LETTER TO THE EDITOR: Dr. 'Huby' Thompson was like no other; rest in peace

Dr. Hugh S. Thompson Jr. died last Thursday after a long battle with cancer. You can read the details in his obituary — the dates of his life and death, the schools he attended, the survivors he left behind, and so forth. Those are the facts, the details. But there is so much more. There was nobody like Huby. Nobody at all.

People often say things like this when people die. So-and-so was “one of a kind,” they’ll say. (The best way to get people to say nice things about you is to die. They’ll discover qualities about you that you never knew you had — as well as a few you didn’t have.) But with Huby, it was no exaggeration to say that he was one of a kind.

It was always strange to hear someone call him “Dr. Thompson.” Despite his medical degree, he was always “Huby,” not just to his friends, but to almost everybody — even many of his patients. Dr. Hugh Thompson never stood on ceremony.

Huby and I connected with each other when we were 6 years old, and never really became unconnected, even though I spent 30 years in Atlanta before returning home to Darlington.

At St. John’s, Huby and I were partners in crime. We were always in hot water. I can still hear the voice of Bill Cain, our principal: “Hugh and Paul, Paul and Hugh, aimlessly wandering about the halls, always talking, always causing trouble.”

And we did cause trouble. I could tell about the time we got caught smoking in grammar school and were sentenced to memorize long poems. (“Half a league, half a league, half a league onward, all in the valley of death rode the six hundred... .”)

Or I could tell about the explosion in his homemade chemistry lab that set Harold Brasington Jr.’s Cub Scout uniform on fire.

Or I could tell about the time in 1958 we hitchhiked south to fight in the Cuban Revolution. (We got as far as Florida, then turned around and came back home to find that there had been a nationwide alert to find us and that Black Creek had been dragged for our bodies.)

Or I could tell about the time ... . Nope. Better not get into that. I’m not sure the statute of limitations has run out on that one.

Huby was larger than life in every way. He was so bright that it was scary. In the seventh grade some of us were put into an “advanced” math class. (How I got there I’ll never know.) The first thing the teacher asked was if anyone had ever heard of the term “pi.” Huby stood up and delivered a short lecture on the history and meaning of pi. I was stunned. To me and the rest of the class, pi was something you ate for dessert. I think this was the first time I truly realized that Huby was operating on a whole different level from the rest of us.

But it was not only his intelligence that set him apart. If his brain was outsized, so was his personality. Huby was genuinely interested in everybody. He had close friends from all levels of society. He was just as likely to bring home a little farm boy in threadbare overalls as he was the president of the student body. He liked them all, and they liked him right back.

Only a couple weeks ago, Huby attended the funeral of his friend and classmate Joby Bristow. They were as different as two people could be. Joby was a candidate for sainthood. Huby was anything but a saint. The two, however, remained dear friends all their lives. Both of them had the rare gift of friendship.

Huby died at the home of his daughter, surrounded by close family members and friends. The death was expected, but it is always hard when it comes. There were the usual tears and hugs. Later that evening, a small group of friends got together and opened a bottle of wine and told Huby stories into the night. I’m guessing that people will be telling Huby stories until the last of us is gone.

Rest in peace, old friend. And rest assured that we will never forget you.

Paul Howle
Darlington