Armfield Coffey: A Brief Memoir

Of all the nice people I’ve met through my association with the newspaper business, the only one who arguably was nicer than Armfield Coffey was his wife Rachel.

When Rachel died in 1999 as the result of falling from a horse, I lamented in this space that North Carolina journalism had lost “a beautiful person.” Now the sad news has come that Armfield is gone, too, and although my conscience would be clear if I also described him as “beautiful,” I’m pretty sure that Armfield would have none of it.

In the first place, Armfield would reject any comparison that possibly could be interpreted as taking anything away from the elegant and lovely woman in whose companionship he took such obvious and understandable delight. Whenever he and Rachel were in the same room he had a hard time keeping his eyes off of her, and their partnership was so much a part of each of them that it is almost impossible to think of either without also thinking of the other.

In the second place, Armfield was a realist who harbored no delusions, especially about himself. I can almost hear him chuckle as he reads this, and saying, “Me? Beautiful? Don’t you think I have a mirror?”

Beautiful or not, Armfield was a lot like Rachel in many ways. In 1999 I wrote of her, “In a profession people with extroverts and inveterate talkers, she was a rarity: an essentially private person and a great listener.” The same was true of Armfield. During his tenure in 1988-89 he probably spoke fewer words, and those few more softly, than any NCPA president in history. He viewed giving remarks to the annual convention as equivalent to a trip to the dentist. In recent years he would drive from Boone to Raleigh to attend N.C. Press Foundation board meetings at which he said almost nothing but “aye.”

For all his quietude, however, Armfield was a genial companion who loved a good story and was quick to grab a dinner check or a bar tab. I especially enjoyed playing golf with him, because he approached the game the way more of us should – i.e., with almost fatalistically low expectations. Consequently, the rare shot that turned out successfully always brought a twinkle to his eye, especially if it took money out of your pocket, but he shrugged off the more common mediocre ones as the order of the day. His insouciant attitude towards the game seemed particularly suited to the occasion one autumn day when he hosted the NCPA board at the Blowing Rock Country Club. The weather was so foggy that on many holes you couldn’t see beyond the front of the tee, so the golf took on the atmosphere of a surrealistic hike. Relying on his store of local knowledge and the fact that he seldom hit the ball far enough to lose it, Armfield won the day.

Other than Rachel, the two things that Armfield loved most were the North Carolina mountains and the newspaper business. Whenever we first encountered each other at a sweltering NCPA summer convention he would tell me right off about how he had slept under a blanket the night before in Boone, and when the board met in the mountains he assumed the role of God’s gracious guest host. In 1989 he and Rachel hosted a dinner high atop the Linville Ridge Country Club on a spectacular night when the air was so clear that the stars seemed to be within reach and the lights of Charlotte, almost 80 miles away, were visible. Armfield could not have been more proud if he had hung the stars himself.

Armfield’s love of newspapers and newspaper people stemmed in part from the fact that he knew every facet of the business first hand. He spent his entire career at the Watauga Democrat, where he started in the press room and then became, in turn, a photographer and reporter, executive editor, and publisher. He knew what it was like to have ink under your fingernails, and also what it took to balance the books. After he and Rachel sold the newspaper in 1994 they became major benefactors of the town of Boone, Appalachian State University and several local charities. Their legacy includes Rivers Park, a 10-acre tract near the university that contains the largest living maple tree in North Carolina.

Armfield also knew that community papers often depend for their excellence on the work of young journalists who are just starting up the ladder. Therefore, after Rachel’s death he made generous grants to the North Carolina Press Foundation in her memory to fund journalism scholarships for high school students. His mode of giving was simple and singular. At the Foundation board meeting at which he increased the Rachel Rivers Coffey Fund to $75,000 he sat quietly, saying almost nothing, until we reached the “New Business” item at the bottom of the agenda. Then, with no fanfare or fuss, he reached into his briefcase and passed a check across the table, saying something like, “I hope you can use this.”

Having spent the last couple of hours reflecting on Armfield, I think my first instinct was right after all, no matter what he might think.

We HAVE lost another “beautiful person.”