Loran - Smith
Loran
RABUN GAP – The Presbyterian Church here last weekend was overflowing with mourners who came to pay respects to Clyde J. (Sonny) Smart in a modest and simple service that reflected the essence of a man who spent his life underscoring leadership principles that made young people the beneficiary of a philosophy that incorporated selflessness, altruism, goodwill, and fair play.
In this modest setting which once was the playground of Cherokee Indian boys, one was reminded that unpretentiousness, simplicity, making do, and following the tenets of the golden rule are most likely to be achieved where humility prevails. This is that kind of place, and Sonny Smart was fit for its environment.
Coach Smart was not a complicated man. He was one who gave of himself to the institutions which framed and perpetuated his life of 76 years. He was giving, caring, and got the greatest pleasure out of a well-struck golf ball, knocking down a pair of quail on a covey rise, and seeing a young athlete learn to excel at a game that teaches one to accentuate second effort and teamwork to realize the goal of winning championships.
Eulogizers, which included his offspring—Karl, Kirby and Kendall— spoke of his appreciation for family values, the emotional fulfillment he found in bringing to earth an agile dove with its clipped wingbeat that enables it to dart—like Barry Sanders in the open field—to heighten the challenge for a hunter and the rush that comes with hitting an exploding quail which takes flight at the edge of the woods, and coach young athletes to excel.
As a coach, he gave rapt attention to details and fundamentals. He was a good teacher. Most of all he was a good listener.
He belonged to that fraternity of coaches who loved their work and found the greatest reward in seeing athletes succeed and experience growth and development by excelling in sport and then finding their way in life. When an overachiever made the team; or in a serendipitous moment brought about a scholarship against the odds, that was the ultimate in fulfillment for him. Proud of all his children, he was a doting grandfather who identified with the “reading, writing and ‘rithmatic” platform of his forebears. The moral code was important and good grades were a milestone to be coveted. He had a wry smile and detached manner, never taking the lead in conversation but always responding insightfully.
Not far from the church is a modest house on the side of a mountain where he and his wife, Sharon, lived their final years together. There is a beautiful view of the valley below, which showcases meadows which sparkle in the early morning dew, along with continued from page
fields, and farms that keep Rabun County bustling with activity from the daffodils of April to the turning of leaves in the fall. He identified agreeably with the good living that came with being a resident of Rabun County having escaped “life below the gnat line” as he approached his sundown years.
I have visited the Smarts on occasion over the years and have never departed for home without them handing over a small bag of tomatoes and other garden staples. This not only reflected their good neighborly way, but an appreciation for nature, the land, down home industriousness, and the emotional fulfillment that came from a green thumb.
One of the highlights of the success of the Georgia football program, orchestrated by their middle child, Kirby, was visiting with Sonny pre-game and the two of them afterwards, when Sharon came down from her box seat upstairs to join him for a victory celebration.
Pre-game we always met up for a brief session at the Georgia bench, both of us hopeful for success, but ever cautiously optimistic. He knew the nuances of the game kept it from being as simple as the critics preached.
One hot September afternoon early in Kirby’s tenure, I asked Sonny why he would leave the air-conditioned comfort with refreshments at hand and endure the heat of the sidelines, he replied: “Well, everybody up there seems to think they know more football than I do, so I come down here so I can enjoy myself without having to listen to all that.”
Sonny, a passionate golfer, was an aficionado of Donald Ross designed golf courses. After Kirby got a healthy raise one year, I kidded him that he ought to get his world class coach/son to take him to Dornoch, Scotland, the birthplace of the famous Scottish course designer and play the course that influenced Ross’ design philosophy. He smiled, but I knew he would never make that ask.
That is one of the many things to appreciate about the senior Smart. He never doted on Kirby publicly. He did no interviews, he never proffered any quotes, and he avoided all cameras.
We were within arm’s length of each other when Kelee Ringo intercepted Bryce Young for the game clinching score that brought Kirby his first national championship in Indianapolis. We embraced briefly, and then I sprinted down the field to the end zone celebration. I can only imagine what went through his mind. To have a son coach his team to the national championship had to be one of the most fulfilling moments of his life, but he never injected himself into the mix in any way.
They had private talks about the historical journey Kirby was making; the son, especially early on in his career, sought out the father for advice. Nick Saban has a reputation for being difficult to work for but Sonny always told Kirby that he was the beneficiary of a great learning experience. Kirby always knew that Sonny was right.
Following retirement, Sonny started the “Georgia Mountain Senior Golf (GAMSGolf) Association, which he ran successfully for years. He gave it his fullest attention, which kept him active. In the process, it helped make countless seniors in North Georgia active.
There were tears at the service, but also laughter. Kirby told a story that had to do with Sonny’s interview for a job in Bainbridge. After the interview, he agreed to take the job. He had hardly returned home to Slapout, Ala., when he got a better offer from another school.
Sonny went to his father (Kirby’s grandfather) and told him of his dilemma which elicited this response: “Didn’t you tell those folks in Bainbridge you were going to take that job?” When Sonny replied, “Yes,” Sonny’s father said, “Son, I don’t think you have a decision to make.”
Such integrity is a hallmark in the Smart family.
