Hershel "Buddy" Phillips came into the world in Texarkana, Arkansas, and never really left the people there—or anywhere else—unchanged. From the very beginning, Buddy had a way with people that felt effortless and genuine. At Arkansas High School, where he graduated with the Class of 1962, he was known just as much for his easy smile and open nature as for his involvement on campus. During his senior year, he took on a leading role in the Senior Play, comfortable on stage and surrounded by friends. When his classmates voted him "Most Popular," it wasn't a surprise to anyone. Buddy had a rare gift: he made people feel at ease, seen, and welcome.

That same gift followed him into his service in the United States Army. After enlisting in 1966, Buddy spent most of his time stationed in Europe. His outgoing personality, dependability, and natural leadership didn't go unnoticed. Base commanders entrusted him with supervisory responsibilities, recognizing that people listened to Buddy and respected him. Even when a serious service-connected knee injury cut his military career short and led to an honorable discharge during his third year, he left with the respect and affection of those he served alongside.

When he returned home, Buddy began what would become a nearly 30-year career with General Motors in Service Parts Operations. Once again, his reputation preceded him—not through self-promotion, but through consistency, honesty, and a sincere ability to connect with people from every walk of life. Coworkers trusted him. Leadership relied on him. As a proud member of United Auto Workers Local 816, he rose to serve as a Union Representative, becoming a steady, respected voice for his fellow workers and a trusted negotiator between the union and the company.

At the heart of Buddy's life was his deep love for his family. He cherished time spent with all of them—his parents and siblings, nieces and nephews, extended family, and especially his two sons, his three grandchildren, and his five great-grandchildren. Family wasn't an obligation to Buddy—it was a joy. Some of his favorite memories were made traveling with his brother Charlie and Charlie's wife, Jane, especially on trips to Las Vegas and other destinations that promised laughter, late nights, and good stories. Wherever Buddy and Charlie went together, it was understood a good time would follow. "Charlie and Buddy" wasn't just a pairing—it was a guarantee.

Outside of work, Buddy's impact was just as profound, though he never made a show of it. Without announcements or explanations, he became a father figure to many neighborhood kids who needed one. It was common for his son Jeff to come home late from high school baseball practice to find a couple of teammates already seated at the table, sharing dinner with Buddy and Goldie. Nothing was ever said, because nothing needed to be. Those young men understood exactly why they were there. They were drawn to Buddy's kindness, his calm presence, and the quiet common sense he offered so freely. In return, they gave him lifelong affection—and nicknames like "Uncle Buddy" and "Action Hersh."

Buddy was a lifelong registered Democrat, color-blind not only in eyesight but in spirit. He believed politics should serve working people and never override our shared humanity. That belief wasn't something he lectured about—it was something he lived, every day, in how he treated others.

He loved the outdoors and anything that brought him closer to nature: a fishing line in the water, wildlife nearby, or an open road stretching ahead. The beach held a special place in his heart, especially the salty air of Galveston and South Padre Island. Family lore insists that he once rented a brand-new Cadillac and drove it twenty miles down the Padre Island National Seashore, stopping only when the dunes grew too large to conquer. It sounded exactly like something Buddy would do.

He loved sports in all forms—playing them, watching them, and especially coaching them. He coached multiple championship Little League and Pony League teams, earning praise for practices that were effective, unconventional, and legendary. Drills continued until the skill was mastered, the sun went down, or someone offered him a free meal—whichever came first. Buddy was a traveler, a gambler, and a storyteller. At the craps table, he seemed to win far more often than statistics suggested. In conversation, he was unmatched. With sharp wit and an infectious laugh, he could turn strangers into friends in minutes. He loved telling stories, and it was understood that about half of every one was true—you just never knew which half. He counted friends from every background and walk of life, and the running joke was simple and accurate: if you didn't like Buddy, the problem wasn't Buddy.

He followed the Dallas Cowboys, Texas Rangers, and Dallas Mavericks with enthusiasm. He loved music—classic country like Johnny Cash and Vince Gill, and blues legends like Stevie Ray Vaughan and Joe Bonamassa. And despite his tough exterior, he was known to quietly wipe away a tear when a family member sang one of his favorite songs a cappella.

Buddy loved food almost as much as he loved people. Fish, seafood, Tex-Mex, pizza—he loved it all. But everyone learned quickly never to leave him alone with a pizza box. "I'm only getting more for taste," he'd say, and somehow it always sounded reasonable.

Later in his career, Buddy was promoted to Health and Safety Instructor, traveling to GM locations across the country to teach safety classes to both employees and management. After nearly three decades, he retired and embraced a dream he'd long held close. He and his wife bought a gooseneck RV, sold their home, and set out to explore state parks across the Southwest—trading schedules for sunsets, routines for open roads, and addresses for freedom.

That love for family, laughter, and connection is part of what will be missed most. But it's also what Buddy leaves behind—a reminder that life is richer when it's shared, that kindness travels far, and that making room for others—at the table, on the road, or in your heart—is a legacy that never fades.

A memorial service will be held Saturday, February 7, 2026, at 1:00 p.m. at Texarkana Funeral Home, 4801 Parkway Drive, Texarkana, Arkansas 71854. A graveside service with military honors at Memorial Gardens will follow immediately afterward.