Lifelong Yellow Jacket Trey Pierson ‘left a mark’
It’s inevitable and it almost always breaks at least a few hearts, but it rarely shakes a whole community the way it did last Saturday. Last Saturday, death stunned Calhoun when it snuffed out one of our favorite lights with a fast, cold breath. Just like that, Trey Pierson was here and just like that, Trey Pierson was gone.
Still reeling and likely to remain off-kilter for some time, people gathered at the Jacket stadium Wednesday to say goodbye and show support for the folks on the field, the ones that knew and loved Trey best. Chilled and masked, they sat on hard bleachers and quietly respected a man known and loved for being loud. There were six speakers and almost every one of them used the adjective “obnoxious” in their remarks at least once. Trey would have laughed.
He was special, but he wasn’t perfect. To be honest, he was decidedly imperfect. He was an absolute brute of a man, barrel-chested with thick forearms that he often kept crossed. He had a sharp tongue and an abrupt nature. He had a habit of talking more than he listened, so conversation could be challenging. He didn’t really walk across a room so much as he charged across it. This made his grace on the dance floor surprising, which is how we became real friends. I had known him for years, but never really knew him.
Everybody talks about how Trey loved and supported football, but people rarely mention how hard he worked for United Way of Gordon County to make its Dancing with the Stars fundraiser a success. Trey served on the planning committee and competed in the event twice. It has been my pleasure to emcee that event since it began, but I’ve always wanted to dance in it. That dream died with Trey, because we had a secret pact. I was going to dance before it ended, and he promised to be my partner because he was the only one strong enough to lift me. I have a memory of Trey floating across the stage toward me at the podium one year. He was wearing a bright pink prom dress and he needed a shave. He was grinning from ear to ear.
Here’s the mystery and magic of Trey Pierson, at least as I understand it. I never shared a meal with him, and I never visited his home. We never embraced, but we shook hands a few times. We never really spent a substantial amount of time together, but he would have told you he loved me and meant it. He would have done anything in his power to help me if I needed it. That made him special, not me.
And this moment happened years ago, when I tried to die and proved not as good at it
as Trey. At the GEM Theatre, he put his hand on my arm and drew me away from the small group of people with whom I was conversing. He put that hand on my shoulder, looked me directly in the eye and said some remarkably kind words about my survival. He finished with “Got it?” and then turned away from me, marching up the aisle and out of sight.
And just like that, Trey Pierson was gone. But he left a mark.
This article originally appeared in the Dec. 5, 2020, edition of the Calhoun Times.