It was November 27, 1982 . . . a football Saturday in Tennessee, only not in Knoxville. The opponent was Vanderbilt University, and the game was being played in Nashville, Vandy’s home turf. Not that “home turf” had ever proven much of an advantage for them. Only in the late 1800s and early 1900s had Vanderbilt dominated Tennessee, winning all but two of their games with two additional ones resulting in ties. That all came to a screeching halt after the 1927 game that ended with a score of 7 – 7. From there on, UT prevailed in 79 games compared to Vandy’s 14, with a few ties thrown in for good measure. But one of those magical 14 games was played on Saturday, November 27, 1982.
My husband and my brother had made the trip to Nashville to watch what I’m sure they believed would be a trouncing; however, the final score of 21 – 28 in Vanderbilt’s favor made for a long, sad, probably not quiet (as they analyzed every play and call of the game) ride back. I had chosen to stay home (like there was any other option in my world). I am not a football human. I’m not even much of a people human unless forced to interact. Therefore, I was quite content to stay home with our son and was washing dishes when I heard something outside. It was late in the evening . . . let me rephrase . . . it was very late at night, and I couldn’t imagine who or what would be rattling the knob of my back door. That noise started the “Now what?” conversation in my head. Do I: a) pretend I’m not home, b) flip on the carport light and hopefully scare them away, c) flip on the light and then look out the window or, d) just wait to see what they’re up to? And that was assuming “they” were human.
I opted for plan c. Immediately after illuminating the entire carport and half the backyard, I peeked through the window to find my mother and my father . . . my father, the proud graduate of Vanderbilt University . . . standing outside the door, attempting to attach a black bow to the knob. Knowing that would be my husband’s point of entry upon his return, they had gotten one of our black bows from the funeral home with the intent of leaving him a heartfelt acknowledgement (read that as gleefully gloating) of Tennessee’s demise. They were headed to my brother’s house afterwards.
Fast forward to this past Saturday. Again, not being a football human, I was oblivious to the upheavals taking place. The mystified and amazed reactions on Facebook were my first clue. No, fourth ranked Tennessee was not, once again, defeated by Vanderbilt. That task was left up to an unranked Arkansas team. But unranked Vandy did ‘em one better. They beat number one Alabama. And I’m pretty sure my dad was smugly looking down on all the chaos, wishing he had a black bow. And somewhere to put it.
Isn’t it funny how random events in Life can revive long-forgotten memories? And how much they can make you miss the people with whom you shared them?
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
