Coach Buck Godfrey: ‘Memories of a great man’
I used to read about my uncle in this very newspaper and beam with pride.
Growing up in Atlanta, I remember my friends being afraid of him. Not like a child is terrified of boogeymen or creatures under the bed, but more so how grown men revere and fear sports gods.
Their older brothers and fathers would spin yarns about the mighty coach Godfrey. Some had played for him. Others marveled at how he turned Southwest DeKalb’s football program from mediocre into a monster. A Black man leading young Black men in defying prep sports odds with every win, regional and state title claimed over his run.
To them, he was a Georgia sports deity long before his name was enshrined in various halls of fame. To them, he was more than a wizard of X’s and O’s. He was a teacher, father figure, accomplished author and leader of men who helped put South DeKalb on the map. A giant who met everyone on their level.
It’s true. William “Buck” Godfrey is and did all of those things, but to me, he was and always will be Uncle Buck, a friend, a writing mentor and a fellow birdwatcher.
We lost Uncle Buck on Saturday. He was 83.
Since I got that text confirming my uncle had transitioned to be with our ancestors, I’ve replayed my 42 years of him being in my life.
He was the man with a mustache, purple knit cap, crown in his teeth and deep voice. He was my dad’s oldest brother. He’d come over and watch college football. The two Charleston boys would speak in a Gullah Geechee tongue that was indecipherable to a kid.
I never suited up for my uncle even though he joked with my dad that I should play quarterback for Southwest DeKalb one day. This was after watching me play Little League Baseball, convinced I had an arm. He knew that my short stature and congenital heart defect would end that dream, but therein lay his point, one he made to players and students: You’re more than limits prescribed for you.
That belief also defined him and his 1995 Southwest DeKalb team, an underdog squad that won the Class 4A state championship.
One of my favorite local sports memories is hugging him and high-fiving Quincy Carter after they took down Parkview 14-7.
As life breezed on, ours was a relationship built on a shared love for poetry and writing. In high school I was obsessed with the 2000 film “Finding Forrester,” in which Sean Connery plays a reclusive novelist (inspired by J.D. Salinger) mentoring a young Black athlete (Rob Brown) who is also a talented writer.
At 16, I was convinced I’d be a professional poet one day, I just needed my Sean Connery. My Pop suggested I reach out to Uncle Buck.
Aside from being the hard-nosed, winningest Black high school football coach in state history, he was a scholar. He studied at Delaware State, New York University, Columbia University and Atlanta University. He got his master’s degree in English and had two books published — “Moods of a Black Man” and “Songs for My Father” — before I was born.
I started going to visit him and my sweet aunt, Joyce. We’d talk about my cousins, Colin and Rashan. I looked up to them both.
Uncle Buck would read my poetry and other writings. Always kind with his feedback. He told me to write down germs, the small ideas, bursts of inspiration that come to writers. He told me I needed to avoid conceits — “outrageous comparisons” — in my work. Every time he would give examples.
He gave me assignments: write a piece about your dad, my brother’s upcoming nuptials and what it’s like to be a young Black kid at the predominantly white, private school world of Paideia.
“No longer than 14 lines,” he wrote in my notebook.
Our exchange of words didn’t stop there.
We shared conversations about building bird sanctuaries, films and navigating our grief from losing my father, Robert Godfrey, in 2024.
He was there in the hospital room with my mama, wife and sister when it was decided to move Pop into at-home hospice. He comforted us all, while watching over his little brother.
After we lost Pop on Nov. 3, 2024, there was one family member who checked in on me consistently: Uncle Buck.
The text messages came as words of encouragement, tiny poems, musings on bird behavior and memories of a man we lost. He made sure to check in on Pop’s birthdays and the anniversary of his death.
Two weeks after my father’s passing I got a message.
“Hopefully, today was easier than yesterday in our quest for peace and understanding! Be encouraged Uncle Buck”
The same thing a day later.
“Good day, NEPH. Spoke to the universe this morning and busied myself the remainder. Peace and blessings!!!” Uncle Buck”
At the time, I was a shell of myself at work and in life. Those check-ins reminded me I was alive. I checked in on him, too.
“Rough few days — hit and miss — Wednesday through yesterday. I can see the sun and feel its warmth today! Thanks for inquiring! Ashay,” he’d say.
![He's also a survivor. Diagnosed with prostate cancer in July, Godfrey took time to reflect on what's important to him: "This thing -- cancer -- is something else. I don't want to be by myself too much anymore. Any other time I would go way out in the woods or I'd fish by myself and contemplate like [philosopher] Thoreau. Now, not so much."](https://images.ajc.com/resizer/v2/SMCJ35DS3S4Q4HQZ6XIPLFHQOA.jpg?auth=10f5e5dfc07ec0a0d04d3006fb23794f57988301522fa7a9656e1d3a2c5d1ed8&width=3840&height=2542&smart=true)
At his suggestion, I was occupying my mind with simple tasks my Pop loved: working out, feeding the birds. We talked about our wars with squirrels and hordes of blackbirds passing through.
“Good day, Neph! Glad to know you’re keeping busy. ‘Tis the panacea for a dinged spirit,” he wrote before sharing his version of busyness.
“I’m moving forward at a steady pace, working, writing, and practicing the same as Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus and the other Stoics. Peace to you and Kelsey. Uncle Buck!”
We traded texts about films. My father’s favorite was “The Thing From Another World.” Uncle Buck explained that actor James Arness, who played the creature, also had the lead role in “Gunsmoke.” He was excited about the idea of having me over to comb through his collection of Westerns.
Greetings came in French, too.
“J’espère queue ta journée s’est bien passèe NEVEU UNCBUCK,” which translates to “I hope you had a good day, nephew.”
As was often the case, you needed Google’s help to keep pace with beautiful minds like Uncle Buck’s.
Three weeks after my Pop passed, I was at my lowest point in the grieving process. Depression was real. Unprompted, in all of 338 characters, Uncle Buck brought me back.
“Good morning, Nephew. I know you’re doing well because you understand the nature of things. We cannot dote on ourselves very long for our perspective affects others as they execute the course of the maze. Hold your position and smile. They feel your presence and thrive on your wisdom! All the love, all the respect! Unconditional UncBuck.”
As I find myself once again reading through my uncle’s highlight reel on this site, and elsewhere, I’m grateful. Grateful for the time he shared. Grateful for the love he gave. Grateful that he always saw me. I know I’m not alone in those feelings.
I take solace in our text exchange on the first anniversary of Pop’s passing. Uncle Buck’s message to me then is true of him now.
“On this day know that death is a moment, but memories of a great man last forever.”