Mitchell one of a kind

By Staff
Paul Finebaum
My sense is that Bubba Mitchell would be embarrassed by what has taken place in the last week since his death and would admonish me in a way that only he could if he knew there was still one more tribute about to be given about his extraordinary life.
Bubba would look at me with a sincere smile, and then, say: "Enough already!"
However, this is one time I'll have to go against the wishes of this great man, whose life inspired so many, and whose lasting gifts of generosity will affect people for generations to come and will save many lives in the process (Mitchell Cancer Institute).
This column is not about the countless heads of state he knew on a first-name person. That's been well-documented.
But I do think the family of Mayer Mitchell, who died last week at the age of 74, may have set a new standard. They may be the only family to receive a personal condolence call from a sitting (George W. Bush) and past president (George H.W. Bush), the Prime Minister of Israel (Ehud Olmert) and a former one (Benjamin Netanyahu), as well as a phone call from former Alabama coach Gene Stallings and flowers from the current head football coach at Millsaps College, Mike DuBose.
That, my friends, is truly going from A-Z.
Bear Bryant once said upon meeting Mayer Mitchell, "Where have you been hiding this man? I like talking to him, he's got sense."
The two became friends, with Bryant occasionally calling upon him for advice, including once having Mitchell help the university purchase a private plane.
l'll never forget the first time I met Bubba and Arlene Mitchell. It was in Birmingham in 1986 at a small brunch right before the Iron Bowl. Arlene was visibly shaken and someone in the small, intimate gathering asked her what was wrong.
"I heard a rumor today that Ray might be leaving," she said, referencing
Ray Perkins, the Alabama head football coach.
"What," I said, nearly spitting out a piece of food.
"Yes," she said, "it's very hush-hush, but someone said he might go to Tampa Bay."
"Wow," I said, without thinking (a common trait). "That's the best news I think I've heard in years."
Arlene Mitchell seemed aghast, her face seemingly saying, "Who let this cretin in from off the street."
Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught Bubba, his eyes rolling, a toothy grin appearing, shaking his head and thoroughly enjoying the repertoire between myself and his lovely wife.
I would see Bubba and Arlene often over the years, usually in small airports or press box elevators or at charity events, but I think the most excited I've ever seen him was at the Omni in Atlanta in 1989, when his beloved South Alabama Jags met his beloved Alabama Crimson Tide in the first round of the NCAA basketball tournament.
Of course, he was pulling for the Jags, who pulled off the monumental upset. He was still beaming about that game the last time I saw him not long ago.
Like all powerful people, he had some quirks.
One day, in a conversation with my friend, New York Times reporter Warren St. John, one of those came up. St. John had heard about a man in Mobile and told me the story and asked if I could intercede so he might describe it in the book he was working on entitled, "Rammer Jammer Yellow Hammer." The book was a year-long journey into fandom and St. John used Alabama football as his subject.
St. John found it utterly amazing that Bubba and Arlene would fly to
Tuscaloosa for every home football game, but never stay for the end.
Wrote St. John in the book: "There's only one thing he's more obsessive about than Alabama football, that's getting home to Mobile after the game in less than an hour."
It just so happened on this Saturday, the LSU-Alabama game (in 1999) went down to the final play. Bubba allowed St. John to meet him upstairs in his seats for the final few minutes of the game and then follow him down the elevator and to the airport, as long as his identity was not revealed.
As fine a reporter as St. John is, he would have discovered the truth if he had followed Mayer and Arlene Mitchell home that Saturday afternoon. I'm willing to bet they weren't rushing home to go to a fancy black-tie dinner or a night at the art gallery.
I feel comfortable in saying this because many years ago, I happened to find myself in Mobile on another Saturday night, with my wife, out to dinner at a small Italian restaurant with Danny and Lynne Sheridan.
Two tables away, I watched a large gathering of people talking and laughing and enjoying life to the very fullest.
Of course, I knew them well.
It was Mayer and Arlene, their daughter Joy and her husband, Jimmy
Grodnick. And, of course, the apple of Mayer's eye, Abby, his oldest granddaughter. They were laughing uproariously and joking with each other and it was a picture that I wish I could have framed, because I've never seen a man display more happiness on his face than that evening with his granddaughter and family.
Going to Alabama football games (he was to have been honored today in Tuscaloosa at homecoming for his generous contributions to the university) or following the Jags were a big part of Bubba Mitchell's life. Meeting President Bush or Prime Minister Olmert or Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell (who was an honorary pallbearer) was equally important. So was giving away tens of millions of dollars to help those less fortunate.
But nothing was more important than his faith and his family.
Bubba Mitchell would have probably enjoyed seeing Alabama hold off LSU that Saturday afternoon on the goal line at Bryant-Denny Stadium. It would have brought him pleasure, as Alabama football was one of his greatest passions.
However, had he stayed to the end and sat in traffic for two hours before boarding the plane home, it would have taken time away from what gave him the most pleasure in life, being with his wife and children, their spouses and most important, those grandchildren.
Paul Finebaum is a guest columnist for The Franklin County Times. He can be reached via e-mail at finebaumnet@yahoo.com.