Are We There Yet

April 14-20, 2014

The great Obes is looking down

By Jay Edwards

The eighties were a special time in my life. I came out of the University of Arkansas in December 1979, got engaged to KM that same month and left the college life behind, well, most of it. 

KM’s roommate at that time was a girl named Patti Martin. In need of a job after losing my first one (“Not my fault,” I told my parents after my six years at the U of A had led to only six weeks as a mortgage originator. “High interest rates, lots of people with more experience than me are being let go as well.” “Uh huh,” my unsympathetic dad said) I called on Patti.

Patti worked at the old municipal bond house known as T.J. Raney and Sons. I told her my plight and she said she could get me an interview with the sales manager on the bond floor, Tommy Harkins, and his second in command, Willie Hickerson. The two watched over a large sales force that sold tax-free and government bonds, to clients from Alaska to Florida. 

But the firm’s specialty, the thing that had made them strong, was its Arkansas school bond underwriting department and sales force. And the backbone of that force was a great man we lost this month, Winston Faulkner.

Winston ... or Preacher ... or Coach, depending on how long you’d known him and who you were, was one of the most likeable people I’ve ever known. Every morning we would arrive at the bond floor at 200 Louisiana, and later the larger one at 3600 Cantrell Road, and one of the first things we would hear was Coach’s friendly voice booming out greetings – 

“Hey Modean, what about it?” 

or “Big Wayne, these bonds got your name on them,” 

or “Sammy, tell it to me.” 

Those three were Walter “Moe” Daniels, Wayne “Baldy” Marshall and Sam “China Cup” Pallone. Winston was that way to us all though. He just made us feel good about being there.

One of my favorite greetings that he bellowed out at least once a day was saved for only one person – his son Jimmy “Red.” 

“Hey Obes!” Winston would call out to Red, and the younger Faulkner would answer back the same greeting. I think it was years before I ever asked Jimmy what the meaning of Obes was. His explanation, as I recall, and you’ll have to bear with me because we’re talking about 30 years ago (or the maturity date of the long bond); the explanation had to do with a diet bet the two had made with each other and the friendly father and son prodding that shortened “Obese One” and “Obese Two,” into just Obes. 

It stuck, like a lot of nicknames around there did. Mine was Dark Hole, which actually began as Black Hole when Joe Mama Owen asked about one of my bank customers (OK, my only customer), “What is he, a black hole?” Then one day, Harkins called me Dark Hole by mistake, which pretty much stuck with me through the twilight of my mediocre career. 

There were other nicknames. I already mentioned the incomparable Modeaner and Baldy. We also had Buck and Smitty and Boxcar. There was Cornbread, Clam, Habib, Dr. Smooth, Earl the Pearl, Pinhead, Hey Boss, Mack Speakin’, Canute Whitkin,

 Squat, Show Dog, Cyclops, Scurvy Legs, Conehead and Garvin. Oh yes, and of course the Scat Daddies (us golfers).  

Harkins was Commodore, because he’d played football at Vanderbilt.

Winston also played football, for Hendrix in the late 40s, and had been all conference as well as president of the student body. My grandfather, Dr. Matt Locke Ellis, was president of the college back then.  Years later, in the 70s, Dr. Matt became very ill and there was a dire need for a blood transfusion. Winston was a match and quickly responded. My grandfather would pull through that serious time and he stayed active well into his nineties, thanks to Winston and others. 

Coach use to say to me every now and then, “Big Jay, tell Dr. Matt if he’s feeling good today it’s because of my blood flowing through his veins.” I wouldn’t doubt it a bit.

I read in Coach’s obituary last week about his Navy service during World War II. When I saw that I thought - Of course, if anyone fit the slogan of “The Greatest Generation,” it was Winston Faulkner.

God Speed Coach.