A real Auburn Man

Contributed Auburn Villager The ubiquitous Auburn mascot, Aubie

On Sept. 2, family and friends gathered at the Auburn Memorial Cemetery to celebrate the life of Julian Holmes, an athlete and member of the Auburn University class of 1962.

After completing graduate work, Holmes joined the Auburn faculty in 1971 and later worked with the Auburn Alumni Association and the AU Foundation. A life of service and achievement to be sure, but there is more to the story. I'd like to share some of it.

Back in the 1950s when Ike was president, Cokes cost a nickel and nice girls didn't, I was thinking about where I would go to college. I thought about Clemson, my dad's alma mater, and even Alabama, but long before I picked up my high school diploma, my colors were orange and blue. I remember a decal on the windshield of a car that read "An Auburn man needs no introduction." I was going to be an Auburn Man.

But I was never completely sure what an Auburn Man was, or if I ever became an Auburn Man. I did graduate from Auburn, so that makes me an alumnus. The fortunes of the Tigers on the field of honor matter greatly to me so I'm definitely an Auburn fan. I served on the faculty for many years, so you could call me an Auburn professor.

But an Auburn Man? It's really not for me to say, but over the years I discovered how to tell if an alum, or a fan or even a professor is an Auburn Man. An Auburn man needs no introduction. You know him when you see him.

Julian Holmes was an Auburn Man. Julian and I were students at Auburn during the late 50s, and I knew he was a football player who contributed greatly to my educational experience by playing on a team that never lost to Alabama during my four years.But it was 1971 before I actually met him.

An Auburn athlete? Well, yes, I suppose, but there was something more. My feeling was, "He's an Auburn Man."

Like it says on the decal, an Auburn Man needs no introduction. And somehow I knew he was going to be my friend for life.

Julian was a farm kid who had been an all-state football player at Walter Wellborn High and was heavily recruited. But he was also an exceptional student and, among other things, an Eagle Scout. And not just any Eagle Scout who met the requirement to earn 21 merit badges. Julian earned every merit badge in the Scout Handbook.

As I mentioned, he was also a good student--what we might call a potential student-athlete in his recruiting class. Except Julian lived up to his potential, making good grades in a tough curriculum, graduating with his class, earning a master's degree, and continuing his education at Tennessee where he completed his Ph.D.

After returning to Auburn as a member of the Extension faculty, he established a much-needed estate planning program which became a national model--and is still used today. When he accepted an offer to become associate director of the Auburn Alumni Association, he took his estate planning program with him, and it later evolved into a major development activity.

Julian also made sure that Auburn alumni understood that they were to carry on the Auburn Tradition after they got their degrees. Julian was big on tradition, but not many people know that he was actually instrumental in establishing one tradition--the Auburn mascot, Aubie.

Aubie had long been associated with Auburn as a cartoon character created by Birmingham cartoonist Phil Neel. In 1979, however, a group of students came to Holmes with the idea of buying a custom-made costume and bringing Aubie to life.

When Julian set out to do something, he hated to be bothered with policies and procedures, which in this case required forming a committee to determine if Auburn needed a mascot, and if so what was it going to be, holding a referendum, getting approvals, setting up a budget, and so on.

He decided the students had the right idea, and he told them the alumni association would pay the $1,350 cost--knowing full well the money would come out of his own pocket if he wasn't successful in raising the money.

Julian sent letters to selected people telling them to send a hundred dollars by return mail, and he would send them a picture of Aubie. I got one of those letters, but I could only afford $50, so he sent me half a picture.

But what was more important was when Aubie walked out on the field for the first time, he was an immediate sensation and went on to become the most famous mascot in college football (as Yogi Berra once said, you could look it up). That's official enough for me.

Julian went on to serve as director of development and played a major role in the first capital campaign that raised over $100 million for the AU Foundation, even through the loss of his beloved daughter, Julie.

But how many people know that he obtained what was the largest gift ever at the time? I know because he showed up at my door one evening, so excited he could hardly speak.

"I just got $10 million," he blurted, handing me a signed pledge card.

I invited him in but was so overwhelmed I had to fix myself a drink to regain my composure. I offered to fix one for him because he deserved it, but he said "no thanks," because he had to get home and tell Judy.

And I understood that. Judy was very pretty and highly talented, but more importantly she was an Auburn Woman. Whatever Julian was about, she was part of it, and especially all his accomplishments for the university he loved.

Later Julian and his brother Donald, who served in the Alabama Senate, proposed the eminent scholar program that resulted in funding of chaired professorships at Auburn and other universities. And before Julian left Auburn he pulled off a final coup.

The Ross Perot Foundation was worth millions, but exactly how to get through the maze that had been set up and present an acceptable proposal was so difficult that most university development officers gave up and went somewhere else. But not Julian. He spent months researching the inner workings of the foundation and managed to get a hearing, and not incidentally, several million dollars for Auburn.

Whether it was his athletic skills, academic achievements, or bringing Aubie to life and bringing major gifts to Auburn, Julian didn't seem to care whether people knew about these things or not.

"I wasn't big, but I was slow," was his typical response when someone would point out he played football. He hated to be called "Doctor." He never attended the press conferences where administrators announced a new program that was to be funded through his good efforts. Part of this was because Julian was never really interested in receiving credit, and partly because he had high ethical standards.

The type of work Julian did involved lots of money, and he was always careful to follow the rules, even when it created an inconvenience for others who preferred a more flexible approach. Julian continued to stand by his principles.

Ultimately, however, he decided that his work in Auburn was done and it would be good to go back to his farm, where he probably spent his happiest years raising cattle, carrying out Judy's wishes, reveling in the successes of his daughter Haden, and enjoying his grandchild, Elizabeth Anne.

He was the proverbial loyal alum, following the goings on at Auburn, as delighted when an academic program received national attention as when Auburn beat Alabama. During those years he called me many times. When I answered the phone the words were always the same: "What's happening in Tigertown?"

I won't ever hear those words again, but I take considerable comfort in the fact that the first time I met Julian, my feelings about him were correct. An Auburn Man needs no introduction. You know him when you see him. My good and true friend for almost 40 years was an Auburn Man.

Jim Buford, a 1960 AU graduate, is a management consultant and writer who lives in Auburn. He can be reached at james.buford@mindspring.com.