Dallas Foster: My Memories

With the passing of Dallas Foster, we have lost the friendliest, most outgoing personality in our high school graduating class. He was the glue that bonded us together, a friend to all regardless of race, creed, sex, income-level, social class, or ability. While Dallas and I rarely ran in the same circles outside of school, and others were certainly closer to him, my memories of Dallas were many…

In high school Dallas had one of the biggest afros around. He also had an uncharacteristic patch of grey, right in front. That’s the way I always remember him. In later years when I would see Dallas, in person or a photo, I could never get used to him with little or no hair. Blue jeans, sneakers, a T-shirt or polo, and a huge smile on his face. Always so full of life. Over the years he hardly changed.

We were both members of the legendary, undefeated 9th grade football team, the city champions. The team that won 96-0 in Milledgeville (this can’t be mentioned too much!). Dallas was one of The Five Blocks of Granite, the offensive line that looked so menacing in the impressive yearbook photo. Greg “Bull” Williams, Ken Lee, Paul Connor, Dallas, and skinny (but mean) Edward Bussey. Prototypical tight end Tracey Curtis. Graceful Stan Putnal. Bruising running backs Ray Patterson and Randy Rutherford. Playboy quarterback George DuBose. With his personality, good looks, and excellent academic record, Dallas really didn’t need football. I’m sure he had a great time in the stands.

Coach McWilliams’s German class was something else we shared. For some reason “Coach Roy” attracted an interesting lot: David Cape, John Toole, Steve Fuerness. Girls from Lanier B. Another famous yearbook photo showed what we did to pass time when Coach was out of the room: a variation of volleyball/ping pong, played with a ball of rolled up tape. The net was Coach McWilliams’ desk. Later Dallas helped ease young replacement German teacher Miss Otto into the Central fold.

Fuerness and Foster formed the nucleus of Central’s vaunted varsity tennis team. They were an unlikely pair: Steve was tall, slim, mild-mannered, suburban, and pale. Dallas, not so much. They shared three unlikely commonalities: tennis, curly hair, and those god-ugly “Bata Bullet” tennis shoes. I never could understand why a cool guy like Dallas would be caught dead in those monstrosities. Must be a tennis thing.

Last week when Donna Harper posted Dallas’ fantastic Senior Superlative yearbook photo on Facebook, it brought back even more memories. Two stories: In the spring of 1977 I spent one class period working in the school office (kinda weird, because I’d never done anything like that before). As I recall, the senior guys voted for the male Senior Superlatives. I didn’t count the votes, but was told details of the results. Not surprisingly, Dallas was the top vote-getter among the guys. Secondly, he looked great in his Senior Superlative photo, as usual…super sharp in a dark suit. Dallas had told me he wanted to pose with his knee propped up and hand on his chin, with a “Hey! Pick up that piece of paper and put it in the trash can!” look on his face. As usual, he pulled it off perfectly.

For ten years after graduation we were out of touch, until our first class reunion. Dallas had graduated from Vanderbilt and moved to Texas, where he was in medical sales, as I recall. Hadn’t changed much. I wasn’t surprised. He was into music, even playing with his band at our second reunion in Tattnall Square Park.

Years passed. One day my dad called to tell me Dallas was in St. Joseph’s Hospital, awaiting a heart transplant. I went to visit, unannounced. Though weak, he greeted me warmly. We had a wonderful visit, reliving old times. Over the months I would stop in for an occasional visit, though I felt guilty for not visiting nearly enough. Once I took my son. Always great times. His personality was unchanged. To him his medical condition was just a temporary obstacle that he would overcome with time. And of course, he did.

Dallas returned to Houston after his transplant, and seemed to live a blessed life. Participated in the Transplant Olympics and did volunteer work. Had his likeness displayed on a Houston billboard. And time to pursue a love of his life, music.

Facebook came along, allowing us all a most convenient way to reunite and express ourselves (sorry if I express myself TOO much!). We learn amazing things on Facebook, like how Dallas and lifetime friend/classmate Elaine were born on the same day. I so enjoyed having Dallas share my rantings on the Braves, college football, or life in general. So did Cathy Slappey Lenderman. It was like old times.

As a sports fan Dallas was a lot like me. Always a Braves fan, though when he moved to Houston he rightfully adopted the woeful Astros as his own. Vanderbilt is a kindred football spirit of Georgia Tech, my alma mater. Both annually suffer at the hands of their larger in-state football powerhouse “institutions.” As a Tech fan, Dallas shared my pain. As a native Georgian, he rightfully rooted for the Dawgs.

Out of my daily addiction, I checked Facebook Sunday afternoon, August 14th. Noticed a post from Dallas, out late Saturday night with friends. Nothing out of the ordinary. Hours later he was gone. Decades too early, in my book.

I miss you, dear friend.