I am so sorry to hear of your loss.  I have some great memories of Coach Smedley and the swim team and the YMCA.  Keeping you all in my thoughts and prayers.

Set atop the second set of hills is a road we all know as 33. You cruse slowly through the trees and watch as the multicolored clay in the embankment passes you by. The smell of crops, cows, fresh grass and the paper mill fill your nose as pass the Hallmans. You see a yellow speck as you go by and hope you’re the 1st one to say “I see Pop’s house”. Last one to say it has to walk, but we didn’t mind because then it just became a foot race to the drive way. As you approach you are greeted by the large pecan trees looming above you, and the scent of Daffodil and Gardenias hits your nose. And as you reached the door you could always stop and rest on the porch swing out front. You sit there with the smell of pops pipe tobacco looming on the air and instinctively you know there is golf or football on the tv. I can see it now, walking in and seeing Pop sitting in his recliner with remote in one hand a PBR in the other. To his side is an old wooden ashtray with a perfect spot to rest his pipe which would come in handy during those tough calls the refs would make. You walk in the kitchen to find something to snack on and you pass by Walk past the old red Rotary phone with the ten foot cord hanging all twisted up to the floor. You make a bee line for the back door, sneaking a slice of Pop’s crackling bread as you did so. Then it’s off to the corn field, the best place for game of tag or hide and seek. We would explore the tractor shed and play in the field until we heard the call for lunch. Everyone bows for grace and gets their plates. We gather on the front porch and enjoy our lunch out in the country air. Someone always offers to take Pop’s plate in once he’s finished and he stay to holler at the grandkids for making all that racket. But at any time we could bring him pecans that he would crack 3 at a time for us with his strong hands. After all the food is put away it’s time to go home. Everyone hugs Pop and says good bye Pop and he always responded Bye Baby 

Loved to spend my summer  with my uncle Doug  and aunt Sara's.  We had so much fun except  for midnight  the cat. It was better than summer camp.  RIP uncle Doug.  You will be missed. Now you and uncle  coon, uncle cecil, and aunt sis can party  in heaven.

What an awesome man, it was our pleasure and honor to meet you.  May you Rest In Peace .

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Ridout's-Brown-Service Prattville Chapel

Horace Smedley

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Horace Douglas Smedley

February 12, 1931 – November 12, 2018

Ridout's-Brown-Service Prattville Chapel

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