Kingsport Spirit

I was asked to share a few words about Dennis at a live event last Friday. I thought you might like to see.

I was just randomly talking to Stephen LaHair one day and said, “You know, Dennis Phillips is one of my favorite people in this world.” He said, “Have you told him that?”

It stopped me in my tracks. I just assume he knows. But I shouldn’t.

When Dennis was elected Mayor, I was always appreciative that he asked my opinion on things. And he took my advice at least 30% of the time (ha)!

I was more of a glass-half-full kind of guy. He was more transformative.

If he thought someone was being mistreated, taken advantage of, or wasn’t being heard, he made sure to set things right. He was willing to take on anybody—attorneys, the public, elected officials, whatever. It didn’t matter to him.

He developed a tough exterior that I’m convinced was done to disguise his big heart.

He told me if I ever saw a group of blue-collar city workers eating lunch, I should pick up the tab—and not on the city’s dime. He was no more impressed by the CEO than he was by a public works crew. He cared about people, and they felt it to their core.

There’s an old saying, “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.” He showed people in countless ways how much he cared.

One time, someone said it was their life’s dream to see Duke play basketball in Cameron Indoor Stadium. They just said it in casual conversation. He quietly made it happen. Nobody else knew, and he had nothing to gain by doing that. He just listened and responded. I’d say most of y’all are hearing that for the first time tonight. This wasn’t charged to a corporate account; it was out of his pocket.

My mom called one time and said, “Dennis Phillips just sent me flowers for Mother’s Day.” He did it for many of our mothers.

I’m sure we could go around the room and share how Dennis and Bobbie have done something very personal and very sweet for each and every one of us.

He shared a story with me about Governor Ned McWherter, saying that every year he sent a special gift to each one of his cabinet members, Dennis being one of them. It was his way of saying, “Your service wasn’t just appreciated when we were in the arena together, it’s appreciated forever.” I think it was his way of saying he felt the same.

It’s rare to see a politician who doesn’t have a public persona and a private persona.  Dennis just is who he is.

He was always on the phone. It was his way of staying connected to you. It’s kind of a dying art form these days with text messaging and all. If you called him, he did his dead level best to answer immediately. Hellllooo. I rarely saw him send it to voicemail. If you thought it important enough to call him, he thought it important enough to take the call.

One of the most courageous things I saw him do was deal with the bath salts issue. A store opened in Highland Park. It was legal, but lethal, like the fentanyl crisis today. Dennis made it his mission to rid the community of that risk. He was told by attorneys, police, and pretty much everyone that it was legally impossible to do anything. He never accepted that answer. Ever. He was threatened with a federal lawsuit, but that didn’t faze him. It’s really not unlike some of things we’re seeing from the oval office today. Bath salts were making bad guys rich and hurting vulnerable people in our community. Everybody knew it. Nobody was doing anything about it. But Dennis did.

He grew up from humble beginnings. A big piece of his heart is still in Newdale, North Carolina. We visited the rock school where he drove a school bus–when he was still in school himself. He joined the military and returned to build a life from the bootstraps—started and helped Bank of Tennessee from a construction trailer and became Commissioner of Banking for the State of Tennessee. But he never forgot his roots. Much later I found out that some of my distant grandparents are buried near Newdale. He took me to the site. I haven’t found any evidence that we’re blood kin, but nothing would make me happier.

He’s ‘dumb like a fox’ as they say in the mountains, which means he’s one of the smartest people I know, but he can disguise it with a country accent. Gets people every time. He knows, oh, he knows. Don’t ever underestimate him.

Oh, and he’s super organized with his mobile desk (aka the dashboard of his truck).

So, Dennis, if there was ever any doubt, I love you—WE love you.

I’m so happy that you’ve been a big part of my life and influenced me in too many positive ways to enumerate. Except for the dashboard. I’m glad that trait bypassed me. 

Happy 80^th Birthday, Big Guy. And many happy returns.