I met “COUNTRY” Boykin in 1959.  Earlier today he phoned and wanted to know how I was?

I told him I had a bad head cold.

He said “Yeah, when I first met you I thought to myself,  ‘ sooner or later he’s gonna have trouble with that head!’ “

I was administering the CPR practical test to twenty-five or so students when the department secretary banged on the closed door.
“Coach Parham, Ron McKeel is in the parking lot, and he looks like he’s dying from a heart attack.”
My class looked at their noble instructor. No way out, I ran to the lot, and she was right. Or it looked like a heart attack.
I knelt down next to a fraternity brother, a friend, and my own “examination.” The eyes of seventy people who’d gathered were grading me.
“Tilt the head, open the airwaves”, was step one and I employed it properly. As I did I could sense Ron starting to puke as I turned his head. His breakfast eggs came up and out.
I remembered his serious diabetes problem, and we both began to breathe  better. The A.D. and basketball coach were watching, slightly green tinted.

I’ve met very few people with my last name. One was Walt Parham, an “older” Wilson Elks clubber. Walt asked Margaret and me to his Christmas party. There was one difference we realized, arriving at he and Polly’s home: These Parham’s had some money.
Walt was dressed in Xmas attire. Coat and holly berry tie. Red suspenders. The works. The “gentlemen”, including a minister, were invited into Walt’s den. It housed a few barrels of fine whiskey. We had a several samples.
The maid called fifteen or so to the dining room. Fine crystal, silverware, chandelier beaming.
During dinner the minister’s wife totally dominated the conversation, with some bull about a piece of land they’d bought. On and on.
Why me? But Walt asked “Cousin Tom,…do you know how a Pollock pulls up his sox?”
Had I a response, I could not have gotten it out, for wife Polly instructed, “Walt you can’t tell that joke.”
Obliging Walt attempted to change the subject. To no avail. Back came the minister’s wife with more about “the land.” Moments late: “Tommy, know how a Pollock pulls up his sox?” Polly, sternly, “Walt, No!”
By the time the wife started a third time, Margaret had had a couple of cham- pagnes. “Tommy do you….”
Before Polly could slug Walt, Margaret said, “Tell us how, Walt!”
Whereupon Mr. Walt Parham, stood back of his seat, dropped his trousers (revealing Christmas underwear that matched his tie), and pulled up his sox inside his lowered pants. He pulled up his pants, hitched up his belt and said firmly, “I don’t want to hear anymore about that land.”
Blood kin.

In 1983 I had a “Swedish revolt” on my hands. I had learned about “morning acclimatization’s” from the NAIA Nationals. The Swedes want to sleep longer. Chief spokesman, Thomas Linne, was 6’5” and looked like Alice Cooper.
“Why we got to get up so early”? I explained what I knew to be true. This tournament was often won by those who handled the early rises best. Besides, what difference does it make if you get up at 5:15am rather than 6:00am, both hurt like hell.

Thomas and I went back and forth. My point was I knew this tournament better than he and his newcomer countrymen. I finally told Thomas about ten unlikely things that would happen in the tournament. “You crazy”, said Thomas. “I know these guys, they not going to lose to those guys.” He better than him!” “No way he loses” etc.

My teams had played Kansas City twenty times. Lo and behold about eight of those ten unlikely predictions came true. We won the NAIA in 1984. Flying home I asked Thomas what he learned from the experience. He wrote the backhanded compliment on a notebook I held: “I learned to listen to an old man who’d been there. Even if I thought he didn’t know very much.” I used this sentence to preface my coaching handbook.

Russell Rawlings and former Wilson mayor Ralph El Ramey ride around and eat a lot. Russell has to “walk the mayor” because Ralph eats so much.
At the beach Russell took the Mayor for a walk on the fishing pier, even though it was cold and windy. Only one guy was fishing.
Ralph talks to everybody. He asked the angler, “Are you catching anything?” Russell said the guy barely acknowledged with a “Naw.”
Ralph said, “Well it’s your own damn fault, Son. They’re in there.” He walked away.

Just attended the 50th wedding anniversary party for friends, Faye and Earl “Country” Boykin.   Country Earl recalled asking Faye out for their first date.   Faye told him he’d have to meet her parents first.
Country was apprehensive.   But then remembered a kid who went to Earl’s church.   The church awarded “perfect attendance medals” if a youngster didn’t miss in  a year’s worth of Sunday School. This particular kid had nine years worth of pins, all attached vertically.   Country borrowed the pins and took off to Faye’s house.   He concluded, “…I think it sealed deal.”  And this from a friend who once advised me, “…the best thing about marriage is you don’t mind dying as much.”
Earl also commented on his higher education: “I went to college for three terms. Eisenhower’s, Kennedy’s, and Nixon’s.”

We recently built a home at Emerald isle, NC. Its located on the North Caro- lina Coast, near the Boykin’s condominium. They were generous in sharing their home with us as we bounced back and forth from our Burlington, NC home, a four-hour trip.
On one such trip I intended to make a day trip. Emergency circumstances caused me to have to stay for four days. I had no clothes. Earl lent me several shirts. Being a staunch East Carolina Pirate, they all had East Carolina, or E.C.U. logos on them. Margaret washed them and I returned them to Country.
“Thanks for the shirts, Country,” I began. “But they had a strange effect on me in the mornings. I’d wake up and masturbate, decide to cut class, mix up a Bloody Mary, and pick up a BBQ sandwich on the way to Happy’s pool hall.” Strange syndrome, but people who know East Carolina in the 60’s understand.

When daughter Sloane got married “Country” seemed obsessed about the price of the flowers. He said the florist “must have made an ‘A’ in charging school.” Faye had all she could take. “Get off the flowers, Earl. You haven’t said anything about that bar bill.”

Earl said: “you gotta have likker.”

Ralph died Sunday. We called him “Mayor”lovingly and he was the mayor of Wilson, N.C. for three terms. I have never had my picture in the obit column before, but I am standing behind the smiling Mayor El Ramey. I am smiling too but you can’t tell it. Smiling because I had just overheard Ralph talking to the old lady dispensing the free, nutty-butty style giant ice cream cones: ” M’am– I have a friend over there who has a HARD TIME getting around. Would you mind giving me two so I can take her one?” Her who? I knew he was about to eat both. And he did.
He loved life. Never went into restaurant that the opening conversation with the waitress didn’t go like this: Ralph: “Well hello. What is YOUR name? Waitress: “Jill”. Ralph: “May I call you Jill?” Waitress: “Sure.” Ralph: “Well, when may I call you?”

Our gang has it’s 49th annual POKER WEEKEND starting Friday at Emerald Isle. At our first game after Ralph was elected Mayor he showed up with a large bag of change. I asked him where got all that change? “Parking meters” he said.
Mayor stories are flying all over eastern North Carolina. A ton will float around Emerald Isle this weekend. And for a long time,

“I love you now and evershall, but there’s no one left to tell.
The world has gone dark before my eyes.”

NETTIE MOORE,

Bob Dylan