Philip Cox Smith

Philip Cox Smith passed away on Monday, September 30, surrounded by loved ones. While Parkinson’s disease impeded the last few years of his life, he faced his diagnosis with grace and his trademark practicality, understanding the odds while still making every attempt to defy them. A planner with a sense of humor, Phil even arranged for this obituary well in advance, hoping to be described accurately and without “the flowery crap seen in many obits.” (I’ll do my best, Granddad.)

Phil was born on March 31, 1937 to Richard Wellington Smith and Katharine Cox Smith in Atlanta, GA. He graduated from high school in Washington, D.C. in 1955, then attended Virginia Polytechnic Institute (now called Virginia Tech) for two years before transferring to Duke University to be closer to his first love, Gail, who studied at UNC Chapel Hill. In 1963, he graduated with a master’s in mechanical engineering. After college, he and Gail moved to Texas, where he worked at General Dynamics designing flight controls for F-111 jets. He later went to TRW Aerospace, where he focused on the landing point designator that Apollo 11’s lunar module pilot used during its final descent onto the Moon’s surface. He’d then spend the majority of his career, nearly 30 years, at Johns Hopkins University’s Applied Physics Laboratory in Laurel, Maryland, working on submarine-launched ballistic missile systems. Phil retired from APL in 1997 as principal professional staff.

Phil says he had “two wonderful, loving wives” in his life: Gail, whom he married in 1958 and passed away in 1982, and Martha (Marty), whom he married in 1991 and stayed by his side until his last breath. He picked up one of the great passions of his life, birding, from his first wife. She took a bird-watching class while attending Ohio Wesleyan University, and one of their first dates involved a daylong birding expedition. “Gail was there, which provided all the interest I needed,” he later shared. But over the years, “I learned to enjoy it almost as much as she did.” In the pictures of him and his first wife, he’s always grinning ear to ear, a young man completely enamored with the woman by his side.

After Gail passed away, Phil had to adjust to becoming a single parent. He took his kids to family counseling and figured out—with a little trial and error, of course—how to make quiche and Crock-Pot chicken. His kids remember a man who threw himself into fatherhood, looking out for each of them while working through their grief and balancing a busy career.

His courtship with Marty, meanwhile, was a whirlwind. A man of taste, Phil loved Popeyes—especially the red beans and rice—and proposed to Marty at one of the chain restaurants after just a few months of dating. (She said yes on the condition that they’d give it a little more time before making things official. In the final weeks of his life, they’d share a good laugh over this story.) Phil and Marty eventually made homes in Maryland, North Carolina, Florida, and Georgia, sampling the best fast food each had to offer.

Phil, who grew up in the segregated South, was fiercely political, proudly describing himself as a Yellow Dog Democrat, or someone who would vote for a dog over a Republican. At age 9, he and his family moved to D.C., where his new dentist sold him a small rosewood guitar—and kicked off a lifelong love of music, especially bluegrass. In the early ’70s, he and his friends founded the Thursday Night String Band, a weekly jam session that continued regularly for the next half-century. A few of his favorites: “Paradise” by John Prine, “The Trumpet Vine” by Kate Wolf, and just about anything by Hank Williams. In the ’80s, Phil got into motorcycles, quickly upgrading from a used Honda to a top-of-the-line Harley touring bike he’d use to explore the country, first on solo rides and later with Marty as his ever-present sidekick.

In his twilight years, he was stiller than usual but always present—singing folk songs with his kids and grandkids, smiling as loved ones reminisced by his side, sharing secret handshakes with his youngest grandson, cruising over the water on family rides around Lake Oconee. His essence—the leather moccasins, the love of hot sauce, the pocketed shirts, the Southern drawl, the always-changing rotation of branded hats, the quiet mischief in his eyes—remained the same through the very end. Phil is survived by his wife, Marty Smith; daughter Tammy Coburn, her husband Jeff, and their children Jordan and Nick; daughter Sandra Smith and her fiancée Beth Ryan; son John Smith, ex-wife Jeanne Smith, and their sons Jake and Asa; stepdaughter Amy Wellman and her husband Michael Stone; and stepdaughter Anne Jones, her husband Eric, their children Justin and Emily, and Justin’s fiancée Lorin Crawford. In lieu of flowers, which unfortunately fall into the “flowery crap” category, please direct donations to the Southern Poverty Law Center, an organization uplifting the political, economic, and social power of Black communities in the South.

Phil’s family is forever grateful to everyone who helped make his final years as easy and content as possible—thank you. And to anyone else who loves Phil as much as we do, today’s a great day to enjoy some red beans and rice in his honor.