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In my 26-plus years in this business, writing a column
about this special friend on such an occasion would be
the last thing I figured I'd ever do. Sunday
afternoon, I learned with sadness of the passing of
Phillip Martin. Many of you readers will remember him as
"P.L.," so nicknamed from his grandfather, P.L. Fite.
Back in the day, when P, as I called him, and I were
in school, it was customary for many to be nicknamed
after a parent or grandparent. P.L. stuck through all
these years (Fite would often be seen and heard at high
school football and baseball games; his trademark "give
her a ride" is a legendary battle cry that many of us
who played baseball at Mulberry Park remember so well).
P.L. was a schoolmate, a teammate and most of all a
valued friend. In fact, he was one of the first people I
ever met upon my arrival from Florida to McKenzie back
in 1974. I remember playing a late game of sandlot
baseball behind the school on the afternoon of a Babe
Ruth game. I was walking home and I saw P was seated in
the driver's seat of a greenish Ford Fairlane, as I
seemed to recall, lacing up his spikes.
He and I played on the same Gaines Babe Ruth team
together. We had the late game that night and I figured
I had plenty of time. P was ready for action about four
hours before the first pitch. I asked him if I had read
the schedule wrong; he said, "No, I'm going to watch the
first game. Want a ride?"
That was P. He had an intensity and interest in
sports that was palpable and, at the same time, was
willing to go the extra mile for you. He'd give you the
shirt off his back. That was the kind of guy he was.
I remember Phillip hitting home runs against Bruceton
and Huntingdon back in 1977. He hit a towering shot that
nearly bounced around the Saddle Club against Bruceton
and P was smiling and laughing the whole way around the
bases. Of course, a dugout full of Rebels emerged from
the dugout to greet him. "That's the first home run I
ever hit anywhere," said a beaming Martin.
What happened next was more amazing. Kevin McCadams
was at the plate and as the team went back to the bench
with a jubilant Martin, Kevin asked, "Where are you
going? I'll be right back in a second."
Sure enough, Kevin Mac hit one in just about the same
place. You should have heard P laughing.
That's what I remember most about Phillip. He had an
infectious personality. If you met him you liked him and
moreover, he made an impact on your life. If you met P,
you will remember him forever. If you didn't meet P, you
missed out on one of the most colorful characters you'll
ever see.
He was a huge fan of the St. Louis Cardinals,
Tennessee Vols, Bethel Wildcats and McKenzie Rebels. He
was passionate in his fandom. I remember the night the
Vols won the national championship, P took my Vols flag
that waved from the side of my house and ran from one
end of Stonewall Street to the other, cheering wildly.
That remains one of my fondest memories regarding P and
the Vols.
P and I ventured to most of McKenzie's road football
games this year. He got fired up over the Rebels.
Phillip wore No. 83 on the Rebels football team from
1974-77 and was a pretty fare receiver in the days when
McKenzie wasn't so great. He also played hoops for the
Rebels.
Another thing you'd soon find out about P.L. is that
he was a sponge when it came to sports trivia, whether
it was the Volunteers or the old high school Volunteer
Conference.
He was known for getting Sunday afternoon or Thursday
night basketball games up at "The Palace," which was the
old junior high gym, or at the elementary school gym. He
got the gym opened and even collected a couple of bucks
from all participants to pay the man who opened the
facility.
During the fall of my senior year, Chuck Purcell, Tim
Lindsey, Brent Mull, Kenny Franks, Phillip Mathis and I
would represent the MHS Class of '79 against P.L., Ricky
Rosenjack, Blake Mull, Fred Milton, Larry Joe Smith and
McCadams of the Class of `77 in a daily five-on-five
hoop marathon. Phillip often organized such outings. I
remember, after playing hoops every afternoon, I had
lost almost 40 lbs. without knowing it.
I missed out on the glory days, but friends tell me
of the titanic struggles and night games of whiffle ball
that took place in P.L.'s back yard. Even today, those
battles on that pitch are recalled with passion. In
fact, another of P.L.'s close friends, Bill Howard, had
just remarked on those glory days of night whiffle ball
over Christmas.
If Phillip was your friend, you had none better. He
had no enemies. He spoke with glowing affection and
concern for his parents, Ross and Tinsy Martin, his
sister Carol and his daughter Beth, whom he especially
adored. There were others, as well, but space limits me.
Phillip experienced some bumps on the road through
this journey called life, but through it all, he always
remained optimistic. When God made P.L., He broke the
mold. I suppose we must bow our heads to divine
providence and figure those streets of gold needed some
cheering up.
Phillip was as good a friend as I ever had and I'll
miss him. |
