Polly's People: A message saved from a dear friend brings tears and smiles

A gracious plenty has been written about the recent death of Frank W. “Sonny” Seiler, including his generosity to the University of Georgia via his line of bulldog mascots, his outstanding reputation as an attorney, and his charming ways as a Southern gentleman. One of the best tributes to Sonny was penned by his good friend Loran Smith, who also spoke at his funeral.

What I remember about Sonny was his gift of storytelling. He could relay a story or a memory with much enthusiasm and fascinating detail. I benefited from listening to a few of his old Savannah stories and regret that I won’t hear more.

What I do have is a memory of a few, including an old message on my phone for me to call him back so he could share a story or two about a book I was putting together about Daffin Park and the Parkside neighborhood, both of which were his stomping grounds.

I didn’t erase the Dec. 9, 2019 voice mail because it is simply a treasure and typical of Sonny, with his unmistakable Savannah accent and strong opinions about things. He wanted me to call him because he had a picture of himself as a little boy along with several of his buddies who played football with Tom Moore, who organized the youth sports program known as the Panthers or, as Sonny pronounced it: the “Panthas.”

On the message, in his Southern drawl, he pronounces my name, “Pally” and ends the call by saying: “I don’t have a computa, I don’t do email or any other kinda mail except United States mail and this telephone.”

His message still makes me smile, albeit through tears welling up in my eyes because I’m certain that Savannah, Athens and the Bulldawg Nation won’t see the likes of Sonny Seiler ever again.

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Oh, the tales Sonny could tell

I suppose I was 8 years old and a pupil at Charles Ellis School when I first heard learned about a man named Sonny. His mother, Helen, (God forbid that I would refer to her or any other of my teachers by their first names) was my third-grade teacher. Mrs. Seiler had taught my four older siblings before me and knew my parents. My father hailed from Guyton and Mrs. Seiler had relatives who lived across the street from my grandmother.

Savannah was a small world back then and ― in many ways ― remains so, which is not necessarily a negative attribute.

After Sonny left the voice mail, I returned his call and set up a meeting at his house. He greeted me with a memory about my father ― “Leander K. Powers” ― and asked about my brother. He had the “Pantha” pictures set out for me and regaled me with stories of playing football under Moore. But he told me the group wasn’t called the “Panthas” then.

In the mid-1940s, Sonny was around 10 years old and his birthday party was a campout with his football buddies in what was then woods north of Victory Drive (in the vicinity of Whole Foods). “It was on that trip that we renamed the organization, the Panthers,” he recalled.

When we finished talking about the Panthers, I asked about some of his UGA memorabilia and he told me how he acquired Herschel Walker’s torn and tattered practice football jersey before Herschel became a superstar.

Sonny let me borrow his prized Panthers photo and another picture of his son, Charles, when he was a member of the Tiger Club, the Panthers biggest rival. I used them both in the book, “Savannah’s Daffin Park and Parkside Place.”

Years before that book came to fruition, my Charles Ellis classmate, Kay Exley Gunkel, and I wrote the book, “Memories So Fair, Savannah’s Charles Ellis School.” Sonny was kind enough then to lend us a wonderful photo of him as a teenager with his mother looking resplendent in a suit with a fur and a dressy hat atop her snow-white curls.

He also talked about his mother, who, among other lessons, taught cursive writing to me and countless other elementary school students.

“She was a very strict person, though much loved,” recalled Sonny, adding that she sent him off to military school when he was a teenager because he misbehaved.

But way before going away to school in Charleston, Sonny attended Charles Ellis where his mother taught the third grade from the 1940s until her retirement in the 1970s.

One of Sonny’s memories of his time at Charles Ellis was “shooting the line” in the bathroom. He and his classmates would pitch their lunch nickels toward the wall to see who would get the closest. Sometimes the losers would have to go without lunch, which Seiler remembered as delicious.

“My favorite was meat loaf and mashed potatoes with gravy,” he said.

Sonny also remembered being an Air Raid Warden.

“I never made it too high in the Boys’ Patrol because I was too bad, but as Air Raid Warden I had to signal a practice air raid by ringing a cow bell,” he said. “I’d go up and down the halls and everybody would come out, cower against the walls and put their heads down.”

Oh, the tales Sonny Seiler could tell. A few years ago I fancied myself writing a book about Sonny and his stories but with his death, his voice has been silenced. I do know this ― he was a joy to listen to and a character who will be sorely missed.

This article originally appeared on Savannah Morning News: Savannah, Athens won't see the likes of Sonny Seiler ever again