As Tennessee fans get ready for another Vandy game, I thought others on this site might appreciate a story about how a long time Tennessee fan ( a true “Vol for Life”) looked ahead to the Vandy game for the last time. Sorry if a bit lengthy. My Dad was a Tennessee sports fan since he arrived on the Knoxville campus and discovered Tennessee football in 1946 until he left this earth in 2012 on the Tuesday before the Vanderbilt game. He had never seen a football game until he was a student at UT. A child of the depression, he worked every day after school from elementary through high school at various odd jobs to help support the family in Chattanooga where they made their home. Immediately upon completing high school (he skipped the graduation ceremonies) he joined the Navy at the ripe young age of 17. Soon after completing Radio School in Rock Island, Illinois, he shipped out to Hawaii, and soon thereafter saw action in the invasion of Pelilu in the Solomon Islands. After the war, he was part of the occupation forces of Japan, and was stationed at Nagasaki just weeks after the atomic bomb leveled that city.
When his tour of duty was over, he enrolled in the University of Tennessee Engineering School, taking advantage of the funding provided by the GI Bill. He soon discovered Tennessee football, attending every home game, at one of which he met his future wife, my mother. In those days, the spouse of a student could get a discounted price on game tickets, so my mom signed her name as Mrs. Dad on their very first date. Two years later they were married and shared an apartment on Laurel Avenue (the house in which their apartment was located still survives to this day). Dad often liked to recount stories of strolling across campus on the way to class and meeting Coach Neyland, who always said hello to him. Dad had the greatest respect and admiration for “the General.” He graduated in 1950, missing the General’s last National Championship team of 1951.
He retained his love of Tennessee football, and of course passed it on to me, his only son. He took me to my first game at Neyland Stadium when I was ten years old. I still remember how proud I was of the UT pennant I purchased outside the stadium. From then on we would listen to all of Tennessee’s football games on the radio every Saturday, in the days before most games were televised. It didn’t matter if we were camping out in the Smokies or Fall Creek Falls State Park, we’d have that tiny transistor radio on in the woods, straining to hear every play of the Tennessee – Bama game. Despite the frequent and often heart breaking losses, Dad never stopped reminding me that Bear Bryant “never beat a Neyland-coached team!”
Well, Dad lived through the ups and downs of Big Orange football, the last few years of Neyland’s reign, the renaissance under Dickey, the downward trend under Battle, the long rebuilding and final success under Majors, the National Championship under Fulmer in 1998, and the difficult recent years since. He was a vocal fan, equally as passionate in his criticism when they played poorly as he was in jubilation when they won big victories.
When Dad’s melanoma began taking a turn for the worst after an unsuccessful bout of radiation treatment, I hurried home to Nashville to spend some time with him while he was still cogent and to assist my mom and sisters with caring for him at home. We watched our last UT game together, the disappointing loss to Missouri. Dad slept through the first quarter and part of the second, after enduring a sleepless night on Friday. When he finally awoke and realized he had missed so much of the game, he scolded me for not having awakened him. I had wanted him to get his much needed sleep, but perhaps I should have awakened him, because all of his coughing, and physical discomforts seemed to vanish while he watched his beloved Vols play. I quickly recapped for him the scoring he had missed, adding that Palardy had missed a short field goal. Dad’s sarcastic response was “typical!” Often throughout the game he would appear to be dosing off, but then would make a comment that proved he was completely aware of every play.
Soon after that Saturday it was beginning to become apparent that he wouldn’t be around much longer. For a number of years Dad had made it clear that he did not want a burial, but wanted to donate his body to medical science, and had contacted Vanderbilt Medical Center about the procedures involved. Now, my sister and I began thinking the unthinkable, and started discussing the procedures we would have to go through to see that his remains were passed on the Vanderbilt as he wished. She got the bright idea that when the men came to take his body away, it would be decked out in his favorite orange UT pullover shirt. I remarked that this would be an especially appropriate gesture on the week leading up to the UT Vandy game. When she told him about our plan on what turned out to be the day before his death, a wry smile grew across his face, apparently enjoying the thought that even in death the old Volunteer would get one last laugh on Vandy. He thankfully didn’t live to experience the blowout loss to the Commodores that followed, but somehow my family and I held onto the feeling that ole Dad had still gotten the last laugh. Always a Vol for Life, and still a Vol even after life. I like to think that somewhere up there he’s looking down on the team this week and yelling “Beat Vandy!”
When his tour of duty was over, he enrolled in the University of Tennessee Engineering School, taking advantage of the funding provided by the GI Bill. He soon discovered Tennessee football, attending every home game, at one of which he met his future wife, my mother. In those days, the spouse of a student could get a discounted price on game tickets, so my mom signed her name as Mrs. Dad on their very first date. Two years later they were married and shared an apartment on Laurel Avenue (the house in which their apartment was located still survives to this day). Dad often liked to recount stories of strolling across campus on the way to class and meeting Coach Neyland, who always said hello to him. Dad had the greatest respect and admiration for “the General.” He graduated in 1950, missing the General’s last National Championship team of 1951.
He retained his love of Tennessee football, and of course passed it on to me, his only son. He took me to my first game at Neyland Stadium when I was ten years old. I still remember how proud I was of the UT pennant I purchased outside the stadium. From then on we would listen to all of Tennessee’s football games on the radio every Saturday, in the days before most games were televised. It didn’t matter if we were camping out in the Smokies or Fall Creek Falls State Park, we’d have that tiny transistor radio on in the woods, straining to hear every play of the Tennessee – Bama game. Despite the frequent and often heart breaking losses, Dad never stopped reminding me that Bear Bryant “never beat a Neyland-coached team!”
Well, Dad lived through the ups and downs of Big Orange football, the last few years of Neyland’s reign, the renaissance under Dickey, the downward trend under Battle, the long rebuilding and final success under Majors, the National Championship under Fulmer in 1998, and the difficult recent years since. He was a vocal fan, equally as passionate in his criticism when they played poorly as he was in jubilation when they won big victories.
When Dad’s melanoma began taking a turn for the worst after an unsuccessful bout of radiation treatment, I hurried home to Nashville to spend some time with him while he was still cogent and to assist my mom and sisters with caring for him at home. We watched our last UT game together, the disappointing loss to Missouri. Dad slept through the first quarter and part of the second, after enduring a sleepless night on Friday. When he finally awoke and realized he had missed so much of the game, he scolded me for not having awakened him. I had wanted him to get his much needed sleep, but perhaps I should have awakened him, because all of his coughing, and physical discomforts seemed to vanish while he watched his beloved Vols play. I quickly recapped for him the scoring he had missed, adding that Palardy had missed a short field goal. Dad’s sarcastic response was “typical!” Often throughout the game he would appear to be dosing off, but then would make a comment that proved he was completely aware of every play.
Soon after that Saturday it was beginning to become apparent that he wouldn’t be around much longer. For a number of years Dad had made it clear that he did not want a burial, but wanted to donate his body to medical science, and had contacted Vanderbilt Medical Center about the procedures involved. Now, my sister and I began thinking the unthinkable, and started discussing the procedures we would have to go through to see that his remains were passed on the Vanderbilt as he wished. She got the bright idea that when the men came to take his body away, it would be decked out in his favorite orange UT pullover shirt. I remarked that this would be an especially appropriate gesture on the week leading up to the UT Vandy game. When she told him about our plan on what turned out to be the day before his death, a wry smile grew across his face, apparently enjoying the thought that even in death the old Volunteer would get one last laugh on Vandy. He thankfully didn’t live to experience the blowout loss to the Commodores that followed, but somehow my family and I held onto the feeling that ole Dad had still gotten the last laugh. Always a Vol for Life, and still a Vol even after life. I like to think that somewhere up there he’s looking down on the team this week and yelling “Beat Vandy!”
