The sudden loss of one of Gallatin’s favorite sons

What I want to share about my friend, Phil Tate, has little to do with his long list of accomplishments or accolades. That’s for elsewhere.
Phil had the utmost respect for my predecessor, Joe Snyder. At one point he served as a sort of arbitrator during a time when the transition from retiring publisher to successor was a bit touchy. I was seriously considering uprooting my young family to depart for greener pastures and, frankly, was not giving my best to the job at hand. Ever the politician, Phil knew to reprimand me on those terms and not upon the brewing conflict of personalities. He challenged me to refocus on what I aspired to be, a community journalist. He loved Gallatin and declared it was a great place to call home. He was right and, lucky me, all the rest eventually fell into place.
I watched Phil work a room long before he declared his candidacy for the statehouse. It was when the elementary school library was just an idea. The debate was whether lease-purchase financing should replace a ballot vote proposing a property tax increase. Strong opinions were voiced long into the night with Phil advocating lease-purchase, a commonplace financing tool now but newfangled at that time. Everyone knew where Phil stood while the confusion raged. And he was persistent, whittling down the sticking points toward a concensus he favored, working non-stop not just in the board room but even in the bathroom during necessary meeting breaks. When Phil was committed to something, he was all in. Even those on the other side of the aisle admired his talents of persuasion.
Phil was a Gallatin boy, through and through. I now ponder what our relationship might have been if I had grown up with him rather than befriending him only as an adult. Phil grew up in a house just up the street from our home of the past 30 something years. When my sons sometimes played in the street, Phil would recall boyhood contests punting a football – perhaps exaggerating a spiral he claimed sailed from the Tate residence to our house. Perhaps not. Some folks still call East Grand “Swellhead Street” for various reasons. People are jealous for all sorts of things, real and imagined. Sometimes it starts with who can punt a football the farthest.
Phil and Nancy are special to all four of our now grown children. Nancy is still “our” grade school teacher. Phil’s connection to the little ones in our household began with Pokey. When Phil’s full blood registered Golden Labrador sired pups, Phil offered the pick of the litter to three little Wilkinson kids (Brett had yet to arrive) who turned the pedigree into a potlicker. For the rest of Pokey’s long life in dog years, we built many, many four-legged memories we still cherish. The kids named our dog Pokey after learning that “Pokey” was Phil’s nickname. It was a nickname Phil didn’t particularly embrace (I’m told it stuck since even as a youth, Phil often lagged behind talking to others). But when you tell the kids they can choose whatever name they want for a new puppy … well, you have to follow through. Phil understood a real gift is only given when there are no strings attached.
If dogs bring out the good in us, then the name Pokey prompts special memories. Pokey was a wonderful and invaluable gift to the Wilkinson family. I believe Phil’s insight as a loving father to his own son, Aaron, prompted the gift. He knew about the important things in the different stages of life.
Phil would surprise you. For the longest time I didn’t know how he enjoyed music, and I don’t just mean listening to whatever’s on the radio. He played the guitar. Sometimes he put voice to lyrics he personally penned for a church service or wedding. It was just another way Phil would give of himself, intimacy shared openly. And he enjoyed doing it. So when Phil played a role on stage in a Gallatin Theater League production rather than just sitting in the audience, it was really no surprise. It was a play, after all, and Phil really enjoyed playing with his friends.
Phil knew life on the larger stage. I was a bystander witnessing the oath of office when Phil took his seat in the chambers of the Missouri House of Representatives. Serving constituents was the work Phil really enjoyed doing – more than working at the marina, more than working as an oil jobber, more than signing off on legislation.
Phil was interested and personally followed the lives of so many Gallatin kids as they grew into adulthood, not just our four kids. He especially celebrated the announcement of each new grandchild into my family, truly thankful for God’s rich blessings, something a lesser man couldn’t do. I was looking forward to telling him about our youngest son, Brett, who recently announced his engagement and plans for marriage in June.
I thought there was plenty of time …
Phil had grace while under fire. There was ugliness when the hog industry introduced large confinement operations to North Missouri. As a community and elected leader, Phil was frequently the target of personal attack from those feeling threatened. He proved worthy in adversity, handling hecklers with professional grace in public and privately refusing to debase those opposing him. This is not to say that Phil was a perfect man (who is?). But Phil didn’t allow his regrets to define the man he wanted to be.
Phil served others. He shared during countless breakfasts and luncheons (and sometimes bummed a dollar since he’d frequently forget to carry cash), brainstorming on how to reorganize and invigorate community efforts to make things better. He believed one man can make a difference and lived his life that way – working on various layers of all things that define community. He coached Little League and always cheered for the Bulldogs and Ol’ Mizzou. There’s not much about life that Phil overlooked. We didn’t always agree on everything, but he showed me how differences between true friends don’t really matter. Most vividly I recall those times he’d drop by the newspaper office to share some tidbit or a word of encouragement. Whenever he’d playfully call me a wordsmith, I knew there was something on his mind for me to do. You see, a good friend challenges you to be your better self. I’m sure he built personal relationships such as this with many, many others — not just me. That is the true measure of a great man.
Phil knew about his physical heart condition, of course. We all did. Yet his death arrived in such suddenness I can yet hardly grasp. I suppose I’ll always expect to see his red Chevy Blazer rolling down my neighbor’s driveway for a hunting trip or an early morning departure to another gun show. Maybe it’s just better for me to keep thinking that way. Phil was fortunate, passing away while asleep at his home here in Gallatin. Nancy and Phil were planning a holiday trip to a favorite destination – but leaving only after plans to share Christmas Eve with their church family at the United Methodist Church. That reveals much about Phil’s priorities, about his faith and his lifelong commitment to his hometown of Gallatin.
Forgive me as I write. Phil’s death came suddenly without any time to prepare, as death so often does. Any death at this time of year mars the Christmas season — the season of giving suddenly jolted by an emptiness of something taken away. I know Phil touched the lives of many, many people. I can think of no better memorial than to follow his example, giving back to whatever builds up this community and encouraging others in this business called life. There is so much more that could be, no doubt should be, said.
Gallatin has lost a favorite son who will be sorely missed. In so many ways Phil was Gallatin’s “go to” guy. He gave back so much to his hometown he loved. Despite Phil’s encouragement and all these years of practice, I know I’m no wordsmith. But I also know there are few words as meaningful to me as simply stating this:
Phil Tate was my friend.