I didn’t want to believe it. I still don’t. When the phone rang early Tuesday morning and the news came, I wanted to know how the person knew. I trust that person, a friend I’ve known for 36 years, but I wanted to know that he was 1,000 percent sure. This news couldn’t be right, it didn’t (and doesn’t) seem real, but if I were going to share it with mutual friends, it damn sure couldn’t be wrong.
Charles Hollis couldn’t be gone, but he is, and I don’t know what to do with that news. Except to do what he did so well and tell some stories.
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Charles was always here, from the day I arrived at The Birmingham News in 1984 to the day I departed in 2018 and beyond. He was a friend who never stopped asking me to bring my sons to his farm in Cullman to ride horses. He loved that farm, and he loved those horses. He was a colleague who taught me how to be a beat writer, more by example than instruction. In this state, he practically invented the role, and he absolutely defined it. He was a role model on how to respect the profession and the people in it, on how to get it first but first get it right, on how to develop relationships that survived hard stories that had to be told.
About 10 years older and a generation wiser, he was my newspaper big brother.
Charles changed my life, or my career, not that you could tell one from the other for far too long. I was in my first year at The News when our Alabama beat writer left to take a job in his native Pittsburgh. The bosses asked Charles, then covering Pat Dye and Auburn, to switch to Ray Perkins and Alabama.
His initial reaction: Perk the Jerk? No way.
Then Charles did what he did best, better than anyone I’ve known. He did some reporting. He learned from some newspaper guys who’d worked with
Perkins with the New York Giants that, if you get to know the coach and let him get to know you, you’ll think he’s the best coach you ever covered.
Charles took over the Alabama beat, and so began the best relationship between reporter and coach I’ve ever seen, as well as my tenure as the Auburn beat writer for The News.
Charles waited to talk to Perkins so many times on so many late nights in the Alabama football parking lot, Perkins gave him his home phone number. In the days before cell phones, that was a big deal.
Two days before the 1985 Iron Bowl, Charles told Perkins he thought Auburn, with soon-to-be Heisman winner Bo Jackson, would win. Perkins snapped, “How much do you want to bet we whip their ass? $500? $1,000?”
Charles had a better, more ethical idea. If Auburn won, Perkins would let him into the postgame Alabama locker room immediately afterward, before the press normally was given access. Perkins said, “Done.”
That Saturday in Legion Field, Alabama’s Van Tiffin kicked his 52-yard field goal at the buzzer, and chaos ensued. Charles followed Perkins through the scrum to the locker-room door, where two burly security guards intervened. Despite losing their friendly wager, Charles called out to Perkins, who relented and said, “Let his ass in.”
That was the thing about Charles. He found his way in, like when Alabama hired Gene Stallings in 1990. While the rest of us waited inside the media room, Charles worked his way within earshot of Paul Bryant Jr. embracing Stallings outside and whispering, “This is what Papa would’ve wanted.”
Ever a team player, Charles gave me that amazing, defining anecdote for the main news story of the day.
The man had ink in his blood and a twinkle in his eye. Way back in the day, The News let us beat writers pen weekly opinion columns, and those columns ran under our pictures, which we called mugshots, to distinguish them from news stories with a mere byline. Charles’ mugshot, with a goatee and a smirk, suggested a cynical, sinister villain. I swear he struck that pose on purpose. No doubt there were fans who hissed when they saw his face. Probably still are.
Charles Hollis in a 2001 column mug.bn
Wimp Sanderson and Charles sparred a time or two during Wimp’s tenure as the winningest coach in Alabama basketball history. Wimp remembers getting so mad once that he “spent all night” trying to find Charles’ phone number. When he finally found it, he called and “let his fanny have it.”
They laughed about that exchange recently as Charles offered Wimp some advice on dealing with a troublesome knee.
The list of great sports writers in the history of Alabama is a long one. Charles is high on that list, and it’s not an exaggeration to say he helped bring real journalism to sports writing in this state. He raised the blood pressure of coaches and editors alike, mainly for the eye-popping expense reports he ran up on the road. He seemed to know and frequent every great restaurant on every back road between Birmingham and every SEC town.
Until the end, he was doing the things he loved at the place he loved. He was still reporting and writing, always in that order, staying in touch with the people and the sport that meant so much to him. I can hear Perkins at the pearly gates, giving Charles hell for failing to finish the book they’d worked on for years. You just know there’s gold in those notes.
As for me, I’m not going to get any more calls asking me to share some phone numbers because he lost his iPhone and its star-studded contact list. I’m not going to get any more invitations to share some orange rolls at the All Steak. But every time I hear someone say, “So what d’ya hear?” I’m going to hear him.