I worked with Philip in the Corner Parking Lot in the late 80s. He was a sweet and curmudgeonly man, so naturally we were friends. But the funny thing was that though we each knew the other was a runner, we never talked about running and never ran together. But we could sure hang out and talk about life, the universe and everything, one or the other of us collecting nickles from wait staff and drunk kids. Please remember him well.
Philip definitely seemed like a natural fit for the Corner Parking Lot, it doesn't surprise me that he worked there back in the day.
I started going to UVA in the fall of 2001 and moved into a house with a bunch of other track/xc guys right around the block from where Philip lived. He was already a mythical figure back then, and the older guys on the team had at some point started calling him The British Bulldog for the Union Jack shorts he would sometimes wear.
His running form was...unique? I mean, it was terrible. One of the strangest gaits I have ever seen. He took these tiny quick steps and sort of flailed his arms around, and every once in a while he'd sort of fire one of his legs into some sort of buttkick or something. It's not easy to describe, but it was very easy to recognize. I used to drive buses part-time in school and would often see Philip, spotting the silhouette of that stride from a couple hundred feet away. I'd drive by and give a quick honk, and he'd give a quick wave.
After a couple years of these types of anonymous encounters I actually met him at a party down the street. I told him about the British Bulldog nickname, which he got a kick out of, and he talked a little bit about himself. He was definitely an eccentric guy, but also pretty friendly in his own way. He even stopped by the house one time afterwards and asked if we "like bread," because for some reason he had been given something like 20 loaves of Pepperidge Farm sandwich bread and wasn't going to be able to eat it all himself. I think most of it still went stale.
Other things I'll always remember include him once stopping by the house to pay back a quarter or a dime he had borrowed from one of us to make a phone call on campus, and him often riding around on his bike in tiny cutoff jean shorts, sometimes sporting a monk-like haircut.
For someone I barely knew, Philip was a pretty consistent part of a very memorable period of my life. I was truly saddened when I heard the news, and I know several other people I spoke with were also. I will definitely remember him well.