COLUMN: Sam, In The Past Tense

"People talk about you after all this time. You were many things to many people but you were a friend of mine."

- Waylon Jennings, "Old Friend"

*This is an opinion column*

NORTHPORT, AL — There's a scene in the 1993 western "Tombstone" where Turkey Creek Jack Johnson asks a sickly Doc Holliday why he chose to face certain death alongside Wyatt Earp in his violent crusade.

"Because Wyatt Earp is my friend," the gunslinger replies.

Johnson: "Friend? Hell, I got lots of friends."

"I don't," Holliday says.

And that iconic movie quote pretty well sums up how I felt about Sam Phillips.

Sam, In The Past Tense

"Was" is a word I never imagined I'd use to describe Sam Phillips (no relation) — especially when thinking about him as a loving father, husband, son, grandson, brother, community leader, businessman and one of my best friends.

Sam was a self-described Mama's boy who loved being Asher's and Lettie's Dad.

He loved the outdoors, his dogs and Alabama football.

Sam also called a couple of times just to tell me about how excited he was to coach Asher's Warrior Baseball little league team. And in one of the countless memories that reduced me to a bawling mess, Sam's brother Hunter sent me one of the last pictures taken of just Sam and Asher on Dec. 29, 2024, as they walked into the woods to hunt.

"He was a caring person," his childhood best friend and eventual employee Michael McDaniel told me as we all mourned the only way we knew how and shared stories around a burn pile Monday night. "I think he cared more about everybody else than he did himself."

Sam loved calling me to chat during the nighttime hours as he soaked in the pool like Tony Soprano and was quite fond of pop culture quotables — to the point that he and others in our close friend group just about have our own language consisting of memes and popular lines from movies, television shows and YouTube videos.

Sam was also a pillar of the Northport community despite being in his 30s and, unlike myself, wasn't a music snob.

For some reason I'll never understand, he was crazy about the 80s pop rock band Journey, so much so that he generously beckoned me on multiple occasions to saddle up and go with him to one of their many overpriced tour stops. He even offered to pay my way.

I hate Journey and Sam knew it.

But he was an unrelenting force of nature who simply wouldn't take my "no" for an answer, so he must've asked me a dozen times, sending me pictures of their tour schedule. He eventually gave up and switched to selling me on big-time AC/DC concert dates.

I never took him up on his offer but did listen to Journey's "Wheel In The Sky" as I drove home Monday night. He's surely laughing somewhere about that.

Sam could sell a wool sweater to the Devil and was one of the most stubborn people you've ever met if he thought he was right, which was always. It's probably one of the reasons we hit it off so well when we first met, considering folks have likely said the same thing about my stubbornness.

We made it a point to schedule a couple of the same classes together at Shelton State Community College, would hang out and play video games in between classes, and never once fully lost touch over the years after I moved off for school and work.

A few months after I moved back to Tuscaloosa in 2020, we ran into each other in passing on the concourse at Coleman Coliseum during a basketball game and picked up right where we left off, as if no time had passed over the last decade.

"It isn't even Journey's original lead singer," I told him a few months ago and, in similar instances, we might've devolved into shouting matches over everything from "The Lord of the Rings" and "Star Wars" plot points to Northport politics and Tuscaloosa County High football — something he loved dearly.

If someone who didn't know us walked up in the middle of one such exchange, they might feel the need to get in between us or run the other direction fearing for their safety.

That's what the unfamiliar eye could easily miss about Sam Phillips, because at the end of each chippy phone call or debate around a fire, every single one ended with something like, "Love you brother, talk to you tomorrow."

And we'd pick up where we left off the next day, generally depending on who woke up first.

"What most people saw in Sam Phillips was the outgoing, gregarious character that he was," Chamber of Commerce of West Alabama President Kyle South told me. "What most people might not have seen was how truly passionate he was about his family and his community. He was a young, energetic ambassador for Northport and the community at large."

Indeed, those on the outside had no way of seeing his willingness to sit up on a teary late-night phone call in moments of self-doubt or professional angst. They didn't see the "atta boy" texts he sent me daily about stories I'd written — little notes of encouragement I took for granted and was too selfish to reciprocate in kind when I had the chance.

Justin Grimball, co-owner of Jalapeños Mexican Grill and a mutual friend with Sam and I, was also his neighbor and had a similar kind of boyish relationship with Sam as I did.

"Although we didn’t hang out as often as we’d like, we kept in touch by texting every week," he said. "Our conversations were mostly filled with silly "Lord of the Rings" and Hobbit quotes. We both shared a dream of visiting New Zealand, the place where the movies were filmed. Whenever I was going through a tough time, Sam would always send me an encouraging message, and I would do the same for him. He will be deeply missed. As Bilbo Baggins famously said, 'I’m going on an adventure!' Sam has already embarked on his own heavenly adventure, we will see you again brother."

Whether he knew it or not, Sam was the Great White Buffalo to me: the quintessential rarity who broke the mold.

He read nearly everything of importance I wrote, along with plenty of the stinkers, and was one of the few people who didn't mind pointing out typos or things he thought I got wrong. He did this not from some place of intellectual or social superiority but because he wanted me to be the best that I could be. He told me so every time and I never once doubted his sincerity.

We also had fun with having the same last name, despite not being related as far as we can tell.

In one such instance, a mutual friend texted us in a group chat to say "Merry Christmas" and wish our singular family the best. Instead of politely pointing out that we were of no relation, we just let it slide and returned the sentiment.

Blood or not, Sam Phillips was family to me, so it wasn't completely dishonest.

He was one of my most-trusted confidantes and one of the few real friends in my hometown who never once viewed our relationship through a transactional lens.

He wanted so bad to write an outdoor column for Tuscaloosa Patch and it chapped him to no end that I refused to sell him advertising because his friendship was more than enough for me. His business certainly didn't need my help promoting a known commodity and I would've been the only person to benefit.

"More folks know 'Sam Phillips' than 'Ryan Phillips' anyways, spend your money somewhere else," I said a couple of times when he asked about an advertising package.

He'd roll his eyes and respond with something like: "Your loss then, bro. I just want you to know I'm here to help if you need it."

And that was Sam. He died sometime Monday, Feb. 24, 2025.

He'd have turned 35 next month and arrangements have not been finalized.

But put simply, writing about someone in the past tense who I loved like a brother and I talked to every day to is one of the hardest things I've ever done.

Sam wouldn't have wanted it any other way, though.

When looking at his career, the Sam Phillips memory I'm most fond of came in April 2021 when the City of Northport presented his Allstate Insurance agency with its Business of the Month Award. He'd worked hard to make a name for himself and his wide smile showed that he could finally see it was paying off.

And what an honor it was for me to be there to document my friend's success.

Michael McDaniel knew Sam for 30 years and considered him his childhood best friend. McDaniel also played a key role at Sam Phillips: Allstate Insurance over the last eight years.

"He dragged me away from selling cars so I could hopefully have a better future and better life, and the plan was to kind of help drive the ship," McDaniel told me. "I hate that it ended so abruptly and I'm going to miss him."

In so many conversations over the years, Sam often credited a familiar name as being the real reason for his success ...

Big Sam And Little Sam

Sam Phillips is the grandson of legendary banker, philanthropist and former Northport Mayor Sam Faucett, another man I adore and deeply respect who was my Mama's boss at Regions Bank years ago. And I cherish the myriad memories I have of them together.

"Sam has that caring heart like his grandpa does and always wanted to do what was best for everybody around him," McDaniel said.

Sam thought a lot about how he wanted Big Sam's legacy to be remembered years from now and he shared so many stories with me over the years that he insisted I commit to memory if the day ever came when I had to write about it. That man was his hero, after all, so I certainly understood.

There are other memories, like the odd couple of Sam & Sam taking good-natured jabs at one another as we sat in Mr. Faucett's home office and went over old County High yearbooks for a project I was working on last summer.

Or memories like a couple of years ago, when the family gathered in Historic Downtown Northport for the dedication of a plaque honoring the former location of the Faucett Brothers store. He was so proud of his family and followed in Big Sam's footsteps to become a well-known face in the community through his active involvement with numerous causes and boards.

Despite the hard time Big Sam and Little Sam gave each other, it was clear even to me that their bond was an incredibly deep one and shaped the man that Sam Phillips became.

It was also obvious that his approaches to business, philanthropy and the community were quite similar in many ways to that of his illustrious grandfather.

"Sam wanted to be known as the guy who could get it done," our mutual friend Brett Booth told me. "He had an attitude of: 'What do y’all need? What’s the hardest thing you got and let me do it.'"

Sam had a sense of duty unlike anyone else I've ever known. He loved his hometown of Northport and his alma maters of TCHS and the University of Alabama.

In fact, Chamber President Kyle South told me about the high-level conversation where Sam was considered for a seat on its Board of Directors — something I later reported on in December and sent to Sam as soon as the story was published. It was something Sam wanted so bad and we talked more times about it than I could count.

"We needed a young business person from Northport that is passionate about their community," South recalled of the talks. "The five or so people around the table quickly agreed Sam was the obvious choice."

Given the place Sam's family occupies throughout Northport's history and into the present, Sam was keen to build upon his family's community ties through generosity, with arguably his favorite cause being Tuscaloosa County High athletics.

Sam played golf for the Wildcats in high school but was quick to admit to anybody that he wasn't much of an athlete back in the day. This made his tireless support of County High sports that much more honorable. He said it in countless ways but there were so many times Sam told me he felt it was his duty to give back to TCHS.

Indeed, his involvement with County High football was something he was particularly proud of and was of the belief that if members of the school community cared about things like winning and quality facilities, then everyone should find some way to get involved.

One of our mutual friends — former TCHS football star and Alabama baseball player Brett Booth — chuckled when I asked him about Sam's passion for TCHS sports.

"He'd be the first to tell you he wasn't the best athlete but that guy loved people more than you could imagine and loved helping that school," Booth said. "He loved being around people and 'community' was his middle name. He was competitive (and stubborn) as they come and wanted to be the best at everything he did. Not only did he want to be the best but you could feel every time you talked with him that he wanted you to be the best you could be as well, which was always apparent with a 'just let me know if you need anything, or you know I’m here for you,' as we parted ways or hung up the phone."

Apart from his tenacity in the business world, Sam's good deeds also extended to other unsung heroes who support TCHS athletics — whether they are winning or not.

"For starters, he is the reason I was Alumni of the Year in 2023," longtime TCHS booster Brandy Hardin Shaw told me. "He introduced me at the assembly and he was so proud. When he called to tell me I won it, I swear he was like a kid on Christmas morning. And that meant so much to me. He loved TCHS to the core. We often talked about our parents who all went to TCHS and City of Northport things. We had it all figured out."

Tuscaloosa County High School's campus in Northport is named in honor of Sam Faucett, who played a major role in its development and construction. So it should come as little surprise that his grandson also supported his alma mater outside of athletics, too.

"I can say that he was always the first to say he would help any way he could to better our school," TCHS Principal Darrell Williams told me. "He would call me every few weeks and ask how I was doing and if there was anything I needed. He was a huge supporter of County High and wanted this community to grow and prosper. He will be truly missed."

Ties That Bind

The small crowd outside of Sam and Holly's house stood around with tear-streaked faces or were otherwise despondent.

The best way I could describe the feeling for me was shell-shock.

Holly has been nothing but good to me in the time I've known her and has shown more patience for my immature antics than I ever deserved. My heart was shattered into a million pieces at the thought of her and the kids losing Sam.

When I awkwardly went up to hug Holly's neck Monday evening and let her know we were just down the road and a phone call away, I made it a point to tell her I loved Sam.

I could've turned into a puddle right there when she smiled through the tears and responded "He loved you so much."

Up until that moment it felt like some nightmare fever dream and, in-between bouts of full-blown squalling, I've been nearly catatonic since.

The most effective way I could possibly grieve at this point is to tell a story worthy of my friend as a lasting testament to how much he meant to so many.

I knew Sam better than most and he would haunt me until my dying day and then keep after me in the afterlife for not being the one to write it.

After things somewhat settled down late Monday night, our small group of Sam's mutual friends were restless and got together in the same way we normally did with Sam — standing around a burn pile and sharing stories.

Reality still hadn't quite set in as I pulled into the driveway to meet everyone and when I first saw three silhouettes against the large fire, I wasn't thinking when I automatically figured Sam was one of them. Just the first of many reminders that he was really gone.

There were laughs, tears and pauses where nobody said a thing.

As the fire crackled in front of us and the painful reality slowly set in, I looked around and noticed something about the group of friends gathered — all good men I would lay on the train tracks for.

However, I pointed out that the only common thread connecting us in the past and leading to that moment was Sam. I knew a couple of the guys in the group years ago but it was Sam who united us as the old farts we are now.

The best example for me personally is Sam's cousin, Matthew Terry, who has become as close of a friend in many respects as Sam was and I honestly can't imagine getting through this loss and having to move forward without him to lean on and confide in.

And it was Sam who introduced us.

I'll never forget how crabby Sam got on New Year's Eve when we had first planned to watch football that night, only for me and Matthew to mess up the schedule because we were watching a YouTube documentary about the Vietnam War.

Then there's Sam's brother Hunter, who my friend had insisted for ages I had to meet because he thought we would hit it off. And wouldn't you know it, Sam introduced us this past New Year's Eve and we quickly bonded over, of all things, "Tombstone" movie quotes.

Sam had a keen eye for people and, whether he realized it at the time or not, the number of connections he helped forge in his friends' lives will be a large part of his legacy.

Still, the void left is vast and things will never be same.

Sam was one-of-a-kind and when thinking about the lives he touched, I'll remember most how he brought so many of us together and never asked for a thing in return.

Ryan Phillips is an award-winning journalist, editor and opinion columnist. He is also the founder and field editor of Tuscaloosa Patch. The opinions expressed in this column are in no way a reflection of our parent company or sponsors. Email news tips to ryan.phillips@patch.com.