Tommy Covington ( RHS ' 66) passed away in June of 2005.  Tommy was a high

school classmate of mine who always had a devilish smile and a twinkle in his eye. 

My heart and prayers go out to his family.  I was glad to read in his obituary that he

had kids.  The world is fortunate that part of Tommy lives on in his kids.

 

   I had ties with Tommy before I ever stepped onto the campus of Rockingham High

School.  My Dad, Cecil McDonald ( RHS' 41) carried Tommy's mail.  In fact, Dad was a

quick connect for many friendships to the multitudes of schoolmates that I met at

RHS.  My typical introduction to someone whose name I had just learned was "Hi, my

name is Bob McDonald.  My Daddy is your mailman!"  With Tommy, I did not need to

know his name beforehand.  Daddy described him to me perfectly, "A tall skinny,

sharply dressed kid with jet black Elvis type hair with a twinkle in his eye and a double

dimpled grin that spread from one ear to the other."  Yeah, that was Tommy.

 

   A couple of years and a sixteenth birthday later, Tommy added another defining

trait to his description.  He became the kid with the fast, new car.  Two new cars that

now come to mind were Tommy's GTO with the three deuces made famous in song by

the Beach Boys and his Dodge Charger with the 426 hemi engine made famous by

NASCAR legends father-son duo Buck and Buddy Baker.  I am sure Tommy had

other fast cars but these two were quick as greased lightening.    "Have car, will race"

became Tommy's calling card!  One could always find him at Tom & Sarah's,

Rockingham's version of Happy Days' Arnold's Drive-In, sitting on the hood of his

GTO waiting for his next highway speed challenge.  Tommy's family owned

Covington's Rest Home.  Evidently, it was a very lucrative business; Tommy never

had to borrow Dad's car like most of us high school scholars.  Tommy always drove

the car his dad bought for him.  In fairness to Tommy, my dad told me Tommy

worked hard at the rest home.  On the other hand, my dad built two chicken houses. 

Although the houses provided a good second income for three kids and a

stay-at-home mom, Daddy liked to boast that he built the houses to keep his three

sons out of trouble.  Similarly, as a result of working for my dad year after year feeding

chickens and shoveling manure for twelve thousand broilers, he also bought me a

new car (a ' 64 valiant) to share with Mama and my little brother Ken (RHS ' 68).

Eventually, our baby brother Gary (RHS ' 71) earned his driver's license and honed

his driving skills on the same slant six Mopar.  In reality, Tommy and I both were

blessed to have transportation.  Many of our schoolmates had no second family

vehicle or new muscle car.  Of course, it goes without saying Tommy always arrived at

our destination before I did.

 

   I have always heard that the happiest people in life are those who can turn a hobby

into a career.  Racing fast cars was Tommy's hobby.  When we were children, the

number one question grown-ups would ask us was, "What do you want to be when

you grow up?"  Most of our guys answered "A baseball player, a football player, a

basketball player, a fireman, a policeman" while most girls answered, "A movie star, a

singer, a teacher, a nurse," and yes even "a mommy!'"  All of these careers were what

we thought would be a fun job, a glamorous job; simply put, the job we dreamed of

having would merely be an extension of our childhood games.  Seldom do these

fantasies turn into reality.  However, Tommy was one of these rare characters. 

Tommy grew up to be a North Carolina Highway Patrolman!!!  How many times have

we seen a blue light in our rear view mirror as our heart jumped up in our throat only

to breathe a sigh of relief as the patrolman disappeared down the road ahead of us

through our front windshield?  How many of us thought if we were only a highway

patrolman, we could actually arrive on time or better yet early?  Would it not be fun to

have one of the fastest cars on the highway with no payment, free maintenance, and

no gas bill?  Truly, Tommy was living out his childhood fantasy in a dream world

come true.

 

   At our ten year high school class reunion, I had the opportunity to quiz Tommy

about his work.  I asked Tommy had he stopped anyone he knew for speeding.  I

reminded him about the drag runs across the R.W. Goodman Bridge in the mid to late

' 60s.  This bridge was the final piece of the puzzle to connect four lane traffic flow

between Richmond and Anson counties.  It was quite a contrast to the old two-way

bridge built decades before that joined the counties; now, the old bridge traffic

became one-way, leaving Anson county and entering Richmond county.  The new

R.W. Goodman Bridge was a wide, wide two lane bridge with high concrete side

barriers the entire length that catered to one-way traffic leaving Richmond County,

entering Anson County, and spanning over the great Pee Dee River.  No corners were

cut in construction costs since federal funds were used and since the man in whose

honor this bridge was named happened to be the greatest high sheriff Richmond

county had ever had.  The surface from one end to the other was seamlessly smooth. 

The distance from one end to the other (start to finish) was exactly one-fourth of a

mile.  Yes race fans, the US 74 West bridge was the best quarter mile dragstrip our tax

dollars could buy.  Many arguments on the front fenders at Tom & Sarah's were

settled on the R.W. Goodman Bridge.  I only reveal this information now because: a)

Sheriff Goodman has retired and b) the statute of limitations leading to prosecutions

base on this testimony has expired anyway.

 

   My first question to Tommy was "Where do you patrol?"  I could just imagine

Tommy chasing someone across the R.W.Goodman Bridge into Anson county since

he had first hand knowledge of US 74 Drag Way. Evidently, the North Carolina

Highway Patrol Department did not put Tommy in the unpleasant situation of

ticketing family and friends; state headquarters assigned him to Moore county. 

However, Tommy told me he had only stopped one childhood buddy since he had

pinned the badge on his chest.  The story he relayed to me was absurdly funny. 

Tommy flashed that devilish double dimple grin with a "con man" twinkle in his eye. 

Whether or not the incident happened as Tommy told me can only be confirmed or

denied by those involved.  I was not there myself, nor in the twenty-nine years plus

that have passed, have I spoken with the characters mentioned.  Thus, I give you the

second hand story as told to me by Tommy.  I will not even change the names to

protect the innocent.

 

   "I was sitting back in a blind spot off Highway 1 just across the county line.  Drivers

headed north would catch sight of the divided two lane one way asphalt ahead and

feel that they had a license to speed.  However, it was the middle of the afternoon

about 3:00 PM and the middle of the week, a Wednesday.  My shift was ending soon. 

The heater on my mopar was working overtime to stay ahead of the outside chill; the

thermometer had not been over thirty-five degrees all day.  Traffic was almost

non-existent.  In fact, my radio had been silent for forty-five minutes.  I was content

to ride my shift in the front seat of my patrol car parked between big pine trees.  That

game plan changed instantly as an older model Chevy Nova streaked by with the

pedal to the metal heading north.  My radar gun read 89 MPH.  Was my mind playing

tricks on me?  Was the driver wearing a mask?  Why was he flying so close to the

ground?  Why the mask?  Surely this guy must be a modern Jesse James, robbing

banks and escaping into the sunset.  I pulled my 440 V-8 into gear, turned on my blue

light and siren, and threw my car sideways onto Highway 1.  Back in my high school

hot rod days, it was the race; now it is the chase, it is same thrill.  The thought of

capturing a bank robber had my adrenaline racing faster than my speedometer.  I

knew it would only be a short time before I ran the Nova down; still, I radioed ahead

for back-up.  My Goat was fast and furious in high school but it could never run like

my black and silver Fury patrol car.  Suddenly, I was on the back bumper of the

Chevy.  I was relieved to see only the driver in the car.  As the driver slowed down,

pulled over on the shoulder, and stopped, I saw he had his head covered with what

looked like a ski mask.  I reached down and unsnapped my holster; never had I

needed to pull my .357 until now.  All my training and refresher courses had prepared

me for times such as this.  I opened my driver's door and kneeled behind it for cover,

and drew a bead on the subject with my magnum.  I shouted instructions to roll the

window down, show me both hands and get out of the vehicle.  He did as I demanded;

I could see that he was carrying no weapon unless it was concealed.  I then told him to

hold both hands up and with his right hand slowly remove his ski mask.  When he

did, was I ever surprised!"

 

   "Timothy?"

 

   "Hey Tommy."

 

   "MY whole reasoning of being assigned to Moore county was down the tubes.  I had

finally come face to face with a childhood friend from my hometown.  If it had been a

traffic violation maybe I would not have such a dilemma but I was eyeball to eyeball

with an old childhood friend who in all likelihood had committed a felon.  Duty called

to wait for a back-up but childhood memories tugged at my heart strings.  I decided to

try to get some rhyme and reasoning out of the situation."

 

   "Timothy, why are you wearing a ski mask?  Give me one reason why."

 

   "Timothy answered, "My driver's window will not roll up and it is freezing going

down the highway.  My ears will fall off without a ski mask on."  OK, that was logical,

but I still was suspicious.

 

   "Alright Timothy, explain to me why you are running 89 MPH in a 60 MPH zone in

the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the week.  Give me just one reason why."

 

   "Tommy, my mother-in-law is lying in the back seat.  I think she may be having a

heart attack.  I was just carrying her to Moore County Hospital."

 

   "What?"  Sure ' nuff!  I looked in the back seat of that Nova and there lay a

mother-in-law-looking woman with her eyes rolled into the back of her head,

grunting and gasping for breath.  I snapped my pistol back into my holster, radioed

ahead to the hospital, cancelled the APB (All Points Bulletin), told Timothy to get

back into his Nova, buckle-up, and follow me.  I then turned my lights and siren on

and ran 90 MPH since I knew Timothy's car could run at least 89 MPH.  As I left the

hospital, I saw the orderly roll Timothy's mother-in-law through the emergency room

doors with Timothy trailing closely behind underneath the protection of a ski mask.  I

never bothered to check back on Timothy or his mother-in-law and have not seen nor

heard from him since.

 

   "Tommy," I asked, "What was Timothy's last name?  Do I know him?"

 

   "Yeah, Mills.  Timothy Mills."

 

   I knew Timothy and his younger brother Phillip.  Both of them showed up one day

at Roberdel (my grammar school).They moved from Pee Dee.  I do not know if the

Mills brothers graduated from Rockingham High or moved away; both were younger

than me.

 

   Tommy had such a sheepish grin on his face, I have often wondered if he was

leading me on or telling me the Gospel.  I suppose that every detail of the "Moore

County Chase" would be classified as "hearsay" in a court of law even if I heard it from

a North Carolina Highway Patrolman.  Only Timothy and his mother-in-law know for

sure.  The fun loving spirit of Tommy lives on. The truth, the whole truth, and

nothing but the truth will never be known.  The story will always be a memory of

Tommy Covington that will bring a smile ; yes,one of my precious childhood

memories of growing up in Rockingham, North Carolina - a small textile town in the

South in the ' 50s & ' 60s.

 

 

P.S.  ( An interesting post script to the night of our ten year high school reunion) I

often wonder if Tommy called his highway patrol buddies and asked for "leniency"       

 or a "look the other way" patrol that night of our ten year reunion.  Probably not!  You

see Tommy's cousin, Quentin Covington, (RHS ' 66) was asked to bless the food that

night at the Richmond County Country Club, site of our reunion.  Quentin, who

married another classmate, Karen Thompson (RHS ' 66), grew up to be a Methodist

preacher.  While blessing the food that night , Quentin petitioned God with a request I

had never heard before then nor have heard since.  Furthermore, I most likely will

never hear Quentin's request from him or any other minister again ever.  "Bless this

food we are about to eat and God - Please help all these drunks here get home safely

tonight."  Yeah, Divine Intervention and not the North Carolina Highway Patrol gave

reunion number ten a happy ending for everyone.  The Scriptures do promise "Seek

and ye shall find.  Ask and ye shall receive," just another one of my childhood

memories of growing up in Rockingham, North Carolina - a small textile town in the

South in the ' 50s & ' 60s.

 

 

P.P.S. Bob has done a fantastic job of describing Tommy in this story. I remember

him this way also but would add that Tommy was the classic ladies man. I am sure

his family and friends will miss him. The bridge Bob mentioned here is also very

familiar with me. I remember many Saturday nights ending up at the quarter-mile

bridge for a little drag-racing. My '66 Chevelle SS 396 would usually end up on the

winning side of a race across that famous bridge. The memories keep flowing. Keep

'em coming Bob. jb.