Timber Jim, in His Own Words

On May 2, 1975, the original Portland Timbers team played their first professional game, against the Seattle Sounders at Civic Stadium (now called Providence Park). They lost. But in a matter of months, the Timbers began racking up wins—and devotees. It took a few years for one of the team’s most legendary fans to make his way to the stands, however. In 1977, per his father’s request, Jim Serrill drove from Idaho to watch soccer legend Pelé, then with the New York Cosmos, play the Seattle Sounders in the North American Soccer League championship. Serrill, his dad, and his siblings all made the game in an unknowingly final family reunion; his father died a few months later. Serrill’s burgeoning love of soccer lived on, and he slowly transformed into Timber Jim, the club’s first “mascot” (he prefers “director of love and celebration”) and the originator of one of the now-MLS team’s most famous rituals, sawing slabs off logs for every team goal. Donning T-shirts and suspenders, Timber Jim would hoist himself up light poles and swing from climbing lines, holding a chainsaw or thump-thumping a drum. But one of the Timbers Army’s most famous fan traditions was born out of heartbreak: After his daughter Hannah died in a car crash, Timber Jim, in a moment of grief, began singing her favorite song, holding her daughter in his arms. Jim’s last full season was in 2007 (he passed the saw on to his successor, Timber Joey), but fans still sing “You Are My Sunshine” at every game. 

My dad said, “We’re going to go to this soccer game, and this guy named Pelé is going to play. He’s very famous.” I didn’t know who he was at the time. It was amazing, the energy in that place was off the hook. I had to drive back to Idaho, and a few months later, I got the phone call. My dad passed away; he drowned in the Columbia River.

We started going to Timbers games, my brother and I. We were basically just fans, sitting in the north end where the Timbers Army is now…. I called the general manager somewhere in the season after my dad passed, and said, “Can I bring a chainsaw to the game? I’ll take the chain off.” He thought I was nuts. But [he did] want somebody to saw slabs off a log. I did helicopter rappelling for the Forest Service; we were the initial attack on forest fires. We would come down on ropes, so I showed him those moves and he said, “Oh, dude, you’re the man.” In the summer of ’78, I went to work for the club—that was just sawing slabs off logs.

We used to bring the log in. We built a cart and I would drag the log in. A 10-foot log, 30 inches thick, it was pretty heavy. Eventually I had kids help me drag it in. That tradition has been elevated, now it’s up on a stand. It truly is unique, it’s a lot of eye candy, and it’s inspiring to the players.

One game, it was really dead, and [Timbers general manager] Keith Williams wanted me to get the crowd pumped. First I told him no, but he said, “Dammit, Jim, we need these people to be jazzed up.” I knew what I wanted to do; I didn’t tell him what I was going to do. There were these light poles, 110-foot wooden poles, with huge crossarms that connected the poles and a light bank up above. So I just snuck up there, tossed my line over the crossarms, and I lowered myself down about 30 feet. I flipped upside down in my harness and started swinging back and forth, and I fired up a chainsaw. Everybody was looking around like, “Where is that noise coming from?” Soon they figured it out, and then the Timbers scored. That was a game-changing moment for me. [Years later, Timber] Joey wanted to do it, but insurance companies, MLS, said, “No way, you’re not doing that anymore. It’s too dangerous.”

After my daughter passed away, I was at a game, and I could just not pretend to be happy anymore…. Hannah was in a car, and there was a headlight-to-headlight. She had her seatbelt on, but she was reclined; her boyfriend fell asleep at the wheel. She died instantly.

That tradition will probably continue, singing “You Are My Sunshine,” Hannah’s favorite song, every game. I’m grateful for that, it keeps her memory alive, but it’s also morphed. It’s now an anthem to the team and the players. For a long time, people said, “Jesus, it’s too downbeat, it’s too sad.” They changed it around, there’s a heavy drumbeat. But the miraculous thing is there are so many goals during that song. It’s like Hannah’s looking down on us, to me. If there’s a “Sunshine” goal, there are a few tears shed.

When I retired, [Timbers then-owner] Merritt Paulson gave me lifetime season tickets. Nobody I know has those, and I’m super grateful. That was a big gift for Diane and I, my wife, and we’ve taken advantage of it. That’s our spring-to-fall activity. I definitely go to every Timbers game, and Thorns, too. I love the Thorns every bit as much as I love the Timbers.

I love [Timber Joey] like a son. I do. He’s gonna sell my house. He has a real estate company. He is so tough, he could hunt bears with a switch. He’s a phenomenal human being. He has taken the role of being—I hate the word mascot, I like to refer to myself as the director of love and celebration. He reads to kids, he does so many events as a representative of the club. He’s become the face of the club. He just oozes kindness; he’s the right guy. I was just having fun.

I understand why it’s important to recognize your traditions, but I think they put me [in the Ring of Honor] because they love me, they genuinely love me. It’s really nice to be loved. I have people come up to me all the time and say, “Thank you for what you did.” And it’s just weird, I never kicked the ball. I never was a soccer player. And for me to be honored with those guys, it’s very humbling.

As told to Brooke Jackson-Glidden. This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.