The first time I ever saw the name Add Penfield – or heard it for that matter – was when I went to work for my hometown newspaper, The Index-Journal, in Greenwood, S.C. As you walked into the newsroom there, at the back to the left was a large wooden desk commanded by two desk editors. On the right was the more formidable Add Penfield Jr. I recall clearly addressing Add Penfield Jr. as Mr. Penfield when I was still green behind the ears as a reporter. “Call me Add,” he boomed. “My father is Mr. Penfield.”

And so my relationship with the Penfield family was born.

In the ensuing years at the I-J, I gained immense respect for Add Jr. He taught me the ins and outs of reporting, spelling and the importance of making sure you get a person’s name correct. He also taught me tenacity, humbleness and how to work hard. But he also taught me how to laugh, fight for what I believed in and to be thankful for what I had.

I left the I-J in May of 1996, destined for Florida, chasing what I thought would be a ticket to better things. I didn’t see Add Jr. again until after I moved here in November of 2005.

When I visited Randolph County in October of that year, I went back to my home in Georgia with several copies of The Randolph Guide tucked in my suitcase. When I finally got a chance to read through them, I stumbled across a familiar name in a byline: Add Penfield. My initial thought was that it was Add Jr. And I thought how ironic it would be if, after all these years, he and I would again cross paths.

Not long after getting settled in here, Add Penfield – The Original – came in to the paper. He introduced himself to me. I can’t remember if I asked him if he had a son in Greenwood or if I remarked to him that I once worked for a man named Add Penfield. He let me know, in that humble way that he had, that the person to whom I was referring was his son, Add Jr.

I had immense respect for him almost immediately. I can recall his son telling stories about his father to all of us young reporters. We were in awe to hear him talk about the Duke Blue Devils and his father, all in one sentence.

Over the years I have been here, Add was a fixture in our office. He always came in when you least expected it, made sure he spoke to everyone who was here and always asked me – very politely, I might add – if he could have a piece of hard candy from the tin I keep on my desk. He knew he didn’t have to ask, but he did anyway. That courtesy that he extended in that simple question only endeared him to me even more.

When he turned 90 in 2008, I attended his birthday party and got to see his son, Add Jr., for the first more than a decade. He hadn’t changed that much. He moved a little slower but only in the physical sense: He was still as sharp as a tack and as commanding as he ever was. Seeing father and son in the same room was quite a moment for me. I got to see how much the father and son were alike. On that particular occasion, I presented him with a lifetime subscription to The Randolph Guide from all of us here.

Later, I received a thank you letter from him, thanking me and the staff here for our generosity. I still have that letter. It was dated Sept. 10, 2008:

Dear Patricia,

Please accept my sincere thanks for the wonderful birthday gift I received from you and The Guide. To own a Subscription for Life is a distinction of which I’m most proud. You folks at The Guide are among my very favorite people.

Fondly,

Add

On the last occasion that Add came by The Guide, he stayed in the car. I didn’t go out to see him because I had a bad cold and didn’t want to run the risk of passing it on to him. But I sent some candy out to him. I have no doubt that he enjoyed every last piece.

We didn’t see Add after that. I got the occasional phone call from him, more when we started getting close to time for the golf classic that bears his name. When I answered the phone, he greeted me as he always did: Patricia, Add Penfield – in that booming voice he had.

When I saw in the News & Record this past Saturday that he had passed away at age 91, I got a huge catch in my throat: In the ensuing years since I left my hometown, I haven’t been affected by the deaths of many people in the towns in which I have lived. This time I was. All the memories of him came flooding back – from watching him direct the watermelon seed spitting contest at the Farmer’s Market to him coming into The Guide, always a bright spot for all of us. His smile was infectious, his sense of humor was unique and his voice was always booming.

Add Penfield leaves a legacy – of his family, of his friends and of Add Penfield himself. Despite his stature, I haven’t know many people who stood as tall as he did. I’m proud to have known him.

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I got an e-mail from a subscriber last week seeking some help in finding a friend. Since I haven’t lived here long, I am hoping our readers can help me. If anyone knows Anna Lee Pritchard Johnson Brower, let me know. According to the e-mail, she married Jim Brower after the death of her husband, Jack, in 2006, and she used to live on a small mountain at 301 Carolina Ave. You can call me at the number listed below or you can e-mail me at the address listed below if you have any information I can pass along.



Patricia M. Edwards is the publisher and editor of The Randolph Guide. She can he reached at (336) 625-5576 or by e-mail at pedwards@randolphguide.com.