Corbett Glen Anderson
June 14, 1937-October 18, 2017
Corbett "Glen" Anderson, of Haysi, Virginia, passed away peacefully at Spring Hills Senior Community in Middletown, Ohio on Wednesday, October 18, 2017.
Born to Ruby and Claude Anderson in Daisy, Kentucky, Glen became a dominant high school basketball player, eventually setting school scoring records at tiny Haysi High, garnering him the moniker of "the Terror of Southwest Virginia."
Glen earned a scholarship and played basketball at the University of Tennessee, where he studied Business.
He was a devoted Boy Scout and served in the Army Reserve, based out of Fort Eustis, Virginia, including an active duty stint in the Army during the Cuban Missile Crisis. He also played semi-professional basketball with the Winston Salem Bullets.
In 1962, he took a job with RJR Reynolds Tobacco, and later with Del Monte Foods and US Playing Cards, in transportation and logistics, managing warehousing, trucking and shipping.
Glen met the love of his life Phyllis in 1968. A whirlwind romance ensued, and they were soon married. First son Alton "Ody" was born in 1969. Son, Corbett "Corby" followed in 1972.
Patriarch of the Anderson family, Glen Anderson will be forever remembered as the very definition of "A Good Man."
Glen was preceded in death by his father Claude Anderson, sister Gail Anderson, father-in-law Harold Tullis, mother Ruby Anderson, sister-in-law Carla Tullis, and mother-in-law Martha Tullis.
He is survived by his wife, Phyllis Anderson, son Alton Anderson, daughter-in-law Noel Anderson, grandson Jake Anderson, son Corby Anderson, brother Harry Anderson, sister-in-law Sharon Anderson, as well as very special cousins Kay Kuchan and husband Bob, and Jerry Dick Sutherland and his wife Mary Lee.
A celebration of Glen Anderson's life will be held on Saturday, Oct. 28, 3 pm at Hayworth –Miller Kernersville Chapel, 141 Smith Edwards Road, Kernersville, NC, 27284. In lieu of flowers, the Anderson family requests that you consider making a donation in memory of Glen to: Boy Scouts of America, Sequoyah Council, Johnson City, TN 37602 or Alzheimer's Association (Act.alz.org/donate)
Online condolences may be made at www.hayworth-miller.com.
Published in Knoxville News Sentinel on Oct. 26, 2017
-----------------------------------------------
A tribute written about Corbett Glen Anderson by his son Corbett Madison Corby Anderson.
--------------------------------------------------
Anderson, Glen by Corby
Hello friends, got a mountain minute? Pull up a stump. Let me tell you about my dad.
My dad, the man whose name I share Kind Of (he who was born Corbett Glen and went by the latter, rather than I, who was born Corbett Madison and go by neither...Sort Of) was born in a lumber camp in one of the hardest hit valleys of Appalachia during the tail end of the Great Depression. Can you picture it? Ramshackle cabins. Steep, forboding mountains. Swift, stony rivers. Outhouses and oil lamps. Uphill to school in a foot of snow, both ways, LITERALLY.
He was born to a kindhearted merchant (himself the son of a moonshining Sheriff) and an artful teacher, and lived his youth like a pioneer, exploring the woods, canyons and streams of Southwest Virginia in a free and innocent way that was right out of an Andy Griffith episode.
A big guy his whole life, he learned to stand up for himself and for those who couldn't stand up for themselves after a rough-and-tumble experience as a teen in Albuquerque New Mexico when his parents sought arid climes for the asthma that soon took his father at the same age that I am now.
He endured tragedy early, losing his sister (Gayle, to leukemia) and his father in just a years time. At the age of 15, dad became head of the house to a one-room school teachers family. Thus, he spent almost his entire life as patriarch of the proud, hard working Anderson family, a duty he never wavered in to care--in any way possible--a family that once encompassed six households at once.
Dad was a Big Man, indeed. With dense muscles packed onto his 6'4" frame from early years of hiking hollers, swimming, digging, running, jumping, paddling, hauling, and stacking every obstacle and chore a mountain boy can encounter (and overcome) he discovered that he had a unique set of athletic skills...soft hands and giant shoulders, a deft and deadly shooting touch, quickness and determination inside the key, a particularly ample haunch (trademark Anderson trait hashtag #bigassandersons), and a knack for passing to open teammates-- that translated into his becoming a dominant high school basketball player, eventually setting school scoring records at tiny Haysi high, which didn't even have a home court, and garnering the moniker of "the Terror of Southwest Virginia." Ever see "Hoosiers?" Remember Jimmy Chitwood? That was my dad.
He earned a scholarship to the University of Tennessee to play basketball sight unseen, based on a group phone call from a collection of local businessmen to the coach at UT, who had never even heard of, let alone recruited, my dad. He was thus the first Anderson to go to a major college, and the first and only Haysi athlete to ever play hoops for UT.
Dad played forward and even a relatively undersized center at times for one of the top college programs in the country, and in the summer, ever the outdoorsman and devoted Boy Scout, he worked teaching swimming and life guard at Scout camps to help his mom and younger brother Harry Anderson, himself a future star athlete.
Legend has it that his last shot as a college athlete was a bucket that beat hated rival Kentucky and their coach Adolph Rupp at what is now called Rupp (sonofa) Arena. Asked to comment on how the victory felt by a sideline reporter, dad
As priorities shifted, dad passed up how final year of eligibility due to graduation (freshman had to redshirt in those days) and the need to get straight to work.
His next phase of life was a whirlwind of jobs leading to career in transportation logistics with RJ Reynolds tobacco, active duty service in the Army during the Cuban Missile Crisis (mom says he worked on tanks, I recall him saying he played basketball on the traveling Army post circuit), trips home to his mountains to hang out with his family (including Harry, who was a part of the first state championship team at Haysi high a few years after my dad's graduation) and many friends, playing semi-pro basketball with the Winston Salem Bullets, and finally, a chance meeting of a beautiful young secretary named Phyllis at a trucking company he was visiting for work.
Dad met mom and immediately fell into a love that would last a lifetime, and then some. They were promptly married and soon had a little feller, named Alton (who also doesn't go by his given name). The three moved around the country a few times for work including a short stint in New Jersey (New Jersey WTF dad!?) , and, a few years later, back in North Carolina, had another MUCH more handsome (*cough*) son, completing their brood.
Our family lived an ideal southern life in the 70's. Mom had us hopping from church to school to ball games. The neighborhood was rife with cohorts, young and old. Dad led us all on nature walks through the undeveloped lots. One time he snatched a snake by the tail out of a tree and snapped the thing like a whip, popping its head off like some kind of Tennessee Jones. We kids were speechless for once in our lives. Trips to the beach and up to the mountains were greatly anticipated, and centered around visiting a huge family that all had fascinating backgrounds: football coaches and coal miners, grunts and belly-gunners who faced down the Nazis, farmers, fishermen, teachers, truck drivers.
When Del Monte Foods bought RJ Reynolds in 1980, elevating dad to Director of Transportation of one of the biggest corporations in the world, we suddenly found ourselves in the San Fransisco Bay Area. It was bananas, no pun intended. We were wide open--a red-necked herd of hillbillies in a bright, new multicultural world. Thanks to mom's and dad's innate smarts and goodness, we embraced both our roots (see every awkward family photo ever) and the melting pot of new opportunities that California offered, eventually becoming somewhat-cultured hillbillies.
Now in his career prime, dad still took time to teach two curious young fellers just about every important life lesson we could hope to gain, mostly by taking us to wild and beautiful places and letting us explore (crash/fall/wipe out/snare and other catastrophes included), but sometimes by putting the fear of God in us! A gentle giant nevertheless can be a fearsome figure when young kids inevitably act up. Luckily either he knew his real strength and never felt the need to really jerk a knot in either of us, or we never quite pushed him over the edge. I suspect the former is more true than the latter! More likely, his mischievous, humorous side would emerge at those moments, when he would don a musty wig and gown as the begaveled judge of his own kangaroo court.
Under his tutelage, we learned to be gentlemen first, to respect our mom, each other and our elders (...why wouldn't you? They were all amazing!) to tell the truth, to be accountable and humble, to respect the family name and to have a strong work ethic. We learned to swim and play sports, to canoe rivers and lakes, to camp and hike, to four wheel into the backcountry, to fish and ski and whittle and look deep into stars and campfires. While mom taught me personally to cook, it was dad who taught me to SURVIVE by making and feeding us Spam, pancakes, corned beef hash, and Vienna sausages at camp. Basically to this day I can food shop for a few days at a gas station in a pinch:)
That was my dad. Again and again he took me to see my heroes play (lucky me, a crazed sports nut who arrived in SF as an 8-year old when Joe Montana and Ronnie Lott were drafted), but really, truthfully, those other guys were great and all, but he was my biggest hero.
My Uncle Harry said recently that he thinks my dad was maybe even a little jealous of the lives of freedom that his sons went on to lead. Not sure about that, but thanks to our parents, we were lucky enough to get the chance to pursue our passions. Dad encouraged my brother to chase his love of the outdoors and sports to become an accomplished wildland firefighter and land (now air) manager (basically a ski bum at heart), just as he urged me to pursue my love of sports and the outdoors to become, well, whatever I am (also a ski bum, really.) He always had a good word of advice and a joke, and always always had a sly, knowing smile on his expressive face. Short a few bucks for a date? He'd point you to the bin of recycled cans and show you how to smash em flat if you didn't already know. Five cents is five cents, bub.
We learned how to love by watching him and my mom take unquestioned care of each other for nearly 50 years. He took care of everyone else too. His mom, his brother, my mom's mom, her sister, a friends son. Our friends, who at times lived at our house. Anyone who needed a hand, he extended two. And if you needed a kick, he gave those out too.
It's late, my temples feel like a marching band has set up practice and the freshmen flutists are on kettle drums, and my eyes each weigh like setting suns. I get to drive his ashes and my mother home to North Carolina from Ohio in the morning. I'm deeply saddened but also incredibly inspired, for I was given the greatest gift, the clearest lesson I could ever hope for by my dad this week: he taught me how to be A Good Man.
You are free to run and jump and swim, tell tall tales and fart around once again, dad. Swing Nanny and Granma, Deanie and Gayle around the clouds! See you someday soon. Keep an eye on us all and send us a sign on the winds from time to time, eh pop? Thank you, and I love you.
Corbett Glen Anderson
June 14, 1937- October 18, 2017
"A job worth doing is a job well done"
June 14, 1937-October 18, 2017
Corbett "Glen" Anderson, of Haysi, Virginia, passed away peacefully at Spring Hills Senior Community in Middletown, Ohio on Wednesday, October 18, 2017.
Born to Ruby and Claude Anderson in Daisy, Kentucky, Glen became a dominant high school basketball player, eventually setting school scoring records at tiny Haysi High, garnering him the moniker of "the Terror of Southwest Virginia."
Glen earned a scholarship and played basketball at the University of Tennessee, where he studied Business.
He was a devoted Boy Scout and served in the Army Reserve, based out of Fort Eustis, Virginia, including an active duty stint in the Army during the Cuban Missile Crisis. He also played semi-professional basketball with the Winston Salem Bullets.
In 1962, he took a job with RJR Reynolds Tobacco, and later with Del Monte Foods and US Playing Cards, in transportation and logistics, managing warehousing, trucking and shipping.
Glen met the love of his life Phyllis in 1968. A whirlwind romance ensued, and they were soon married. First son Alton "Ody" was born in 1969. Son, Corbett "Corby" followed in 1972.
Patriarch of the Anderson family, Glen Anderson will be forever remembered as the very definition of "A Good Man."
Glen was preceded in death by his father Claude Anderson, sister Gail Anderson, father-in-law Harold Tullis, mother Ruby Anderson, sister-in-law Carla Tullis, and mother-in-law Martha Tullis.
He is survived by his wife, Phyllis Anderson, son Alton Anderson, daughter-in-law Noel Anderson, grandson Jake Anderson, son Corby Anderson, brother Harry Anderson, sister-in-law Sharon Anderson, as well as very special cousins Kay Kuchan and husband Bob, and Jerry Dick Sutherland and his wife Mary Lee.
A celebration of Glen Anderson's life will be held on Saturday, Oct. 28, 3 pm at Hayworth –Miller Kernersville Chapel, 141 Smith Edwards Road, Kernersville, NC, 27284. In lieu of flowers, the Anderson family requests that you consider making a donation in memory of Glen to: Boy Scouts of America, Sequoyah Council, Johnson City, TN 37602 or Alzheimer's Association (Act.alz.org/donate)
Online condolences may be made at www.hayworth-miller.com.
Published in Knoxville News Sentinel on Oct. 26, 2017
-----------------------------------------------
A tribute written about Corbett Glen Anderson by his son Corbett Madison Corby Anderson.
--------------------------------------------------
Anderson, Glen by Corby
Hello friends, got a mountain minute? Pull up a stump. Let me tell you about my dad.
My dad, the man whose name I share Kind Of (he who was born Corbett Glen and went by the latter, rather than I, who was born Corbett Madison and go by neither...Sort Of) was born in a lumber camp in one of the hardest hit valleys of Appalachia during the tail end of the Great Depression. Can you picture it? Ramshackle cabins. Steep, forboding mountains. Swift, stony rivers. Outhouses and oil lamps. Uphill to school in a foot of snow, both ways, LITERALLY.
He was born to a kindhearted merchant (himself the son of a moonshining Sheriff) and an artful teacher, and lived his youth like a pioneer, exploring the woods, canyons and streams of Southwest Virginia in a free and innocent way that was right out of an Andy Griffith episode.
A big guy his whole life, he learned to stand up for himself and for those who couldn't stand up for themselves after a rough-and-tumble experience as a teen in Albuquerque New Mexico when his parents sought arid climes for the asthma that soon took his father at the same age that I am now.
He endured tragedy early, losing his sister (Gayle, to leukemia) and his father in just a years time. At the age of 15, dad became head of the house to a one-room school teachers family. Thus, he spent almost his entire life as patriarch of the proud, hard working Anderson family, a duty he never wavered in to care--in any way possible--a family that once encompassed six households at once.
Dad was a Big Man, indeed. With dense muscles packed onto his 6'4" frame from early years of hiking hollers, swimming, digging, running, jumping, paddling, hauling, and stacking every obstacle and chore a mountain boy can encounter (and overcome) he discovered that he had a unique set of athletic skills...soft hands and giant shoulders, a deft and deadly shooting touch, quickness and determination inside the key, a particularly ample haunch (trademark Anderson trait hashtag #bigassandersons), and a knack for passing to open teammates-- that translated into his becoming a dominant high school basketball player, eventually setting school scoring records at tiny Haysi high, which didn't even have a home court, and garnering the moniker of "the Terror of Southwest Virginia." Ever see "Hoosiers?" Remember Jimmy Chitwood? That was my dad.
He earned a scholarship to the University of Tennessee to play basketball sight unseen, based on a group phone call from a collection of local businessmen to the coach at UT, who had never even heard of, let alone recruited, my dad. He was thus the first Anderson to go to a major college, and the first and only Haysi athlete to ever play hoops for UT.
Dad played forward and even a relatively undersized center at times for one of the top college programs in the country, and in the summer, ever the outdoorsman and devoted Boy Scout, he worked teaching swimming and life guard at Scout camps to help his mom and younger brother Harry Anderson, himself a future star athlete.
Legend has it that his last shot as a college athlete was a bucket that beat hated rival Kentucky and their coach Adolph Rupp at what is now called Rupp (sonofa) Arena. Asked to comment on how the victory felt by a sideline reporter, dad
As priorities shifted, dad passed up how final year of eligibility due to graduation (freshman had to redshirt in those days) and the need to get straight to work.
His next phase of life was a whirlwind of jobs leading to career in transportation logistics with RJ Reynolds tobacco, active duty service in the Army during the Cuban Missile Crisis (mom says he worked on tanks, I recall him saying he played basketball on the traveling Army post circuit), trips home to his mountains to hang out with his family (including Harry, who was a part of the first state championship team at Haysi high a few years after my dad's graduation) and many friends, playing semi-pro basketball with the Winston Salem Bullets, and finally, a chance meeting of a beautiful young secretary named Phyllis at a trucking company he was visiting for work.
Dad met mom and immediately fell into a love that would last a lifetime, and then some. They were promptly married and soon had a little feller, named Alton (who also doesn't go by his given name). The three moved around the country a few times for work including a short stint in New Jersey (New Jersey WTF dad!?) , and, a few years later, back in North Carolina, had another MUCH more handsome (*cough*) son, completing their brood.
Our family lived an ideal southern life in the 70's. Mom had us hopping from church to school to ball games. The neighborhood was rife with cohorts, young and old. Dad led us all on nature walks through the undeveloped lots. One time he snatched a snake by the tail out of a tree and snapped the thing like a whip, popping its head off like some kind of Tennessee Jones. We kids were speechless for once in our lives. Trips to the beach and up to the mountains were greatly anticipated, and centered around visiting a huge family that all had fascinating backgrounds: football coaches and coal miners, grunts and belly-gunners who faced down the Nazis, farmers, fishermen, teachers, truck drivers.
When Del Monte Foods bought RJ Reynolds in 1980, elevating dad to Director of Transportation of one of the biggest corporations in the world, we suddenly found ourselves in the San Fransisco Bay Area. It was bananas, no pun intended. We were wide open--a red-necked herd of hillbillies in a bright, new multicultural world. Thanks to mom's and dad's innate smarts and goodness, we embraced both our roots (see every awkward family photo ever) and the melting pot of new opportunities that California offered, eventually becoming somewhat-cultured hillbillies.
Now in his career prime, dad still took time to teach two curious young fellers just about every important life lesson we could hope to gain, mostly by taking us to wild and beautiful places and letting us explore (crash/fall/wipe out/snare and other catastrophes included), but sometimes by putting the fear of God in us! A gentle giant nevertheless can be a fearsome figure when young kids inevitably act up. Luckily either he knew his real strength and never felt the need to really jerk a knot in either of us, or we never quite pushed him over the edge. I suspect the former is more true than the latter! More likely, his mischievous, humorous side would emerge at those moments, when he would don a musty wig and gown as the begaveled judge of his own kangaroo court.
Under his tutelage, we learned to be gentlemen first, to respect our mom, each other and our elders (...why wouldn't you? They were all amazing!) to tell the truth, to be accountable and humble, to respect the family name and to have a strong work ethic. We learned to swim and play sports, to canoe rivers and lakes, to camp and hike, to four wheel into the backcountry, to fish and ski and whittle and look deep into stars and campfires. While mom taught me personally to cook, it was dad who taught me to SURVIVE by making and feeding us Spam, pancakes, corned beef hash, and Vienna sausages at camp. Basically to this day I can food shop for a few days at a gas station in a pinch:)
That was my dad. Again and again he took me to see my heroes play (lucky me, a crazed sports nut who arrived in SF as an 8-year old when Joe Montana and Ronnie Lott were drafted), but really, truthfully, those other guys were great and all, but he was my biggest hero.
My Uncle Harry said recently that he thinks my dad was maybe even a little jealous of the lives of freedom that his sons went on to lead. Not sure about that, but thanks to our parents, we were lucky enough to get the chance to pursue our passions. Dad encouraged my brother to chase his love of the outdoors and sports to become an accomplished wildland firefighter and land (now air) manager (basically a ski bum at heart), just as he urged me to pursue my love of sports and the outdoors to become, well, whatever I am (also a ski bum, really.) He always had a good word of advice and a joke, and always always had a sly, knowing smile on his expressive face. Short a few bucks for a date? He'd point you to the bin of recycled cans and show you how to smash em flat if you didn't already know. Five cents is five cents, bub.
We learned how to love by watching him and my mom take unquestioned care of each other for nearly 50 years. He took care of everyone else too. His mom, his brother, my mom's mom, her sister, a friends son. Our friends, who at times lived at our house. Anyone who needed a hand, he extended two. And if you needed a kick, he gave those out too.
It's late, my temples feel like a marching band has set up practice and the freshmen flutists are on kettle drums, and my eyes each weigh like setting suns. I get to drive his ashes and my mother home to North Carolina from Ohio in the morning. I'm deeply saddened but also incredibly inspired, for I was given the greatest gift, the clearest lesson I could ever hope for by my dad this week: he taught me how to be A Good Man.
You are free to run and jump and swim, tell tall tales and fart around once again, dad. Swing Nanny and Granma, Deanie and Gayle around the clouds! See you someday soon. Keep an eye on us all and send us a sign on the winds from time to time, eh pop? Thank you, and I love you.
Corbett Glen Anderson
June 14, 1937- October 18, 2017
"A job worth doing is a job well done"
Corbett Glen Anderson
June 14, 1937-October 18, 2017
Corbett "Glen" Anderson, of Haysi, Virginia, passed away peacefully at Spring Hills Senior Community in Middletown, Ohio on Wednesday, October 18, 2017.
Born to Ruby and Claude Anderson in Daisy, Kentucky, Glen became a dominant high school basketball player, eventually setting school scoring records at tiny Haysi High, garnering him the moniker of "the Terror of Southwest Virginia."
Glen earned a scholarship and played basketball at the University of Tennessee, where he studied Business.
He was a devoted Boy Scout and served in the Army Reserve, based out of Fort Eustis, Virginia, including an active duty stint in the Army during the Cuban Missile Crisis. He also played semi-professional basketball with the Winston Salem Bullets.
In 1962, he took a job with RJR Reynolds Tobacco, and later with Del Monte Foods and US Playing Cards, in transportation and logistics, managing warehousing, trucking and shipping.
Glen met the love of his life Phyllis in 1968. A whirlwind romance ensued, and they were soon married. First son Alton "Ody" was born in 1969. Son, Corbett "Corby" followed in 1972.
Patriarch of the Anderson family, Glen Anderson will be forever remembered as the very definition of "A Good Man."
Glen was preceded in death by his father Claude Anderson, sister Gail Anderson, father-in-law Harold Tullis, mother Ruby Anderson, sister-in-law Carla Tullis, and mother-in-law Martha Tullis.
He is survived by his wife, Phyllis Anderson, son Alton Anderson, daughter-in-law Noel Anderson, grandson Jake Anderson, son Corby Anderson, brother Harry Anderson, sister-in-law Sharon Anderson, as well as very special cousins Kay Kuchan and husband Bob, and Jerry Dick Sutherland and his wife Mary Lee.
A celebration of Glen Anderson's life will be held on Saturday, Oct. 28, 3 pm at Hayworth –Miller Kernersville Chapel, 141 Smith Edwards Road, Kernersville, NC, 27284. In lieu of flowers, the Anderson family requests that you consider making a donation in memory of Glen to: Boy Scouts of America, Sequoyah Council, Johnson City, TN 37602 or Alzheimer's Association (Act.alz.org/donate)
Online condolences may be made at www.hayworth-miller.com.
Published in Knoxville News Sentinel on Oct. 26, 2017
-----------------------------------------------
A tribute written about Corbett Glen Anderson by his son Corbett Madison Corby Anderson.
--------------------------------------------------
Anderson, Glen by Corby
Hello friends, got a mountain minute? Pull up a stump. Let me tell you about my dad.
My dad, the man whose name I share Kind Of (he who was born Corbett Glen and went by the latter, rather than I, who was born Corbett Madison and go by neither...Sort Of) was born in a lumber camp in one of the hardest hit valleys of Appalachia during the tail end of the Great Depression. Can you picture it? Ramshackle cabins. Steep, forboding mountains. Swift, stony rivers. Outhouses and oil lamps. Uphill to school in a foot of snow, both ways, LITERALLY.
He was born to a kindhearted merchant (himself the son of a moonshining Sheriff) and an artful teacher, and lived his youth like a pioneer, exploring the woods, canyons and streams of Southwest Virginia in a free and innocent way that was right out of an Andy Griffith episode.
A big guy his whole life, he learned to stand up for himself and for those who couldn't stand up for themselves after a rough-and-tumble experience as a teen in Albuquerque New Mexico when his parents sought arid climes for the asthma that soon took his father at the same age that I am now.
He endured tragedy early, losing his sister (Gayle, to leukemia) and his father in just a years time. At the age of 15, dad became head of the house to a one-room school teachers family. Thus, he spent almost his entire life as patriarch of the proud, hard working Anderson family, a duty he never wavered in to care--in any way possible--a family that once encompassed six households at once.
Dad was a Big Man, indeed. With dense muscles packed onto his 6'4" frame from early years of hiking hollers, swimming, digging, running, jumping, paddling, hauling, and stacking every obstacle and chore a mountain boy can encounter (and overcome) he discovered that he had a unique set of athletic skills...soft hands and giant shoulders, a deft and deadly shooting touch, quickness and determination inside the key, a particularly ample haunch (trademark Anderson trait hashtag #bigassandersons), and a knack for passing to open teammates-- that translated into his becoming a dominant high school basketball player, eventually setting school scoring records at tiny Haysi high, which didn't even have a home court, and garnering the moniker of "the Terror of Southwest Virginia." Ever see "Hoosiers?" Remember Jimmy Chitwood? That was my dad.
He earned a scholarship to the University of Tennessee to play basketball sight unseen, based on a group phone call from a collection of local businessmen to the coach at UT, who had never even heard of, let alone recruited, my dad. He was thus the first Anderson to go to a major college, and the first and only Haysi athlete to ever play hoops for UT.
Dad played forward and even a relatively undersized center at times for one of the top college programs in the country, and in the summer, ever the outdoorsman and devoted Boy Scout, he worked teaching swimming and life guard at Scout camps to help his mom and younger brother Harry Anderson, himself a future star athlete.
Legend has it that his last shot as a college athlete was a bucket that beat hated rival Kentucky and their coach Adolph Rupp at what is now called Rupp (sonofa) Arena. Asked to comment on how the victory felt by a sideline reporter, dad
As priorities shifted, dad passed up how final year of eligibility due to graduation (freshman had to redshirt in those days) and the need to get straight to work.
His next phase of life was a whirlwind of jobs leading to career in transportation logistics with RJ Reynolds tobacco, active duty service in the Army during the Cuban Missile Crisis (mom says he worked on tanks, I recall him saying he played basketball on the traveling Army post circuit), trips home to his mountains to hang out with his family (including Harry, who was a part of the first state championship team at Haysi high a few years after my dad's graduation) and many friends, playing semi-pro basketball with the Winston Salem Bullets, and finally, a chance meeting of a beautiful young secretary named Phyllis at a trucking company he was visiting for work.
Dad met mom and immediately fell into a love that would last a lifetime, and then some. They were promptly married and soon had a little feller, named Alton (who also doesn't go by his given name). The three moved around the country a few times for work including a short stint in New Jersey (New Jersey WTF dad!?) , and, a few years later, back in North Carolina, had another MUCH more handsome (*cough*) son, completing their brood.
Our family lived an ideal southern life in the 70's. Mom had us hopping from church to school to ball games. The neighborhood was rife with cohorts, young and old. Dad led us all on nature walks through the undeveloped lots. One time he snatched a snake by the tail out of a tree and snapped the thing like a whip, popping its head off like some kind of Tennessee Jones. We kids were speechless for once in our lives. Trips to the beach and up to the mountains were greatly anticipated, and centered around visiting a huge family that all had fascinating backgrounds: football coaches and coal miners, grunts and belly-gunners who faced down the Nazis, farmers, fishermen, teachers, truck drivers.
When Del Monte Foods bought RJ Reynolds in 1980, elevating dad to Director of Transportation of one of the biggest corporations in the world, we suddenly found ourselves in the San Fransisco Bay Area. It was bananas, no pun intended. We were wide open--a red-necked herd of hillbillies in a bright, new multicultural world. Thanks to mom's and dad's innate smarts and goodness, we embraced both our roots (see every awkward family photo ever) and the melting pot of new opportunities that California offered, eventually becoming somewhat-cultured hillbillies.
Now in his career prime, dad still took time to teach two curious young fellers just about every important life lesson we could hope to gain, mostly by taking us to wild and beautiful places and letting us explore (crash/fall/wipe out/snare and other catastrophes included), but sometimes by putting the fear of God in us! A gentle giant nevertheless can be a fearsome figure when young kids inevitably act up. Luckily either he knew his real strength and never felt the need to really jerk a knot in either of us, or we never quite pushed him over the edge. I suspect the former is more true than the latter! More likely, his mischievous, humorous side would emerge at those moments, when he would don a musty wig and gown as the begaveled judge of his own kangaroo court.
Under his tutelage, we learned to be gentlemen first, to respect our mom, each other and our elders (...why wouldn't you? They were all amazing!) to tell the truth, to be accountable and humble, to respect the family name and to have a strong work ethic. We learned to swim and play sports, to canoe rivers and lakes, to camp and hike, to four wheel into the backcountry, to fish and ski and whittle and look deep into stars and campfires. While mom taught me personally to cook, it was dad who taught me to SURVIVE by making and feeding us Spam, pancakes, corned beef hash, and Vienna sausages at camp. Basically to this day I can food shop for a few days at a gas station in a pinch:)
That was my dad. Again and again he took me to see my heroes play (lucky me, a crazed sports nut who arrived in SF as an 8-year old when Joe Montana and Ronnie Lott were drafted), but really, truthfully, those other guys were great and all, but he was my biggest hero.
My Uncle Harry said recently that he thinks my dad was maybe even a little jealous of the lives of freedom that his sons went on to lead. Not sure about that, but thanks to our parents, we were lucky enough to get the chance to pursue our passions. Dad encouraged my brother to chase his love of the outdoors and sports to become an accomplished wildland firefighter and land (now air) manager (basically a ski bum at heart), just as he urged me to pursue my love of sports and the outdoors to become, well, whatever I am (also a ski bum, really.) He always had a good word of advice and a joke, and always always had a sly, knowing smile on his expressive face. Short a few bucks for a date? He'd point you to the bin of recycled cans and show you how to smash em flat if you didn't already know. Five cents is five cents, bub.
We learned how to love by watching him and my mom take unquestioned care of each other for nearly 50 years. He took care of everyone else too. His mom, his brother, my mom's mom, her sister, a friends son. Our friends, who at times lived at our house. Anyone who needed a hand, he extended two. And if you needed a kick, he gave those out too.
It's late, my temples feel like a marching band has set up practice and the freshmen flutists are on kettle drums, and my eyes each weigh like setting suns. I get to drive his ashes and my mother home to North Carolina from Ohio in the morning. I'm deeply saddened but also incredibly inspired, for I was given the greatest gift, the clearest lesson I could ever hope for by my dad this week: he taught me how to be A Good Man.
You are free to run and jump and swim, tell tall tales and fart around once again, dad. Swing Nanny and Granma, Deanie and Gayle around the clouds! See you someday soon. Keep an eye on us all and send us a sign on the winds from time to time, eh pop? Thank you, and I love you.
Corbett Glen Anderson
June 14, 1937- October 18, 2017
"A job worth doing is a job well done"
June 14, 1937-October 18, 2017
Corbett "Glen" Anderson, of Haysi, Virginia, passed away peacefully at Spring Hills Senior Community in Middletown, Ohio on Wednesday, October 18, 2017.
Born to Ruby and Claude Anderson in Daisy, Kentucky, Glen became a dominant high school basketball player, eventually setting school scoring records at tiny Haysi High, garnering him the moniker of "the Terror of Southwest Virginia."
Glen earned a scholarship and played basketball at the University of Tennessee, where he studied Business.
He was a devoted Boy Scout and served in the Army Reserve, based out of Fort Eustis, Virginia, including an active duty stint in the Army during the Cuban Missile Crisis. He also played semi-professional basketball with the Winston Salem Bullets.
In 1962, he took a job with RJR Reynolds Tobacco, and later with Del Monte Foods and US Playing Cards, in transportation and logistics, managing warehousing, trucking and shipping.
Glen met the love of his life Phyllis in 1968. A whirlwind romance ensued, and they were soon married. First son Alton "Ody" was born in 1969. Son, Corbett "Corby" followed in 1972.
Patriarch of the Anderson family, Glen Anderson will be forever remembered as the very definition of "A Good Man."
Glen was preceded in death by his father Claude Anderson, sister Gail Anderson, father-in-law Harold Tullis, mother Ruby Anderson, sister-in-law Carla Tullis, and mother-in-law Martha Tullis.
He is survived by his wife, Phyllis Anderson, son Alton Anderson, daughter-in-law Noel Anderson, grandson Jake Anderson, son Corby Anderson, brother Harry Anderson, sister-in-law Sharon Anderson, as well as very special cousins Kay Kuchan and husband Bob, and Jerry Dick Sutherland and his wife Mary Lee.
A celebration of Glen Anderson's life will be held on Saturday, Oct. 28, 3 pm at Hayworth –Miller Kernersville Chapel, 141 Smith Edwards Road, Kernersville, NC, 27284. In lieu of flowers, the Anderson family requests that you consider making a donation in memory of Glen to: Boy Scouts of America, Sequoyah Council, Johnson City, TN 37602 or Alzheimer's Association (Act.alz.org/donate)
Online condolences may be made at www.hayworth-miller.com.
Published in Knoxville News Sentinel on Oct. 26, 2017
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A tribute written about Corbett Glen Anderson by his son Corbett Madison Corby Anderson.
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Anderson, Glen by Corby
Hello friends, got a mountain minute? Pull up a stump. Let me tell you about my dad.
My dad, the man whose name I share Kind Of (he who was born Corbett Glen and went by the latter, rather than I, who was born Corbett Madison and go by neither...Sort Of) was born in a lumber camp in one of the hardest hit valleys of Appalachia during the tail end of the Great Depression. Can you picture it? Ramshackle cabins. Steep, forboding mountains. Swift, stony rivers. Outhouses and oil lamps. Uphill to school in a foot of snow, both ways, LITERALLY.
He was born to a kindhearted merchant (himself the son of a moonshining Sheriff) and an artful teacher, and lived his youth like a pioneer, exploring the woods, canyons and streams of Southwest Virginia in a free and innocent way that was right out of an Andy Griffith episode.
A big guy his whole life, he learned to stand up for himself and for those who couldn't stand up for themselves after a rough-and-tumble experience as a teen in Albuquerque New Mexico when his parents sought arid climes for the asthma that soon took his father at the same age that I am now.
He endured tragedy early, losing his sister (Gayle, to leukemia) and his father in just a years time. At the age of 15, dad became head of the house to a one-room school teachers family. Thus, he spent almost his entire life as patriarch of the proud, hard working Anderson family, a duty he never wavered in to care--in any way possible--a family that once encompassed six households at once.
Dad was a Big Man, indeed. With dense muscles packed onto his 6'4" frame from early years of hiking hollers, swimming, digging, running, jumping, paddling, hauling, and stacking every obstacle and chore a mountain boy can encounter (and overcome) he discovered that he had a unique set of athletic skills...soft hands and giant shoulders, a deft and deadly shooting touch, quickness and determination inside the key, a particularly ample haunch (trademark Anderson trait hashtag #bigassandersons), and a knack for passing to open teammates-- that translated into his becoming a dominant high school basketball player, eventually setting school scoring records at tiny Haysi high, which didn't even have a home court, and garnering the moniker of "the Terror of Southwest Virginia." Ever see "Hoosiers?" Remember Jimmy Chitwood? That was my dad.
He earned a scholarship to the University of Tennessee to play basketball sight unseen, based on a group phone call from a collection of local businessmen to the coach at UT, who had never even heard of, let alone recruited, my dad. He was thus the first Anderson to go to a major college, and the first and only Haysi athlete to ever play hoops for UT.
Dad played forward and even a relatively undersized center at times for one of the top college programs in the country, and in the summer, ever the outdoorsman and devoted Boy Scout, he worked teaching swimming and life guard at Scout camps to help his mom and younger brother Harry Anderson, himself a future star athlete.
Legend has it that his last shot as a college athlete was a bucket that beat hated rival Kentucky and their coach Adolph Rupp at what is now called Rupp (sonofa) Arena. Asked to comment on how the victory felt by a sideline reporter, dad
As priorities shifted, dad passed up how final year of eligibility due to graduation (freshman had to redshirt in those days) and the need to get straight to work.
His next phase of life was a whirlwind of jobs leading to career in transportation logistics with RJ Reynolds tobacco, active duty service in the Army during the Cuban Missile Crisis (mom says he worked on tanks, I recall him saying he played basketball on the traveling Army post circuit), trips home to his mountains to hang out with his family (including Harry, who was a part of the first state championship team at Haysi high a few years after my dad's graduation) and many friends, playing semi-pro basketball with the Winston Salem Bullets, and finally, a chance meeting of a beautiful young secretary named Phyllis at a trucking company he was visiting for work.
Dad met mom and immediately fell into a love that would last a lifetime, and then some. They were promptly married and soon had a little feller, named Alton (who also doesn't go by his given name). The three moved around the country a few times for work including a short stint in New Jersey (New Jersey WTF dad!?) , and, a few years later, back in North Carolina, had another MUCH more handsome (*cough*) son, completing their brood.
Our family lived an ideal southern life in the 70's. Mom had us hopping from church to school to ball games. The neighborhood was rife with cohorts, young and old. Dad led us all on nature walks through the undeveloped lots. One time he snatched a snake by the tail out of a tree and snapped the thing like a whip, popping its head off like some kind of Tennessee Jones. We kids were speechless for once in our lives. Trips to the beach and up to the mountains were greatly anticipated, and centered around visiting a huge family that all had fascinating backgrounds: football coaches and coal miners, grunts and belly-gunners who faced down the Nazis, farmers, fishermen, teachers, truck drivers.
When Del Monte Foods bought RJ Reynolds in 1980, elevating dad to Director of Transportation of one of the biggest corporations in the world, we suddenly found ourselves in the San Fransisco Bay Area. It was bananas, no pun intended. We were wide open--a red-necked herd of hillbillies in a bright, new multicultural world. Thanks to mom's and dad's innate smarts and goodness, we embraced both our roots (see every awkward family photo ever) and the melting pot of new opportunities that California offered, eventually becoming somewhat-cultured hillbillies.
Now in his career prime, dad still took time to teach two curious young fellers just about every important life lesson we could hope to gain, mostly by taking us to wild and beautiful places and letting us explore (crash/fall/wipe out/snare and other catastrophes included), but sometimes by putting the fear of God in us! A gentle giant nevertheless can be a fearsome figure when young kids inevitably act up. Luckily either he knew his real strength and never felt the need to really jerk a knot in either of us, or we never quite pushed him over the edge. I suspect the former is more true than the latter! More likely, his mischievous, humorous side would emerge at those moments, when he would don a musty wig and gown as the begaveled judge of his own kangaroo court.
Under his tutelage, we learned to be gentlemen first, to respect our mom, each other and our elders (...why wouldn't you? They were all amazing!) to tell the truth, to be accountable and humble, to respect the family name and to have a strong work ethic. We learned to swim and play sports, to canoe rivers and lakes, to camp and hike, to four wheel into the backcountry, to fish and ski and whittle and look deep into stars and campfires. While mom taught me personally to cook, it was dad who taught me to SURVIVE by making and feeding us Spam, pancakes, corned beef hash, and Vienna sausages at camp. Basically to this day I can food shop for a few days at a gas station in a pinch:)
That was my dad. Again and again he took me to see my heroes play (lucky me, a crazed sports nut who arrived in SF as an 8-year old when Joe Montana and Ronnie Lott were drafted), but really, truthfully, those other guys were great and all, but he was my biggest hero.
My Uncle Harry said recently that he thinks my dad was maybe even a little jealous of the lives of freedom that his sons went on to lead. Not sure about that, but thanks to our parents, we were lucky enough to get the chance to pursue our passions. Dad encouraged my brother to chase his love of the outdoors and sports to become an accomplished wildland firefighter and land (now air) manager (basically a ski bum at heart), just as he urged me to pursue my love of sports and the outdoors to become, well, whatever I am (also a ski bum, really.) He always had a good word of advice and a joke, and always always had a sly, knowing smile on his expressive face. Short a few bucks for a date? He'd point you to the bin of recycled cans and show you how to smash em flat if you didn't already know. Five cents is five cents, bub.
We learned how to love by watching him and my mom take unquestioned care of each other for nearly 50 years. He took care of everyone else too. His mom, his brother, my mom's mom, her sister, a friends son. Our friends, who at times lived at our house. Anyone who needed a hand, he extended two. And if you needed a kick, he gave those out too.
It's late, my temples feel like a marching band has set up practice and the freshmen flutists are on kettle drums, and my eyes each weigh like setting suns. I get to drive his ashes and my mother home to North Carolina from Ohio in the morning. I'm deeply saddened but also incredibly inspired, for I was given the greatest gift, the clearest lesson I could ever hope for by my dad this week: he taught me how to be A Good Man.
You are free to run and jump and swim, tell tall tales and fart around once again, dad. Swing Nanny and Granma, Deanie and Gayle around the clouds! See you someday soon. Keep an eye on us all and send us a sign on the winds from time to time, eh pop? Thank you, and I love you.
Corbett Glen Anderson
June 14, 1937- October 18, 2017
"A job worth doing is a job well done"
