“A Thing of Beauty, Is a Joy Forever”

Phyllis Willis called me “Coach” all of her life. If I live to be a hundred I will never forget the love and respect with which she said it. I never coached her in any sport. Neither of us worried much about technicalities, then or later. I did teach her in two courses back in high school……well, maybe she taught me.

She came in laughing that first day as a freshman, “Coach, I don’t know much about world history.”

I pondered on that beautiful smile and the straightforwardness and honesty in her declaration. “Don’t worry, madam,” I couldn’t match that smile but I gave it my best effort, “I don’t know much world history myself!”

They could hear her laughter all the way down to C-pod.

She wasn’t the best student that I ever taught. But she could come up with the best questions, “Coach, were those cavemen you keep talking about black or white?”

“Phyllis, they were pecan tan.”

They could hear her laughter all the way down to C-pod.

Young people were so interesting and hard to figure in the early ’70’s. If they made the team, they were happy. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t speak to a soul for a month. If their girlfriend loved them, they were on cloud nine. If they made an A in Spanish, they’d run across the hall and proudly show it to me. If their boyfriend called Lucy on the phone, they would cry for six days. It was a tough period on race relations as integration sounded good on paper but we were asking 14 and 15 and 16 year olds to make it work. You talk about ups and downs! I never knew from day to day if they were going to be happy and in love with the world, or despondent and withdrawn.

Phyllis was an incredible, refreshing break from the ordinary. I don’t reckon she ever had a turn down day. If she did, she masked it very well. And she wasn’t going to let it affect that smile or that happy outlook. She came in laughing and she went out the same way. So upbeat that it was infectious. And a genuine love for people that lit up any room she was in. 

As a matter of fact, she kept a sharp eye on me. “Coach, you don’t look so happy this morning. Did that girl up in Tennessee write you a bad letter? Don’t tell me Blountstown can beat us? That Napoleon guy isn’t going to lose to the British, is he? Coach, you need to pick it up a little.”

The world needs more people like Phyllis Willis.

She was so well liked that she was a shoo-in for the student council. I believe she was vice-president her junior year and I know for certain she was the president her senior year. I happened to be the sponsor. And I hated those student council dances. We needed the money and the students needed the camaraderie but tradition dictated we’d hold them things after football games or baseball games. They would start so late. And I had to find a band and chaperones and there must be a few decorations……. “Don’t you worry about the dance,” that big smile would be beaming over her assurance, “you worry about Blountstown! I’ll take care of the dance.”          

I don’t know which one of us was more proud when she made the Homecoming court. She hugged my neck for a while. “Coach, can you believe it? Can you believe it? Can you really believe it?”

Yes I could.

“Coach, you’ve got to come out of that locker room and see me.”

I made one of my rare half time exits from the team to watch Ken Farmer escort Phyllis out to the 40 yard line. Sometimes we get it right.

I didn’t see Phyllis much after graduation. Life keeps going. I’d drive by her house on occasion and catch her out in the side yard frying chicken. I’d wheel in. Couldn’t nobody cook like Phyllis! “Hey Coach, pull up a chair,” she’d be laying a chicken-half on a plate, “I don’t have any rutabagas (she knew me pretty well) but I’ve got some okra and corn. Tell these folks about the race riot.”

It was her favorite memory from the old days. And I still think it was her idea but she never took credit for it. That “girl from Tennessee” was coming down to visit in 1973. I mentioned to the class that she was my fiancée and that she was a little fearful as she’d heard there had been some black/white tension and I wanted the class to be on its best behavior and make me look good. Somehow the students (maybe with a little help from me and Phyllis) concocted up a fake riot to “impress” Cathy. As soon as she walked in a couple of the black students grabbed a couple of the white guys and one of the all-time best “put-on” fights you’ve ever seen took place. We had kids hurling insults at each other, threatening to do bodily harm to your “mamma and them”, throwing coke bottles across the room, tearing up note books and whomping and stomping around like mad. I’m telling you, the WWF would have been proud of us! Cathy jumped back over two desks trying to get to the door and she likened to have fainted!    

They came a’running all the way from C-pod to see what the commotion was about. Phyllis’s laughter assured them everything was o. k. 

She opened the restaurant on Avenue A and I couldn’t eat all she’d put on my plate. “Coach, you ought to be ashamed to leave those peas.”

“Phyllis, if I keep eating I’ll be as big as, as big as…..

“Me!” She’d roar with laughter.

But she never failed to ask about my boys. And my Mother. Her concern was genuine. And that smile was always there. If there was a table with three or more people she’d drag me over, “Coach, tell them about that riot back in high school…..”

I say again, the world could use a few more like Phyllis Willis.

God called her home, leaving us to wonder why. I think maybe He just got hungry.

Her laughter is still ringing in my heart.

Respectfully,

“Coach”