A stack of scribbled notes keeps steadily growing on a bookshelf in our home. Occasionally one becomes a column. More often they languish in obscurity.

Bobby Harman’s name is buried somewhere deep in the pile. I planned to write a column titled “Run, Bobby, Run!” but waited too late to get the full story. Robert C. Harman, II, died unexpectedly on January 22, 2025, at age 79. 

Bobby was six grades ahead of me in school, so we didn’t have much interaction. Our paths didn’t cross much as adults either. When they did, though, the light-hearted banter was predictable. I’d ask if he still had blazing speed, sometimes suggesting we stage a challenge race. He’d grin and say he might be good for ten yards.

In the spring of 1963 Bobby won the 100-yard dash at the state track meet, then placed second in the 220. Details are posted online in the archives of the Georgia High School Association. 

Unadilla High was in the smallest category of schools – Class C. Bobby’s time of 10.2 seconds was top among his peers. I was surprised to learn he also outpaced the A, AA, and AAA winners. One runner, a Class B competitor, had a 10.1 time, but if they had raced Bobby might have found another gear. He’d been clocked at ten seconds flat. Winning that race made Bobby a star in his hometown, especially perhaps to us younger kids. 

I learned from his obituary that Bobby spent four years in the Air Force, 20 in the reserves, and 45 years as a volunteer fireman. It’s odd how you can know someone for decades without really knowing much about them.

He never sought attention, but I believe Bobby would be pleased that a big moment in his life has not been forgotten. My fifth-grade eyes saw him as a friendly hero, a good guy who came in first. That never changed.  

Bobby had a connection to another scribbled note that’s been in my stack too long. I never got around to writing a column about Judy Canova. At this point there are only a few people left who remember her. Fewer still would know the radio and film star pretended “Unadilly” was her hometown.   

She was a celebrity in the days when U.S.41 was filled with travelers. As they passed through Unadilla, many stopped for gas, food, and motor courts. Some were curious and would  inquire about Judy Canova’s childhood home. Perhaps it was an enterprising merchant who first directed them to the Harman property. However it began, the mischief was heartily embraced. 

The Harman home, which burned a few years ago, was just off Highway 41. It was a lovely, three-story house with white clapboard siding and steep gables, an impressive residence for a rural town and perfect for the harmless ruse.  

My father was a fan of Judy Canova. He described her as a Minnie Pearl type character who comedically entertained her radio audience. Long after her heyday, Daddy still found it amusing that countless tourists had admired the Harman house and enjoyed taking photographs. 

I wish I had sat down with Bobby and asked if there were any family stories about interactions with Judy Canova fans. Or maybe he would have recounted that long-ago day on the track when he took top honors. Or perhaps he would have shared something from his time in the Air Force, years spent serving our country that I never thanked him for. It’s my fault that never happened. Good intentions got buried in a stack of scribbled notes.  

Once upon a time Bobby Harman gave folks in his small town something big to celebrate. Although the lustre of trophies fades over time, I’ll bet Bobby never forgot the thrill of winning that race. His good friend Bo Dolph and other teammates no doubt cheered him on. And more than 60 years later, I’d venture a guess that Bobby could close his eyes and still hear them shouting. “Run, Bobby, Run! Run, Bobby, Run.”