I once attended a service at Loveland Baptist Church when Rev. Oliver Wolfenbarger was pastor. He rose to preach and announced his text. It was the same text he had used the previous Sunday.

Preacher Wolfenbarger said, “I know what you’re thinking—poor ol’ Wolfenbarger’s losing it. He don’t remember that he preached on these same verses last week. I just want you to know, that I know I preached this last week, but I didn’t get finished. What’s more, I’m just as crazy as you think I am.”

“That’s right!” another preacher in the congregation said at that opportune moment.

I could not say I am in many, if indeed any, way like Preacher Wolfenbarger. But I do remember that I shared with you Faithful Readers last week about Mr. Jimmy Kent Lilley, former Luttrell Elementary teacher. Like Preacher Wolfenbarger, I just didn’t get finished.

As I related last week, Mr. Lilley was a man of few words and no foolishness. He could come across as gruff and unapproachable not only to students, but also to his colleagues.

There was a time that Mr. Lilley’s Title I classes were held in the school library. I parked close to the library, and I had a master key to the building. I entered through the outside library door. The first person I usually saw at work was Mr. Lilley. One morning when I arrived at school I said, “Good morning, Mr. Lilley.”

“Augh,” he replied.

“How are you today, Mr. Lilley?”

“AUUGGGHHHH!” he replied, louder, as if I hadn’t heard his earlier answer.

I thought this was so funny, for I have to admit, I’m not a morning person, and I felt much the same as Mr. Lilley. He said it so well with only one grunt. I told Deanie Carver, the other fifth grade teacher, about this. She was a good friend of Mr. Lilley’s, and she related my amusement to Mr. Lilley.

The next day when I entered through the library I said, “Good morning, Mr. Lilley.”

With an actual smile Mr. Lilley replied, “Why, good morning Mr. Mincey.”

“How are you, Mr. Lilley?”

“I’m just fine, Mr. Mincey. How are you?”

And so it was every morning from then until I transferred to another school.

One day I was taking my students to the restroom. I had them lined against the wall as they prepared to return to class. I had my arms crossed, daring them with my eyes to make a sound. They were perfect angels, at least for those few minutes.

Next to the bathrooms were two classrooms whose doors opened against each other. There was a concrete wall between the doors. One of the classrooms was Mr. Johnny Gregg’s, the other Ms. Debra Sweet’s. Mr. Lilley opened Mr. Gregg’s door, said, “Reading,” and closed the door and leaned against the concrete dividing wall as he waited on Mr. Gregg to send out the requested students.

All of the sudden with a WHHAAAMMMM!!!!! the door to Ms. Sweet’s room flew open. Four of the most rambunctious boys that ever attended Luttrell School emerged with a piano, two pulling, two pushing. The piano had a roller that occasionally became dislodged during movement, and just at this opportune moment that roller fell from the piano. The piano barked sharply right into Mr. Lilley’s leg.

Poor Mr. Lilley. One moment he is lazily leaning against the wall, waiting peacefully for his reading students, the next he is hopping on what is now his only good leg, clutching his wounded leg with both hands, shouting, “Oh, God! Oh, God!”

I doubled over with laughter. I couldn’t have stopped laughing if Mr. Lilley had fallen a corpse at my feet. My students just stared at the wounded Mr. Lilley and their hysterical homeroom teacher with their mouths open as if to say, “What’s wrong with them?”

Every time to this day that I think of this I cannot help but laugh. The incident came up in conversation sometime later, and Deanie Carver said, “Ronnie, that’s not funny. Poor Mr. Lilley was hurt so bad he had to get a sub and go home. He hasn’t had any feeling in that spot on his leg since.”

“Well, the feeling sure did leave with a bang!” I replied.

But perhaps I owe my very survival in education to Mr. Lilley. I used to keep students in during recess who did not complete their homework. I was taught in student teaching seminar at Lincoln Memorial University by Dr. Okie Lee Wolfe that a student teacher should never be in a room alone with a student of the opposite sex. I followed this advice all throughout my teaching career, making sure the classroom door stayed open whenever there were students in the classroom when class was not in session.

In this particular incident, it made no difference. It seemed some girl in my class began spreading tales that I had acted inappropriately with her, and possibly other students. She told some fellow students, and one of them who respected me (consequently another girl who was not in my homeroom), told Mr. Lilley during Title I reading that rumors were being spread about Mr. Mincey that were not true.

Mr. Lilley told our mutual friend Deanie Carver what the student had told him. Ms. Carver told me, but all she knew was that it was some girl or girls in my class. With Ms. Carver’s help, we devised a plan. I called in the parents of every female student in my class, one at a time, with their child, for parent conferences. I asked them if they knew anything about these rumors. The parents were very supportive. I remember one parent told me that she had heard nothing like that, and if she had, she would have come to me on her own.

So it was with each parent conference. Ms. Carver and I were becoming increasingly perplexed with each conference. Interestingly enough, we were down to the last female in the class. Before her mother, this girl admitted that she initiated the rumor because she was mad at me for making her stay in during recess to complete her assigned homework.

Where might I have been today had not Mr. Jimmy K. Lilley took the initiative to help a fellow teacher defend himself against untrue allegations? What if I had not had a colleague like Deanie Carver who was willing to put herself on the line to witness the parent interviews? There is an episode of In the Heat of the Night in which a teacher is falsely accused of abusing a student. Unfortunately, that teacher had no one to defend him, and he lost his job and committed suicide. It turns out the boy who accused him only made up the tale because he wanted to stay home with his daddy. I never see that episode without thinking of Jimmy Lilley and Deanie Carver.

Thanks to my wonderful colleagues I spent a few more years teaching at Luttrell, then transferred to Sharps Chapel Elementary where I spent seven years as principal. Mr. Lilley retired at the close of the 2001-2002 school year. I was sent to be the principal of Luttrell Elementary the following year, and I was only to be principal of that school for the one year.

At the beginning of the 2003-2004 I was transferred to serve as assistant principal of Maynardville Elementary. At the fall 2003 inservice Mr. Lilley was invited to return to be recognized for his many years of service to the Union County Public Schools. I shook his hand, and he grinned and told me, “I knew they wouldn’t let you stay at Luttrell long.” I just grinned back, deciding I really didn’t want to know exactly what he meant.

About three years ago David Rigsby and I had been to visit an elderly gentleman in West Knoxville who went to my church. We stopped at the Shoney’s on Kingston Pike. I was helping myself to the salad bar when I heard a voice say, “Mincey, is that you?” Immediately I recognized the voice as Jimmy Lilley’s. We talked for a few minutes about some of these things I have related to you, but he didn’t remember them as well as I did, some of them not at all. I was most amazed that he really didn’t seem to remember
how he came to a struggling teacher’s rescue once upon a time many years ago.

But that was Mr. Lilley. A very private, humble man. The world, especially my world, is a much better place because I was privileged for a while to share it with such a fine, upstanding man of integrity. My wish for you, Faithful Reader, is that in your time of need God will send a Jimmy Lilley to help you.