Jack Cole: A Visionary Innovator and Passionate Conservationist
Jack Cole was a man whose life was a tapestry of innovation, entrepreneurial spirit, and an unwavering love for nature. As I pen this tribute, I’m reminded of the few but profound meetings I had with Jack, a kindred soul whose fiery passion for preserving the natural world left an indelible mark on me.
I first met Jack 25 years ago when I was going through a contentious land and access dispute with LAC Minerals. I was at my home on The Rubicon when Jack, then around 80, called and insisted on meeting. Despite his frail frame, his mind was a dynamo—sharp, explosive, and brimming with ideas. Over the course of our three or four meetings, I came to admire his relentless drive and the warmth he exuded every time we spoke. We were neighbors in Spearfish Canyon, just a 40-minute drive apart, yet connected by a shared entrepreneurial spirit and a deep reverence for nature. Jack’s fury at Wharf Resources for poisoning his beloved dog, Golden, who died minutes after drinking from a contaminated creek, mirrored my own battles with a mining company. We both saw humanity’s destruction of nature as a call to action, and in each other, we found old souls united by a desire to protect our Creator’s creation.
Jack’s life was as remarkable as his passion. Born on February 12, 1920, in Lincoln, Nebraska, he revolutionized data management long before it became a buzzword. As an IBM salesman in the 1940s, Jack saw untapped potential in punch-card technology. In 1947, he published the first Cole Directory, a game-changer that reorganized phone book data by address rather than name. This innovation empowered door-to-door salespeople, detectives, and reporters to pinpoint residents with ease. By integrating census data, tax rolls, and birth records, Jack’s directories became indispensable tools, laying the groundwork for modern marketing. His company, Cole Information Services, grew rapidly, attracting clients like Time magazine, Reader’s Digest, and General Motors. Some even dubbed him “the father of junk mail” for pioneering mailing lists using punch-card tech.
Jack’s creativity didn’t stop there. He casually mentioned to me once that he was among the first to fly into Washington, D.C., on a private jet—a tidbit that underscored his trailblazing spirit. After moving his company to Lincoln and selling it in the early 1970s, he ventured into a network of remote Canadian hunting and fishing lodges for the wealthy. Eventually, he retired to his family’s historic cabin in Spearfish Canyon, a place he called “the museum,” its walls adorned with photos of influential figures from his storied life. Dressed in a white shirt, tie, and cowboy boots, Jack loved giving tours to showcase his legacy, especially when advocating for water quality and against mining’s environmental toll.
Jack’s commitment to conservation was personal. He was heartbroken over the pollution of Spearfish Creek and its tributaries, a cause we bonded over. His daughter, Susan Wright, noted that he dedicated his later years to these local efforts, a testament to his belief that nature deserved protection. Jack passed away on July 29, 2007, at 87, in his beloved canyon home after a brief battle with cancer. He left behind a legacy carried by his children, grandchildren, and the still-published Cole Directories.
Looking back, I regret not spending more time with Jack. Our shared passions—for entrepreneurship, for nature, for fighting the good fight—made him a rare and inspiring figure. As his daughter said, Jack didn’t just think outside the box; he thought outside the stadium. His life reminds us that one person’s vision can reshape industries and defend the beauty of the world we inhabit.