Bill Phillips 82, of Marmaduke passed away September 9, 2019 at his residence. Bill was
born in Greene County to Wayne and Irene (Hampton) Phillips.
He was preceded in death by his parents and one brother: Hoss Phillips.
Surviving is his wife of 64 years, Carol Regina (Wilson) Phillips, two sons: Russell Phillips
and Donna of Marmaduke and Byron Phillips of Marmaduke, two daughters: Angela Cross
and Curt of Columbia, TN and Darla Bradley and Phil of Winston Salem, NC, one sister:
Sandra Parrish of Marmaduke,
grandchildren: Brandon Phillips and Linda, Evan Owens and Jeremy, Sam Bradley, Katy
Cross, Hayden Cross, Angela Phillips, and Kyle Phillips, great grandchild: Kadyn Phillips,
and a special buddy: Michael Huskey.
Bill worked as a courier at Sun Belt and was a Preacher.
Visitation will be Friday, September 13, 2019, at 5:30 p.m. at Irby Funeral Home in
Marmaduke. A service will take place directly following at 7:00 p.m. The burial will be
private and held at a later date.
Irby Funeral Home of Marmaduke is in charge of arrangements.
Bill Phillips was a wonderful man to have as a grandfather, and I'm so blessed to have had him as mine for thirty-five years. Ever since I first met him when I was two weeks old, he's been teaching me so much about life.
He taught me how much love is possible between a man and an animal. If it's true that animals know who a person truly is, then he was a wonderful person because nearly every animal he ever came across loved him (except for some certain pigs; ask Byron about the knock-down drag-out in the bed of a truck that involved shoes going flying). I'm sure everyone who knew him knows that mules were his favorite, though. Old John Mule knew his vehicle and would run to the fence and bray his heart out every time he saw him coming down the road. Papa sure couldn't sneak up to the house! I think of him every time I see a mule or a donkey, and I probably always will.
He taught me to appreciate classic country music. I'm sitting here listening to George Jones in his honor as I'm writing this.
He taught me how to fry sweet potatoes; I hope that I can make them half as good for future holiday meals.
There are a few things I wish he hadn't taught my brother. Thinking it's hilarious to poke someone and say "BZZZZZT!" was something I would have preferred not to take home with me.
He taught me about dedication to serving God through his many years as an elder, and especially once he started preaching. Even as his health started failing, he hated to give up teaching at church. Several times I had the opportunity to sit with him as he wrote out his notes for the following Sunday.
He taught me…well, he tried to teach me, it didn't really stick…a lot about cars. He found my first car for me, but by the time I was in college it had some issues. He got several phone calls that started out, "Hey Papa…come get me…" and he made several trips all the way to Henderson, TN to haul my car off to be fixed. He rescued me from the side of the road just out past Piggott on a snowy Sunday night when my transmission blew. I figure he was used to it, though, as many of my mom's stories about her teenage years included, "Hey Dad…come get me…"
A couple of years back, we were sitting and talking, and he started telling stories about his years as a mechanic. Fortunately, I had my phone with me and recorded the whole conversation. I have titled it "Car Talk with Papa," or, subtitled, "A History of the Car Issues of the Graham Family," as many of the stories started out, "So Almus stopped by, and said, 'Bill, my car's making this funny noise…" I learned all about distributor caps and the variety of issues that they can cause. I thought it might be useful information for the future until Byron told me later that my car didn't even have a distributor cap.
It'll be strange to get a car again someday and not have you pop the hood and poke in it as soon as a drive up.
He taught me how to bicker for fun with someone you've been with for more than sixty years…not sure if that's a good lesson or not, but entertaining for the rest of us. One day I was shaking my head listening to Papa and Nanny fuss over whether microwave oatmeal is supposed to be microwaved for one minute or for a minute and twenty-five seconds. No one was eating or had any plans to eat any oatmeal; we didn't even have any in the house (or else we would have just checked the box and solved the argument right there). But while looking through pictures over the past few days, I've seen that there are so many of them in which Bill and Carol are holding hands. He loved his wife and he loved all of us, and some of my favorite memories are riding along with Papa and Nanny on their courier routes and camping together at Buffalo River.
But I think the thing I'll remember most that he taught me was how to laugh. I wish I could be half the storyteller he was. You couldn't help but laugh along, because often when he was telling a story he'd be laughing so hard himself he'd have to pause the story to breathe. Recalcitrant pigs, stubborn mules, spiteful old roosters, a drunk man trying to cross a road, telling Byron about the house burning down by saying, "I hope you put on clean underwear this morning.", pranks played on friends, Byron being trampled by a herd of miniature horses, the time when he was about nine years old and tossed the ladle back into the drinking water, splashing water all over his mother who was standing next to it at the time, and having to run for his life before she could catch him and spank him. Unfortunately, he was buck-naked at the time, for some reason, so he had to hide out in the yard naked until she stopped yelling. That was followed with, "Now, I didn't aggravate my dad," followed by several stories of how he did, in fact, aggravate his dad on a regular basis. I've got a few stories recorded, but I wish I could have gotten so many more. I wish I could be there tonight to hear all the stories that I'm sure you'll all be sharing.
Goodbye, Papa. I'll miss our talks and laughing at your ridiculous stories. I'll miss hearing, "I'm so proud you came to see me." You taught me so much, and I love you!
born in Greene County to Wayne and Irene (Hampton) Phillips.
He was preceded in death by his parents and one brother: Hoss Phillips.
Surviving is his wife of 64 years, Carol Regina (Wilson) Phillips, two sons: Russell Phillips
and Donna of Marmaduke and Byron Phillips of Marmaduke, two daughters: Angela Cross
and Curt of Columbia, TN and Darla Bradley and Phil of Winston Salem, NC, one sister:
Sandra Parrish of Marmaduke,
grandchildren: Brandon Phillips and Linda, Evan Owens and Jeremy, Sam Bradley, Katy
Cross, Hayden Cross, Angela Phillips, and Kyle Phillips, great grandchild: Kadyn Phillips,
and a special buddy: Michael Huskey.
Bill worked as a courier at Sun Belt and was a Preacher.
Visitation will be Friday, September 13, 2019, at 5:30 p.m. at Irby Funeral Home in
Marmaduke. A service will take place directly following at 7:00 p.m. The burial will be
private and held at a later date.
Irby Funeral Home of Marmaduke is in charge of arrangements.
Bill Phillips was a wonderful man to have as a grandfather, and I'm so blessed to have had him as mine for thirty-five years. Ever since I first met him when I was two weeks old, he's been teaching me so much about life.
He taught me how much love is possible between a man and an animal. If it's true that animals know who a person truly is, then he was a wonderful person because nearly every animal he ever came across loved him (except for some certain pigs; ask Byron about the knock-down drag-out in the bed of a truck that involved shoes going flying). I'm sure everyone who knew him knows that mules were his favorite, though. Old John Mule knew his vehicle and would run to the fence and bray his heart out every time he saw him coming down the road. Papa sure couldn't sneak up to the house! I think of him every time I see a mule or a donkey, and I probably always will.
He taught me to appreciate classic country music. I'm sitting here listening to George Jones in his honor as I'm writing this.
He taught me how to fry sweet potatoes; I hope that I can make them half as good for future holiday meals.
There are a few things I wish he hadn't taught my brother. Thinking it's hilarious to poke someone and say "BZZZZZT!" was something I would have preferred not to take home with me.
He taught me about dedication to serving God through his many years as an elder, and especially once he started preaching. Even as his health started failing, he hated to give up teaching at church. Several times I had the opportunity to sit with him as he wrote out his notes for the following Sunday.
He taught me…well, he tried to teach me, it didn't really stick…a lot about cars. He found my first car for me, but by the time I was in college it had some issues. He got several phone calls that started out, "Hey Papa…come get me…" and he made several trips all the way to Henderson, TN to haul my car off to be fixed. He rescued me from the side of the road just out past Piggott on a snowy Sunday night when my transmission blew. I figure he was used to it, though, as many of my mom's stories about her teenage years included, "Hey Dad…come get me…"
A couple of years back, we were sitting and talking, and he started telling stories about his years as a mechanic. Fortunately, I had my phone with me and recorded the whole conversation. I have titled it "Car Talk with Papa," or, subtitled, "A History of the Car Issues of the Graham Family," as many of the stories started out, "So Almus stopped by, and said, 'Bill, my car's making this funny noise…" I learned all about distributor caps and the variety of issues that they can cause. I thought it might be useful information for the future until Byron told me later that my car didn't even have a distributor cap.
It'll be strange to get a car again someday and not have you pop the hood and poke in it as soon as a drive up.
He taught me how to bicker for fun with someone you've been with for more than sixty years…not sure if that's a good lesson or not, but entertaining for the rest of us. One day I was shaking my head listening to Papa and Nanny fuss over whether microwave oatmeal is supposed to be microwaved for one minute or for a minute and twenty-five seconds. No one was eating or had any plans to eat any oatmeal; we didn't even have any in the house (or else we would have just checked the box and solved the argument right there). But while looking through pictures over the past few days, I've seen that there are so many of them in which Bill and Carol are holding hands. He loved his wife and he loved all of us, and some of my favorite memories are riding along with Papa and Nanny on their courier routes and camping together at Buffalo River.
But I think the thing I'll remember most that he taught me was how to laugh. I wish I could be half the storyteller he was. You couldn't help but laugh along, because often when he was telling a story he'd be laughing so hard himself he'd have to pause the story to breathe. Recalcitrant pigs, stubborn mules, spiteful old roosters, a drunk man trying to cross a road, telling Byron about the house burning down by saying, "I hope you put on clean underwear this morning.", pranks played on friends, Byron being trampled by a herd of miniature horses, the time when he was about nine years old and tossed the ladle back into the drinking water, splashing water all over his mother who was standing next to it at the time, and having to run for his life before she could catch him and spank him. Unfortunately, he was buck-naked at the time, for some reason, so he had to hide out in the yard naked until she stopped yelling. That was followed with, "Now, I didn't aggravate my dad," followed by several stories of how he did, in fact, aggravate his dad on a regular basis. I've got a few stories recorded, but I wish I could have gotten so many more. I wish I could be there tonight to hear all the stories that I'm sure you'll all be sharing.
Goodbye, Papa. I'll miss our talks and laughing at your ridiculous stories. I'll miss hearing, "I'm so proud you came to see me." You taught me so much, and I love you!
Bill Phillips 82, of Marmaduke passed away September 9, 2019 at his residence. Bill was
born in Greene County to Wayne and Irene (Hampton) Phillips.
He was preceded in death by his parents and one brother: Hoss Phillips.
Surviving is his wife of 64 years, Carol Regina (Wilson) Phillips, two sons: Russell Phillips
and Donna of Marmaduke and Byron Phillips of Marmaduke, two daughters: Angela Cross
and Curt of Columbia, TN and Darla Bradley and Phil of Winston Salem, NC, one sister:
Sandra Parrish of Marmaduke,
grandchildren: Brandon Phillips and Linda, Evan Owens and Jeremy, Sam Bradley, Katy
Cross, Hayden Cross, Angela Phillips, and Kyle Phillips, great grandchild: Kadyn Phillips,
and a special buddy: Michael Huskey.
Bill worked as a courier at Sun Belt and was a Preacher.
Visitation will be Friday, September 13, 2019, at 5:30 p.m. at Irby Funeral Home in
Marmaduke. A service will take place directly following at 7:00 p.m. The burial will be
private and held at a later date.
Irby Funeral Home of Marmaduke is in charge of arrangements.
Bill Phillips was a wonderful man to have as a grandfather, and I'm so blessed to have had him as mine for thirty-five years. Ever since I first met him when I was two weeks old, he's been teaching me so much about life.
He taught me how much love is possible between a man and an animal. If it's true that animals know who a person truly is, then he was a wonderful person because nearly every animal he ever came across loved him (except for some certain pigs; ask Byron about the knock-down drag-out in the bed of a truck that involved shoes going flying). I'm sure everyone who knew him knows that mules were his favorite, though. Old John Mule knew his vehicle and would run to the fence and bray his heart out every time he saw him coming down the road. Papa sure couldn't sneak up to the house! I think of him every time I see a mule or a donkey, and I probably always will.
He taught me to appreciate classic country music. I'm sitting here listening to George Jones in his honor as I'm writing this.
He taught me how to fry sweet potatoes; I hope that I can make them half as good for future holiday meals.
There are a few things I wish he hadn't taught my brother. Thinking it's hilarious to poke someone and say "BZZZZZT!" was something I would have preferred not to take home with me.
He taught me about dedication to serving God through his many years as an elder, and especially once he started preaching. Even as his health started failing, he hated to give up teaching at church. Several times I had the opportunity to sit with him as he wrote out his notes for the following Sunday.
He taught me…well, he tried to teach me, it didn't really stick…a lot about cars. He found my first car for me, but by the time I was in college it had some issues. He got several phone calls that started out, "Hey Papa…come get me…" and he made several trips all the way to Henderson, TN to haul my car off to be fixed. He rescued me from the side of the road just out past Piggott on a snowy Sunday night when my transmission blew. I figure he was used to it, though, as many of my mom's stories about her teenage years included, "Hey Dad…come get me…"
A couple of years back, we were sitting and talking, and he started telling stories about his years as a mechanic. Fortunately, I had my phone with me and recorded the whole conversation. I have titled it "Car Talk with Papa," or, subtitled, "A History of the Car Issues of the Graham Family," as many of the stories started out, "So Almus stopped by, and said, 'Bill, my car's making this funny noise…" I learned all about distributor caps and the variety of issues that they can cause. I thought it might be useful information for the future until Byron told me later that my car didn't even have a distributor cap.
It'll be strange to get a car again someday and not have you pop the hood and poke in it as soon as a drive up.
He taught me how to bicker for fun with someone you've been with for more than sixty years…not sure if that's a good lesson or not, but entertaining for the rest of us. One day I was shaking my head listening to Papa and Nanny fuss over whether microwave oatmeal is supposed to be microwaved for one minute or for a minute and twenty-five seconds. No one was eating or had any plans to eat any oatmeal; we didn't even have any in the house (or else we would have just checked the box and solved the argument right there). But while looking through pictures over the past few days, I've seen that there are so many of them in which Bill and Carol are holding hands. He loved his wife and he loved all of us, and some of my favorite memories are riding along with Papa and Nanny on their courier routes and camping together at Buffalo River.
But I think the thing I'll remember most that he taught me was how to laugh. I wish I could be half the storyteller he was. You couldn't help but laugh along, because often when he was telling a story he'd be laughing so hard himself he'd have to pause the story to breathe. Recalcitrant pigs, stubborn mules, spiteful old roosters, a drunk man trying to cross a road, telling Byron about the house burning down by saying, "I hope you put on clean underwear this morning.", pranks played on friends, Byron being trampled by a herd of miniature horses, the time when he was about nine years old and tossed the ladle back into the drinking water, splashing water all over his mother who was standing next to it at the time, and having to run for his life before she could catch him and spank him. Unfortunately, he was buck-naked at the time, for some reason, so he had to hide out in the yard naked until she stopped yelling. That was followed with, "Now, I didn't aggravate my dad," followed by several stories of how he did, in fact, aggravate his dad on a regular basis. I've got a few stories recorded, but I wish I could have gotten so many more. I wish I could be there tonight to hear all the stories that I'm sure you'll all be sharing.
Goodbye, Papa. I'll miss our talks and laughing at your ridiculous stories. I'll miss hearing, "I'm so proud you came to see me." You taught me so much, and I love you!
born in Greene County to Wayne and Irene (Hampton) Phillips.
He was preceded in death by his parents and one brother: Hoss Phillips.
Surviving is his wife of 64 years, Carol Regina (Wilson) Phillips, two sons: Russell Phillips
and Donna of Marmaduke and Byron Phillips of Marmaduke, two daughters: Angela Cross
and Curt of Columbia, TN and Darla Bradley and Phil of Winston Salem, NC, one sister:
Sandra Parrish of Marmaduke,
grandchildren: Brandon Phillips and Linda, Evan Owens and Jeremy, Sam Bradley, Katy
Cross, Hayden Cross, Angela Phillips, and Kyle Phillips, great grandchild: Kadyn Phillips,
and a special buddy: Michael Huskey.
Bill worked as a courier at Sun Belt and was a Preacher.
Visitation will be Friday, September 13, 2019, at 5:30 p.m. at Irby Funeral Home in
Marmaduke. A service will take place directly following at 7:00 p.m. The burial will be
private and held at a later date.
Irby Funeral Home of Marmaduke is in charge of arrangements.
Bill Phillips was a wonderful man to have as a grandfather, and I'm so blessed to have had him as mine for thirty-five years. Ever since I first met him when I was two weeks old, he's been teaching me so much about life.
He taught me how much love is possible between a man and an animal. If it's true that animals know who a person truly is, then he was a wonderful person because nearly every animal he ever came across loved him (except for some certain pigs; ask Byron about the knock-down drag-out in the bed of a truck that involved shoes going flying). I'm sure everyone who knew him knows that mules were his favorite, though. Old John Mule knew his vehicle and would run to the fence and bray his heart out every time he saw him coming down the road. Papa sure couldn't sneak up to the house! I think of him every time I see a mule or a donkey, and I probably always will.
He taught me to appreciate classic country music. I'm sitting here listening to George Jones in his honor as I'm writing this.
He taught me how to fry sweet potatoes; I hope that I can make them half as good for future holiday meals.
There are a few things I wish he hadn't taught my brother. Thinking it's hilarious to poke someone and say "BZZZZZT!" was something I would have preferred not to take home with me.
He taught me about dedication to serving God through his many years as an elder, and especially once he started preaching. Even as his health started failing, he hated to give up teaching at church. Several times I had the opportunity to sit with him as he wrote out his notes for the following Sunday.
He taught me…well, he tried to teach me, it didn't really stick…a lot about cars. He found my first car for me, but by the time I was in college it had some issues. He got several phone calls that started out, "Hey Papa…come get me…" and he made several trips all the way to Henderson, TN to haul my car off to be fixed. He rescued me from the side of the road just out past Piggott on a snowy Sunday night when my transmission blew. I figure he was used to it, though, as many of my mom's stories about her teenage years included, "Hey Dad…come get me…"
A couple of years back, we were sitting and talking, and he started telling stories about his years as a mechanic. Fortunately, I had my phone with me and recorded the whole conversation. I have titled it "Car Talk with Papa," or, subtitled, "A History of the Car Issues of the Graham Family," as many of the stories started out, "So Almus stopped by, and said, 'Bill, my car's making this funny noise…" I learned all about distributor caps and the variety of issues that they can cause. I thought it might be useful information for the future until Byron told me later that my car didn't even have a distributor cap.
It'll be strange to get a car again someday and not have you pop the hood and poke in it as soon as a drive up.
He taught me how to bicker for fun with someone you've been with for more than sixty years…not sure if that's a good lesson or not, but entertaining for the rest of us. One day I was shaking my head listening to Papa and Nanny fuss over whether microwave oatmeal is supposed to be microwaved for one minute or for a minute and twenty-five seconds. No one was eating or had any plans to eat any oatmeal; we didn't even have any in the house (or else we would have just checked the box and solved the argument right there). But while looking through pictures over the past few days, I've seen that there are so many of them in which Bill and Carol are holding hands. He loved his wife and he loved all of us, and some of my favorite memories are riding along with Papa and Nanny on their courier routes and camping together at Buffalo River.
But I think the thing I'll remember most that he taught me was how to laugh. I wish I could be half the storyteller he was. You couldn't help but laugh along, because often when he was telling a story he'd be laughing so hard himself he'd have to pause the story to breathe. Recalcitrant pigs, stubborn mules, spiteful old roosters, a drunk man trying to cross a road, telling Byron about the house burning down by saying, "I hope you put on clean underwear this morning.", pranks played on friends, Byron being trampled by a herd of miniature horses, the time when he was about nine years old and tossed the ladle back into the drinking water, splashing water all over his mother who was standing next to it at the time, and having to run for his life before she could catch him and spank him. Unfortunately, he was buck-naked at the time, for some reason, so he had to hide out in the yard naked until she stopped yelling. That was followed with, "Now, I didn't aggravate my dad," followed by several stories of how he did, in fact, aggravate his dad on a regular basis. I've got a few stories recorded, but I wish I could have gotten so many more. I wish I could be there tonight to hear all the stories that I'm sure you'll all be sharing.
Goodbye, Papa. I'll miss our talks and laughing at your ridiculous stories. I'll miss hearing, "I'm so proud you came to see me." You taught me so much, and I love you!
