In any Edmonds grocery store, if someone yelled “Coach,” the salutation always was meant for Lee Allbery.
Not only was he raised in Edmonds, he coached a good number of the city’s boys in football.
He gave to the sport, and to his family as a caregiver. They owned Merry Manufacturing, which made Merry Tiller garden machines. After the business was sold in 1982, he cared for his mother and his sister at their Edmonds home.
And he took care of his friends, in many ways.
Lee “Coach” Allbery died of cancer April 16. He loved golf, Tootsie Rolls and watching the World Series of Poker on television.
He graduated from Edmonds High School in 1961, then studied theater arts at the Pasadena Playhouse. He was called home to help run the family business, which shipped tillers around the world.
Allbery founded the Mid City Athletic Association for kids and coached football at Edmonds and Woodway high schools.
He was preceded in death by his father, A.V.; mother, Verla; brother, Virgil; and sisters, Shirlee and Gene. Allbery is survived by his wife, Sandra; daughter, Shana; sons Matthew and Virgil; nieces Melinda, Sherry, and Cassey; nephews Arthur and Shane; granddaughters Violet and Evelyn; and grandson Tyler.
He also leaves Winston, an overweight bulldog, who watches the door for his master’s return.
Allbery’s love of sports started young and stayed with him. Gene Pennock was on the 1977 Merry Tiller team.
“As I have moved through life and have coached my own teams,” Pennock said, “I wish I would have had the opportunity to shake hands and say thank you for all he did, not only for me but all the boys that he coached and lives he touched.”
John Brock coached with Allbery in the early 1970s.
“Like many people brought into their sphere of activities, I was included as a member of the family,” Brock said. “I remember the laughter and good times very fondly.”
Friend Kitty Walker grew up with Allbery.
“My clearest and, thus, fondest memories of Lee involve baseball,” Walker said. “All of us neighborhood kids played for hours in our front yard, a rather large rectangle. What is foremost in my mind, however, is when we were not playing, but Lee was.”
He was a one boy team, she said. He was also the opposing team.
“He’d hit that pretend baseball a mile, and rounding second base, darn if he wasn’t thrown out by a phantom outfielder. Lee hit the ground with a thud and stayed prone for a goodly amount of time. Never one to quit, he’d now be playing a base: the suspense would mount as a teammate threw a hard overhand to Lee just in the nick of time to tag the runner and get him out. No one could stretch out farther from the base to snag that ball to topple the runner. No one could slide into home plate, scoring another run, while clutching his pretend sprained ankle.”
She wasn’t sure he knew he had an audience, but he wouldn’t have cared, Walker said.
Son Matthew Allbery was coached by his father. He said his dad had great volume and voice projection.
“He taught us that winning was important, but how you won was more important,” Matt Allbery said. “He made sure his players were gentlemen.”
There was something that annoyed his wife, Sandra. On any given Saturday afternoon, there would be a knock at the door. Friends would arrive, laden with big grins and casseroles, ready to party.
He seldom informed his wife they were having a get-together.
“Would you tell me?” she asked numerous times.
In the computer age, he sent her party e-mails from his office on the other side of the house.
“He loved to barbecue,” his wife said. “He loved to have his friends around.”
Allbery, at 6-foot-6, was built like a professional wrestler, his son said. His father loved bowling, organizing tournament trips around the country and designing team shirts.
“It you looked well, you bowled well,” his son said.
If anyone needed a new bowling ball, Allbery bought them one. He loved getting packages from online purchases.
His tool of choice was a hot glue gun. He had scores of mementoes in his sporty “man cave,” including golf balls stuck to the walls.
Kristi O’Harran: 425-339-3451, oharran@heraldnet.com.
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