Harold Lee Phillips, Jr., a learned and intellectually accomplished man of deep passions and a generous heart, passed away March 7, 2018, after a long illness. Harold was born in Spartanburg, SC on December 18, 1933. He taught German, Russian, and Spanish and served as an assistant principal at Dreher High School in Columbia, SC for about three decades before retiring to Madison County, NC, in 1991.

There will be a celebration of Harold’s life at 2:00pm, March 17, 2018, at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Spirit, 433 Bone Camp Rd., Marshall, NC.

A second celebration of life will be held in Columbia, SC, at 1:00pm on April 7, 2018 at Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, 3909 Forest Drive, Columbia, SC.

In lieu of flowers, donations in Harold's memory may be made to Friends of Madison County Animals, PO Box 191, Marshall, NC 28753 (www.fomca.org), or to the hospice that cared for Harold in his final months, CarePartners Foundation, 20 Rotary Dr., Asheville, NC 28803 (www.carepartnersfoundation.org). The family is being assisted with final arrangements by www.blueridge-funeral-service.com.

Harold is survived by his wife of nearly 33 years, Kathleen Hogue Phillips; daughter, Tara Phillips Shepherd; son, Emerson Scott Phillips; and brother, James Phillips. Harold is also survived by many other beloved relatives and dear friends, including numerous nieces and nephews who lit up his life with joy; cousins Sally Loflin, Nell Crow, and Ruby Fowler; grandson Mason Gast; “granddaughters” Eliza and Willow Stevenson and Gillian Dukette; special friend Andy Teague; former wife, Troy McLaughlin, Emerson’s mother; and, as he might say with a smile, many in-laws and out-laws.

Having lived a long life, he was predeceased by family and friends who helped shape him. He cherished his memories of these loved ones until his own dying days. Of special note are two of his four children - Reba Nell Phillips who died at birth, and Harold L. (Hal) Phillips, III, who was struck and killed by a hit and run driver at age 13. As a young man, Harold also was predeceased by his first wife, Audrey, mother to Hal, Tara Shepherd, and Reba Phillips. His parents, both deceased, were Nell Wilson Phillips and Harold Lee Phillips, Sr. A brother, Robert, passed away last year.

Harold’s very fine mind, memories, and personality were ravaged in recent years by vascular dementia. His final journey in the loving care of hospice was especially poignant as his ability to communicate slipped away. Those who love him celebrate his release from bondage at last.

Harold delivered newspapers in the Rosewood and Shandon neighborhoods of Columbia as a child and learned the value of hard work and earning a buck. He anchored the offensive line as a 150-pound center on Dreher’s state champion football team in 1951. He cherished the bonds developed with his buddies from those years and stayed in touch until he was no longer able. He graduated as a German major with a BA from the University of South Carolina in 1956. He later earned a MAT in Russian from one of the premier language programs in the country at Indiana University. He was a proud veteran who served honorably in the US Army.

Herr Phillips strode the halls of Dreher for most of the period between 1960 and 1991. It has been said more than once that our impact on the lives of others is the most lasting mark we leave behind on our own journey through life. It is through those lives we have touched that our impact lives on. Herr hit the top of the charts on that measure. He was a compassionate, engaged, and deeply caring teacher, the likes of which have rarely been minted. As an example of how this played out, Harold gave freely of his summer “vacation” to take a group of adolescent boys from his language classes on a bicycle tour across Europe, creating memories among those students that are vivid yet today. And in another phase of life, he gave English lessons to Russian emigres in Madison County. He was all in when it came to learning, caring for each student as an individual, and total commitment to helping students navigate the tricky path to adulthood. He was particularly proud that among his students were young men and women who became great leaders in their chosen fields in South Carolina and around the world.

About his love affair with the bicycle. For years, Harold’s trademarks were his bicycle (he rode it everywhere when he wasn’t driving his beloved VW van); his pipe (it rarely left his lips); and a sporty cap to protect his head after he lost his hair at an early age. Beyond his trek across Europe with a group of students, he cycled from coast to coast in the US in 1995, and was a veteran of many “Assault on Mt. Mitchell” century (100 mile) rides over the years. While some of his stories about his cycling adventures were no doubt apocryphal (more about that later), Harold was a genuinely accomplished rider.

As a friend, Harold would do anything to help at a moment’s notice, including handing over the shirt off his back, no questions asked, and no credit expected. He was an accomplished “amateur” carpenter who built many structures for friends and family, including his final home on a beautiful mountainside in Madison County, NC. Harold and one of his dearest friends, Jim Hogue (AKA Jim Who), formed a construction company - FBN (Fly By Night) Enterprises - and worked on many of these projects together while arguing about the great verities. Despite their company motto - “The closer YOU look, the worse WE look” - they remained convinced over the years that their best work would survive long after all else had been reduced to dust.

Harold was always a mountain man. He lived in Madison County, NC from 1991 until his death. He was a faithful steward of land and forest, a charter member of Friends of Madison County Animals, and a member of the Episcopal Church of the Holy Spirit in Mars Hill, NC. He was a man of substance, passion, and deep character. He loved deeply and embraced the love of many others in return.

Making Harold out to be a secular saint would annoy him mightily. Let’s remember that he cooked a mean pot of chili and cursed like a sailor when he pounded his thumb with a hammer. He was stubborn on some issues of importance - dedication to equality and social justice, for example. But he could be equally stubborn on other issues that left you scratching your head - refusing to use a personal computer or mobile device, for example.

Harold was an entertaining raconteur. Just about everybody recalls a good Harold story or two. He could hold forth convincingly on issues about which, it turned out, he knew very little. He could blend fact and fiction seamlessly; it was hard to figure exactly where the truth ended and the yarn began. There was the time, for example, when he convinced his too-trusting mother, Nell, that he had purchased a used ski lift to ferry visitors up the mountain to visit his new home. Friends and family often labeled these stories “apocryphal.” Harold’s usual response was righteous indignation that anyone would challenge his integrity. And so it went…

He drank coffee noisily and with great gusto and was not averse to bending an elbow late into the night. He was a lifelong, hopelessly dedicated Gamecock sports fan; you can decide on your own whether that is a badge of honor or a character flaw. He had a wicked sense of humor, loved a good belly laugh, and enjoyed scandalizing the unwary by noisily wishing people “gute fahrt!” in public settings as they embarked on their travels. Sitting on a broad porch as evening descended, moonlight flowing over Pisgah and fireflies rising from the fields below, big dawgs at this feet and loved ones by his side - well, that was about as close to heaven as he cared to imagine.

In the final years of his life, one of Harold’s lasting, joyful memories was a surprise 80th birthday party in Columbia. Scores of friends and family were there to embrace the Harold they knew and loved, and he was able to express his love in return. Were he alive and able to do so, Harold would thank each of you who attended or sent best wishes from afar for the precious gift of your love on that special day.

In an earlier era, schoolboy wrestlers sometimes were called “grapplers.” Harold was a grappler. He wrestled with some of life’s biggest and most vexing questions about belief and meaning during his personal spiritual journey. He struggled during tragic and trying times. It is little wonder that he spent countless hours cranking up the volume and feeling the passion of classical music deep in his soul while reading the great 19th century Russian novelists in their native tongue, relishing their poetry, the complexity of their philosophical arguments, and the depth of their fundamental questions about life and death. He continued to seek meaning and higher purpose even as he grappled with profound grief and loss.

The playwright and social activist James Baldwin said that the purpose of art is to lay bare the questions that have been hidden by the answers. That was Harold’s belief about all of life, not just art. He saw it as his life’s work to search for the questions and find his own answers.

Trying to sum up anyone’s life is a perilous business. But it is perhaps Harold’s perpetual quest for meaning that will stand out in memory.

In “Four Quartets” the poet T.S. Eliot wrote -

“We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.”

That’s the Harold many of us knew and loved. Birth. Growth. Ecstasy. Sorrow. Reconciliation. Rebirth. Joyous embrace of life and love.

Rapidly weakening and barely able to eat on the day before he entered enhanced hospice care for the last 12 days of his journey, Harold turned to Kathleen and said, “I have a great idea!” His great idea was to contact everyone they knew - family, friends, neighbors, everyone they could think of - and have a big meal together.

Harold’s mind was failing, but the core of his deepest beliefs - what he prized the most - remained intact. This was his final message from his heart: let me break bread with Emerson, Tara, Kathie and all my loved ones at a communal table, for this is my ultimate affirmation of life.

Thank you, Harold. We are so grateful you were born.

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