This article written by Headmaster Tom Harvey appeared in the February 2004 issue of The Navigator

Stacy Philips ‘03

In Memoriam

Shortly after 7:00 AM on Saturday, December 6^th, I was at my desk at home, reading the morning papers. When the phone rang, I feared instantly that it was Dr. Mark Artzer calling to say that his stepdaughter, Stacy, had died overnight. It was not a time to talk. Mark was clearly working his way down a list of calls. Yet, I felt compelled to hold him for a few seconds to ask the time of death (around 3:30 AM). Even as I write, I do not understand why that was important. Perhaps I needed to know exactly when my life changed. Stacy was more than a talented former student to me. She was special.

We met at the outset of her senior year shortly after my arrival as the new headmaster. I remember it well. She was engaging, a great kid in a school of great kids. She was bald at that point from chemotherapy but seemed unselfconscious about her telltale bandanna. We talked just outside the auditorium before a meeting. I liked her and I was impressed with her easeful confidence.

I was already aware of Stacy. Her reputation had preceded her. A new headmaster always arrives to signals. The culture communicates with him, and people share their feelings on what is important. If he listens closely, he can feel his first contact with the school’s ethos. There was one clear and unmistakable signal in my transition to HRA – a special girl who had cancer. But it was the girl who was special, not the cancer. Still true.

Later that fall, Stacy entered the hospital. I decided to pay a visit and arrived to find her working on her Early Decision application to the University of Virginia. (She was admitted.) We talked. It was a cheerful setting. Her mother, Charla, was there along with a dear friend and neighbor.

Then the attack came, something I had never seen – shingles. It was mind-boggling pain, more profound than I had ever witnessed. I cannot capture it in words, except to say that anyone passing by that room for the next 20 minutes could easily have felt transported back to the Middle Ages. It was grizzly. Charla and Lou leaped into action, very intense and exquisitely equipped, massaging, distracting, comforting. But the pain was intolerable, even scary. It raged. At some point, I felt like an intruder and began to edge toward the door. Suddenly, I heard Stacy’s voice – Mr. Harvey, don’t leave! The pain eventually subsided, and she raised her arms in triumph! We did it! she said, with that dazzling smile. What spirit! What generosity of spirit! I have rarely seen such courage or goodness. It was humbling. When I left her room that day, she had me. I was captured. And a relationship ensued.

If I could say only one thing about Stacy, it would be that she was a girl and loved being a girl. She had great friends and she loved her friends, and was a great friend herself. She was very successful and she knew she was going places, but felt no need to rush the journey. She knew how to live now. She was both formidable and fun. Actually, it was one of her favorite themes, The Two Stacys. She painted that theme, she wrote it, and she lived it.

For example, she liked her birthday, September 15 – it came in the exact middle of the month. She also liked her name, lean and unadorned – Stacy without an e, and Philips with one l. She loved her room and Mark’s hunting dogs. When she was alone in the house she would cover her bed with towels and invite the dogs to join her.

At the same time, she was not pleased with her 3 in AP Spanish. It was a respectable score, a passing grade at the college level. I tried to convince her that she should be proud of it. After all, she had not taken the course!! She was polite, but not consoled. A 3 did not fit her ambition. She was a dear, dear girl, a lovely girl, until it was time to keep score. Then, she was a winner.

She made people better. Once, she was the subject of an interview with the Daily Press, along with two of her classmates. They were celebrating six years as tennis teammates and good players. At one point, the reporter turned to Charla with a few questions. Charla said that Stacy made her a better person. It was uncanny. I had just had the identical thought. Stacy did the same for me, and for many.

That fall, as is my custom, I was teaching a semester English elective for seniors. One day I stopped by the senior room hoping to meet up with some of my students, to get to know them better. The room was crowded. Stacy came up behind me and said, in a voice intended for everyone: Mr. Harvey, just because you are a Senior Citizen does not mean you can use the senior room. There was that split second of stunned silence, then peals of laughter.

In December, she invited me to the annual Christmas concert at her church. She had not been around much and was welcomed back with great enthusiasm. For me, it was the equivalent of escorting a rock star. Everyone wanted to talk to her. But so many said the same thing, some variation of: Oh, Stacy…how are you? It was disheartening. What did they expect her to say! When we finally arrived at our seats, I asked whether she ever found those questions tiresome. In her gracious and graceful way she said simply: Sometimes it’s difficult to put on a happy face.

She made it to graduation in good shape, and it was a wonderful day. That July she opted for major surgery in Houston. The surgeon was famous, and the operation lasted 10 hours, with updates every two hours. We all felt the pressure, minute by minute. It was another victory, a near perfect success. There remained only two malignant specks, which radiation was to erase. The euphoria was intoxicating. I left all fear behind. Stacy talked about a tattoo to record the event – 7/10/03. No one could have known that she had only 149 days to live.

They were good days. She recovered from surgery in record time, no surprise there. She had postponed her matriculation at UVA pending radiation and recovery. It was a serious disappointment to her, from which she recovered in record time as well. Her resilience was awesome. She played tennis and got a great job selling children’s clothing. She also contributed many volunteer hours at HRA. We gave her a faculty parking space. She was thrilled, but even more thrilled to be using the faculty washroom! At Homecoming, she got a faculty tee shirt.

Soon after, UVA departed custom and admitted her for the spring term. The Dean of Admission found her too compelling to insist she wait until fall. She was excited. She invited me to lunch and asked where I would like to go. I left it to her, saying I wanted to go wherever she would normally eat. We wound up on a bench in front of a yogurt shop. We each had a huge serving, and she drank a Diet Coke from what looked like a barrel. It was a beautiful day. On the way back to school, the roof was open, the sun was on our faces, and the Dixie Chicks were wailing. It was fun.

I saw her for the last time the day before she died when so many of us visited the house. But I will more fondly remember the time before that, her last day in the hospital. I was on my way to school, around 7:00 AM. She was alone, in her then preferred position, seated on the bed, bent forward at the waist and leaning on a stack of pillows. It helped her breathing. Although she was still disoriented because of her medication, she was calm and clear, unlike the night before when she had been so agitated.

She complained of being hungry, a good sign I thought. Then I said something that made her giggle, that halting half-giggle. So I accused her of giggling, which brought more, and soon she was laughing. It felt so good to hear her laugh. I said her eyes were very green that day. She responded quickly – and gold! Yes, dear, gold too.

It is astonishing that I knew her for only 16 months. We were just getting started, and she was on her way. I wanted to be along as an aging mentor offering warmth and support. I wanted to help her pick courses and select a major, to see her march across the stage in Charlottesville and launch a career. I wanted to dance at her wedding and look into her children’s green and gold eyes. Most of all, I wanted her…to mourn me.