attended as a child. As a young man, a simple run to pick up drinks resulted in dodging through four lanes of traffic into a gas station which somehow did not result in a flaming pyre of his gold Firebird. It did, however, result in the interior of his beloved Firebird being decorated in coca-cola. Later, his best friend broke his nose while sparring with him which resulted in epic snoring that his partners had to suffer for many many years. It wasn’t until he attempted to bash his face thru his keyboard and desk while on the job that he was able to afford the corrective surgery to fix that slightly crooked large nose of his. But his brutal willingness to soldier on through the adversity of his luck was legendary amongst those who knew him. And it all made awesome material for him to tell his stories. He found humor in everything.

His children and wife were often the brunt of the worst of that humor. He once trolled his daughter on her background check for a new job. His giggle was most infectious when he was throwing down a solid zinger in a conversation. Many was the time that you could find him staring at his phone, furiously finger pecking a message while chortling helplessly to himself. Truth be told, it took many years to develop that into a honed skill. In the early days, he more often grumbled and grumped (a preview of his older self) when his jokes didn’t land.

In later years, he rediscovered his life long love of hiking and birds. He’d hike over to his front porch, refill the bird feeder and lean against his truck nursing a Blue Monster energy drink while naming birds and glaring “get off my lawn” at some random stranger across the street. Sitting with him in those moments, you’d get to hear a lifetime of stories. If you happened to walk with him along the Billy Goat trail at Great Falls, he’d grumble about how easy it was when he was younger, ignoring the fact that his 6’4” giant stature allowed him to scramble up boulders as if it was a toddlers playground.

He was also convinced the Zombie Apocalypse was coming. His collections of weaponry, survival gear, and developing theories were a constant source of inspiration for his friends and colleagues. Thankfully, his wife, Anne, indulged him – and may have actively supported his addiction to ZombieTools. Raised on Red Dawn, Army of Darkness, Aliens, and Die Hard, Jim had countless hours of Hollywood Action flicks to evangelize him. He preached often three cardinal rules:

1. Always carry a knife. Preferably a tomahawk or a sword, but a knife will do. In fact, carry 3 or 4 knives, that way you have a couple you can throw too. Joo want Axe?

2. Always have a way to start a fire. Preferably more than one. His zippo collection and the beloved digital plasma torch that Anne (who is a DCFD Arson Investigator) gifted him were always to be found in his pockets.

3. Something something something, he lost us on 1 & 2.

Beyond his love of zombies and apocalypses, Jim was known to be the guy that always showed up. Again, he might be a couple hours late, but when it mattered, or the fancy struck him, he showed up. He might show up to kidnap you and drive 15 hours to get to Boca to visit his sister Kat (do the math, their origin was Rockville, MD) or take you off base and AWOL to attend a friend’s wedding. He might show up to collect your gear and keep you from a big mistake. He might show up to drag you to Dumb and Dumber when you’re sick with laryngitis then spend the whole movie laughing at your wheezing and gasping. 

His laughter was infectious. So much so that his friends and family could hear it in their heads even when he wasn’t there. His influence on all those he met resonated similarly. No matter how long or short your relationship with Jim, it left a lasting impression. 

His words, his wisdom, his friendship, his love and his maniacal belly-laugh giggle will be missed by many. 

Semper Fi

'til Valhalla

Bona Na Croin