08/12/2025
To everyone that was part of this event or contributed to it in any way, you made a huge difference. We all compete against each other on a weekly basis, and it can get fierce, but at the end if the day, no group comes together to help and support one of their own like we do.
A message from Jeff’s wife Debbie…
“Yesterday we went to a Memorial Fishing Tournament in honor of Jeffrey Da Hammer Siska. Huge thanks to Jim Templin, Logan McKenzie and everyone else that put that together, donated things and showed up. It was emotional to be in Jeff's element, without him, but it made me understand why he loved it so much because the friends he made there are some incredible people. I had hoped to read my eulogy to Jeff, because I wanted to share some stories about him with all of his fishing friends, but Logan handed me a plaque they had made and I knew I was not going to be able to control my emotions to read it to them. So we all want to be sure you all know how much we appreciated what you did. I'm posting my eulogy below.
Jeff and I met when we were very young, 45 years ago. I started dating him when I was 16 years old. He was not what my Dad had envisioned for me. He drove a van, you know a "bedroom on wheels" He beeped instead of coming to the door. My Dad was so excited when I said that he got a new car. Until he drove up to the house in a 1965 Cherry Red Nova race car. It was the loudest car I’ve ever heard, of course, everything about Jeff was loud. I am confident I saw my Dad age in front of my eyes and possibly he was missing the van at that point. I am 100% sure my neighbors were.
He had his demons. Something he fought, failed, fought, failed for a good portion of his life. He went through it all, hit rock bottom and started to crawl out of that hole. Eventually he was able to trade one addiction for another – our kids sports. Addy wasn’t born yet, so it was Ashley and Alexis, and both were pretty athletic. Well Jeff threw everything he had into their sports, I mean everything, every single penny, every single second of his time was spent practicing with them, coaching them, enjoying every minute of it. He would have done anything for them. They didn’t realize it at the time, but they saved his life. If you know Jeff, you know he did nothing in a small way. Jeff wore outfits that matched the kids uniforms, down to the sliding short. He dressed like that for each and every game. Neon green, neon yellow, hot pink – it didn’t matter. I am not going to lie, when they played with teams that wore black and red, it was a relief to see him like that versus looking like a glow stick. One time we were at a tournament, I believe in Colorado. Jeff had gotten Ashley some Oakley sunglasses that matched her uniform, of course. . This tournament was one where the games were in different parks all across the city. You’d get done with one game, and drive a few miles to a different park. Ashley had left her glasses hanging on the fence - when we realized it, Jeff zipped back to the previous park and sadly her $300 glasses were “missing”. Jeff lost his mind, he had to buy her new glasses, he was obsessed - so that night we found a Dick’s Sporting Goods, but it had just closed. Jeff started banging on the door. Finally a worker came and said “we’re closed” Jeff started begging, pleading, practically crying, until the guy opened the door, turned all the lights on, and opened a register for him and he got her another pair of Oakley’s – matching of course.
Another time, we were in some state for Alexis. We were all in a hotel room together and he was snoring, very loudly. Alexis couldn’t sleep. She had to pitch the next day, more than likely she was going to have to pitch many games since it was a tournament we probably had to be at the field at 5;30 in the morning. Finally she launches a pillow at him and starts screaming that she can’t pitch if she can’t sleep. Jeff didn’t say a word, he got up left the room and slept in his truck that night so that Alexis could be at her best.
When Addy was born, he would bring her to every practice, every game and as intent as he was that HE matched…he literally didn’t care what this kid looked like. Did it match? Nope. Did it fit? Nope… Addy went a different path, she was the artistic one. She decided she wanted to sing. Got her singing lessons, She wanted to play euekele – off he went to buy one of those. Changed it to guitar, got her one of those. I found him in the office one day watching guitar 101 videos and I said what are you doing? He says what if she needs help, I want to be able to help.
He didn’t only care about his kids, he cared about everyones kids. One beautiful young lady posted this message when she heard he died and it says everything you need to know about him. "Jeffrey Da Hammer Siska you were more of a father to me then any male figure that was supposed to take on the role.
You were a coach who never gave up on me, challenged me, and held me accountable. You also always made sure I had everything I needed to play. You always looked out for us, believed in us, and picked us up!!!!"
Another player wrote: "With out jeff I never would have been the person or pitch I was. I never would have made it out of high school."
Jeff was the kind of man who showed up. Over and over again.
As anyone that knew him knew, he was a talker. When we would go on vacation, on day 2 we’d get to the pool and people would be screaming out his name, “Jeff!” “Hey Chicago” and I’d say what is happening? He’d say something like, Oh I met Joe in the lobby, Laura – she’s from Minnesota and I talked to her when I was getting coffee and on and on. We were there less than 24 hours, and he knew more people on the pool deck than I knew in my office.
He also showed up for my mom, especially in her later years as she struggled with dementia. After my dad passed, she stopped going out, but Jeff made her feel cared for — bringing her lunch, running errands, fixing things. Most of all, he made her laugh. I can still see him dancing through her kitchen, making up songs, just to see her smile.
Jeff was not the best at using his cell phone. One day, he sent me a very creative n**e photo. He thought it was hilarious. Until I told him I hadn’t received it. I watched as the color drained from his face — because he had no idea who he’d accidentally sent it to, and our phones were filled with contacts from the girls’ teams. For months after, he lived in fear that the FBI was coming for him.
There was the first time I ever saw a rat. It was a little baby rat in the front yard, he told me to go in the house – he said you don’t want to see this . He comes back out a box, shovel and sledgehammer in hand. I’m in the living room and I can hear him talking. I look out the window, he has dropped the sledgehammer and shovel, and he is running around with the box saying, “Come here, little guy.” He caught it, walked it down to the train tracks… then came back and admitted, “I couldn’t do it.”
And then there was the time he went out to buy dog food and came home with a puppy. Because, in his words, “He was all alone and scared.” So our four dogs became five. And I started ordering food from Chewy — because with Jeff, there was always the chance five would become six.
In March of 2023 Jeff stepped in a rabbit hole at work, and that’s when this nightmare first started. Unbeknownst to us at the time, the pain he was in was due to the cancer – and the pain was constant and intense. Around that time, our dog Sampson blew out his knees and had to have double knee surgery. I would sleep on the kitchen floor with Sammy after his surgeries because we were terrified he’d get up and slip and we didn’t want him alone. A few of the nights Jeff limped into the kitchen and told me to sleep in the bed, he’d sleep with Sam. And I’d say Jeffrey, there is no way you can get on the floor and sleep here. But he did, because he knew I needed a break but he wasn’t about to make Sammy sleep alone.
No amount of fentanyl, oxy or hydrocodone could really touch this pain. But he didn’t want to die. No matter the pain, he would tell me “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to leave you” He had such hope. In February or March after the whole brain radiation, there was a decent day, he was zipping around with his walker and says ‘I think I can go back to work’. Maybe this would be a little easier if he had said to me, I can’t take anymore. He never did. Until the very last day he thought he had more time. He thought he would get to go home.
Most weekends Jeff would invite the kids over. He’d make it for a few hours, and then he’d have to go to bed. We would all sit around in the dining room, playing games or just talking, while he was sleeping. One day I said, why do you invite everyone here, when you have to go to bed so early. And he said, I like to lay here and listen to you laugh.
I will miss the sound of his voice, his booming laugh, and the absolute chaos of life with Jeff. But most of all, I’ll miss the way he made people feel. He left his mark on so many hearts — in every field he coached on, every room he lit up, every laugh he sparked.
He was one of a kind. He was the storm and the calm after it. Those of you that are Friends/fans will get this reference, he was my lobster and I will miss him every minute of every day, until I see him again.”
Debbie Casey-Szyszka
