Some thoughts about my cousin Phil Allen Hurt (1952 - 2005) -- by Jon Wallace

My first memory of Phil Allen was the spring or summer of 1953, I was 5 years old and Phil was the first baby I'd seen that was actually related to me. It was a powerful feeling. My uncle Phil and aunt Imogene spent a lot of time with me the previous year, while I stayed with my grandparents on a farm outside Casey. My mom was trying to arrange day-care in the Washington DC area (she was training Navy pilots how to do advanced instrument navigation).

Over the next 12 years, Phil Allen and I always spent summers and holidays in the Casey area visiting with our Grandpa Tell (Hurt) and Gramma Pearl. He was 4 years younger, but was always game when we'd set out on an adventure beyound my Grandpa's barnyard to the fields and meadows that tailed down to the North Fork creek. When he was around 7 I remember him saying he loved small towns and country living, "Everyone is so friendly, you can wave at anyone and they'll wave back."

The band of local cousins included Phil Allen, myself, Chris and Charlotte (Hurt), Mike and Scott (Summerville), and Tony (Delp), We collectively swam at aunt Zola and uncle Forrest (Delp's) Pond, and I remember us running around on a moonlit night with fuel-oil soaked burlap smudge torches, waiting for the grown-ups to light off July 4th fireworks. We'd all get together at Christmas time and the kids' aggregate glow could probably be seen from above the clouds.

Phil Allen was always a smiler, observant, and a good story-teller. He knew how to say no, but was mostly a joiner. We had some pretty fun childhood years. And Phil loved to tell stories about his version of every adventure.

Phil Allen fell in love with horses at an early age. By the time he was 8, and living in the Plainfield Illinois area he had his own horse and was riding daily. His passion for riding earned him a broken collar bone, and some cracked ribs early on. I still remember him in a partial body cast. After many years as an adult he came back to horses, and is survived by 2 horses that he has ridden in endurance contents all over Illinois and nearby states. If you wanted to strike up a conversation with Phil all it took was mention of an equestrian topic.

When I was 15 I came down to Casey one summer with my Vespa motorscooter. Phil Allen and I cruised every back road within a 25 mile radius of the town. I think I gave him the two-wheel bug at that point, 'cause he always liked motorcyles after that.

Phil Allen became hooked on hot-rods when he turned 16. I remember how he and his dad put a few 'upgrades' into his 1965 Malibu small block, to the point that it was running a lot faster than Detroit's engineers had ever expected. I believe he drew a few tickets during his Racer days, but to my knowledge he never got in any accidents.

After I graduated college in 1969 I took a job at Powers Regulator in Quality Control. Phil Allen was looking for work at that point and I recommended him there. We ended up commuting together to Skokie every day for several months. I was drafted and went into the Army in October 1970, so we lost contact for a while.

The next time I saw Phil Allen I was on leave and he had a 1968 Triumph Tiger motorcycle that he'd kinda dropped, at speed. We worked on it for a week and got it in mint-condition so he could sell it. I really enjoyed working with him on that bike. I think he had his dad's mechanical aptitude, and could figure out how to do things by reasoning to first principles. I remember years later when he was living in Martinsville he went back to biking and put together a nice looking Honda four. He dropped it too, as I recall. He was a glutton for punishment I guess.

In the last few years Phil Allen and I only met at family reunions or when I stopped at his Mom and Dad's while he was there. We didn't have deep conversations, but I felt we enjoyed each other's company. Sometimes Phil would say, would you like to come out to the barn while I feed and groom my horses? I'd watch while he exercised them, mucked the stalls, fed and watered them -- a slice of his daily life. I believe caring for those critters and occasionaly competing with them was central to his self image and his sense of worth. I think he was at peace and as centered as he'd ever been in his life. God bless, cousin Phil ....