Death and Phil Nimmo

Back in Henrietta Grade School (North Texas, 1950-1956), Phil Nimmo was a classmate. Lived on a farm to the west. His mom taught third grade and art. His whole family was quiet, and slightly rounded.

I stayed the night once, and was introduced to Ghost Rider comics, and the concept of using baking soda instead of toothpaste. I still remember the Ghost Rider story: while he (Ghost Rider) was unconscious, the bad guys bandaged up his head, but put a deadly tarantula inside the bandage. Later on, they were as surprised as I was when he was not dead. Come to find out, he had taken the spider out of the bandage. It was a relief to me, and I’ll bet you’re happy, too.

In later years, Phil Nimmo’s mom died. I no longer recall how or why. An illness. And then in high school, one winter day I got a call, Phil’s brother Lindsay had found his father; he’d died abed during the night. For some reason, hearing this news, it seemed vitally important to drive fast. Their farm was perhaps 7 miles out the highway. Many of my friends were there. Did we think we were a comfort to Phil Nimmo?

At some point, firewood was needed. I volunteered, then clumsily learned that chopping wood is not so easy. Phil Nimmo came out and said, “Let me do it.” I protested. He said, “I want to.” He made short work of it.

Years later, living in Dallas, I heard roundabout that Phil Nimmo now lived in Dallas. I located him and phoned. He seemed quite surprised to hear from me, and seemed displeased. He didn’t quite know why I was calling. I can still feel it, but I can’t exactly say why, either.