Shamas Dougherty is a Great Man

The summer before last, I was sitting in the Bojangles restaurant on the Volunteer Parkway when none other than Shamas Dougherty walked in. Yes, the “one and only” Shamas, a true Bristol icon, who can often be seen riding his bike around on the Tennessee side of town.

Shamus immediately recognized me from what he knew of me decades ago. “You that golfer guy!” he said excitedly, smiling and pointing and shaking a finger directly at me. “That who you are!”

“That’s me, Shamas!” I gleefully replied. “Come sit with me.”

As he walked toward me, Shamas stopped suddenly and said, “You Amy’s cousin. She die. Make me sad. Very sad. Amy always nice to me. Always. Yes, she was.” (Shamas speaks with a beautifully simple and fervently passionate style of speech. Some may say in fractured grammar. I say it is a style that makes communication plain as pie.)

Then Shamas turned to banter a bit with one of the Bojangles’ workers, a very nice lady who bantered right along with him as an equal.