mistanice
10-16-2008, 10:44 PM
Friday night in Diboll, before the football game between the Lumberjacks and the Center Roughriders, the fans and administrators in Lumberjack Stadium will take a few moments to recognize a couple of deserving people by inducting them into the coveted Wall of Honor.
The Wall is a place of honor reserved mostly for former Diboll students and athletes, along with a few coaches and others who managed to leave a lasting impression in the school and the city. One of those people will be Prentise Tyrone Jones, a former multi-sport athlete who excelled in several Lumberjack sports before graduating in 1989.
The other guy making this year's list never played a single down of Lumberjack football. He never swung a bat, shot a hoop or lifted a weight for the Lumberjack athletic program. In fact, Gary Willmon was a Hudson alumnus. The guy bled Hornet maroon all his life.
So how does a guy with no clear ties to the Diboll community make the Wall of Honor?
If you have to ask, you didn't know Gary Willmon.
Gary was Diboll. Every part of it. As the long-time editor of the Diboll Free Press before resuming a role at The Lufkin Daily News, Gary, who passed away this past May, had immersed himself in everything that was Diboll. The city, its people, its events and — most of all — its schools.
An avid sports nut, Gary covered Lumberjack everything, from football to basketball, from volleyball to weightlifting. He told the town's stories, especially those involving its youngsters. Looking at a sports roster, Gary could recite every pertinent stat or detail pertaining to an athlete, then go on to tell you all about that kid's family.
He knew all that because he took the time to learn it. Sure, he could quote from memory every big play a girl or boy had made while representing the Lumberjacks; but years later, Gary could tell you where the child had gone to school, where he or she was working, and whom they'd married. If they'd had children, he'd know their names, too.
So for Gary Willmon to make the hallowed Wall of Honor speaks volumes of his dedication to the city of Diboll. But to those of us who knew him, Gary's earning this recognition and respect just because of who he was.
One of the sweetest people I've ever known. Period.
That's what makes his passing so hard to take, especially now, during football season. I met Gary while covering Lumberjack football back in 2000. Before that, everyone I knew told me he was the very first person I needed to meet. Not just because of his wealth of knowledge regarding all things Lumberjack; but because, and I'm quoting a friend here, "He's the kind of guy you'll always be happy you met."
They were right. From the first night with him in the Diboll press box, I knew this skinny little guy with glasses and a Diboll cap was something else indeed. His standard greeting — "Hey dude!" — came with a smile so big it pushed his glasses up on his face.
While others of us used fancy schmancy stat sheets we'd developed to track the games, Gary kept all his stats on a reporter's pad — and when we weren't sure just how we'd managed to screw up our own numbers, Gary gave us his.
He talked whatever sport we were covering all game long, sharing his years of knowledge of the area with us newcomers. If you weren't a die-hard Diboll fan before attending a game, sitting next to Gary would make you one. He absolutely loved his Lumberjacks and Ladyjacks. Even now, I still feel him in the press box, and I find myself looking next to me just to see if he's actually there.
His job was just one of his loves. In fact, placed in order, Gary loved his God, his wife Patti, and his job. He played piano for his church, called Patti from the road at every opportunity, and didn't hesitate to remove the cap from my head when I forgot to take it off while he said grace over our shared meals.
I guess my point is that if anyone ever deserved a place on someone's Wall of Honor, it would be Gary Willmon. Not just for what he meant to the community he loved and in which he worked, but for also being the type of man who, through his own actions, made one want to be a better person.
Here's to you, Gary, and to your place on the Wall of Honor.
Hey dude. We miss you.
The Wall is a place of honor reserved mostly for former Diboll students and athletes, along with a few coaches and others who managed to leave a lasting impression in the school and the city. One of those people will be Prentise Tyrone Jones, a former multi-sport athlete who excelled in several Lumberjack sports before graduating in 1989.
The other guy making this year's list never played a single down of Lumberjack football. He never swung a bat, shot a hoop or lifted a weight for the Lumberjack athletic program. In fact, Gary Willmon was a Hudson alumnus. The guy bled Hornet maroon all his life.
So how does a guy with no clear ties to the Diboll community make the Wall of Honor?
If you have to ask, you didn't know Gary Willmon.
Gary was Diboll. Every part of it. As the long-time editor of the Diboll Free Press before resuming a role at The Lufkin Daily News, Gary, who passed away this past May, had immersed himself in everything that was Diboll. The city, its people, its events and — most of all — its schools.
An avid sports nut, Gary covered Lumberjack everything, from football to basketball, from volleyball to weightlifting. He told the town's stories, especially those involving its youngsters. Looking at a sports roster, Gary could recite every pertinent stat or detail pertaining to an athlete, then go on to tell you all about that kid's family.
He knew all that because he took the time to learn it. Sure, he could quote from memory every big play a girl or boy had made while representing the Lumberjacks; but years later, Gary could tell you where the child had gone to school, where he or she was working, and whom they'd married. If they'd had children, he'd know their names, too.
So for Gary Willmon to make the hallowed Wall of Honor speaks volumes of his dedication to the city of Diboll. But to those of us who knew him, Gary's earning this recognition and respect just because of who he was.
One of the sweetest people I've ever known. Period.
That's what makes his passing so hard to take, especially now, during football season. I met Gary while covering Lumberjack football back in 2000. Before that, everyone I knew told me he was the very first person I needed to meet. Not just because of his wealth of knowledge regarding all things Lumberjack; but because, and I'm quoting a friend here, "He's the kind of guy you'll always be happy you met."
They were right. From the first night with him in the Diboll press box, I knew this skinny little guy with glasses and a Diboll cap was something else indeed. His standard greeting — "Hey dude!" — came with a smile so big it pushed his glasses up on his face.
While others of us used fancy schmancy stat sheets we'd developed to track the games, Gary kept all his stats on a reporter's pad — and when we weren't sure just how we'd managed to screw up our own numbers, Gary gave us his.
He talked whatever sport we were covering all game long, sharing his years of knowledge of the area with us newcomers. If you weren't a die-hard Diboll fan before attending a game, sitting next to Gary would make you one. He absolutely loved his Lumberjacks and Ladyjacks. Even now, I still feel him in the press box, and I find myself looking next to me just to see if he's actually there.
His job was just one of his loves. In fact, placed in order, Gary loved his God, his wife Patti, and his job. He played piano for his church, called Patti from the road at every opportunity, and didn't hesitate to remove the cap from my head when I forgot to take it off while he said grace over our shared meals.
I guess my point is that if anyone ever deserved a place on someone's Wall of Honor, it would be Gary Willmon. Not just for what he meant to the community he loved and in which he worked, but for also being the type of man who, through his own actions, made one want to be a better person.
Here's to you, Gary, and to your place on the Wall of Honor.
Hey dude. We miss you.