There are 18 Phil Campbells here this weekend. No Phyllis Campbells, though, a frustration to the organizers who have been planning for months to descend on Phil Campbell as it celebrates its centennial.
The whole idea started as a joke, really — a weekend romp to rural northern Alabama for people who share a name and, clearly, a sense of humor.
Then, on April 27, one of the strongest tornadoes on record tore through town. It killed 26 people. That’s a lot of death to absorb, but even more so when a community had only 1,100 people to begin with.
Overnight, the Phil Campbell convention became a relief effort. Word went out to the 190 Phil and Phyllis Campbells on the Facebook page Brooklyn Phil started, in an age when the marriage between narcissism and technology has become everyday. Twitter accounts were established. Money was raised. The “I’m with Phil” campaign was born.
On Friday, the Phil Campbells gathered among the bottled water and diapers stacked at the community center here, waiting for the rain to let up so they could go out and help the town that shares their name with what is still a slow and difficult recovery.
“It’s an odd privilege,” said Alaska Phil, a pastor from Juneau. “Just because of the happenstance of my name, I have a chance to do some good.”
The Phil Campbells do not have much in common besides a name, but they point out some similarities. Like the man for whom the town is named, a 19th-century railroad engineer, every one is white. They also have receding hairlines and not much money. (Part of that theory was dashed when Texas Phil, an accountant with a full head of hair and a nice car, drove into town.)
People who live in Phil Campbell are moved, if not just a little perplexed.
“At first we were like, what?” said Sharon Baker, 28. “But then we thought, that’s pretty cool.”
The Phil Campbells are not entirely unknown in Phil Campbell. In 1995, when Brooklyn Phil was in college, he organized the first Phil Campbell convention here. The town tried to keep it up for a couple of years, but the novelty wore off. The convention morphed into an annual hoedown and street fair.
That is how it stayed until this year, when Brooklyn Phil and city leaders decided to get the Phil Campbell band back together to coincide with the hoedown. Then the tornado came, and the town thought about canceling. But the Phil Campbells were determined.
“I didn’t think anyone would come, but everyone still did,” said Rita Barton, the parks and recreation official who plans the city celebration each year. “The attitude of them wanting to come to Phil Campbell to help us just warms your heart. It just does.”
The town needs its Phil Campbells, said Jerry Mays, the mayor. Even two months after the tornado, relief crews continued to hand out free meals and household supplies. Residents, almost a third of whom lost homes, are still in shock.
“You close your eyes and you can still hear it,” said Vanessa Wilson, 49, who barely survived by cramming into a utility room with her family.
Of course, it is not always easy having so many Phil Campbells around. For one thing, a small town this battered cannot really host them. You cannot buy a hamburger here, let alone get a hotel room. So most of the Phil Campbells piled into the Best Western in nearby Russellville. The staff had so many Phil Campbells on the reservation system that they had to include middle initials and hometowns.
Still, the Phil Campbells offer comic relief, if not some real help. They have raised nearly $35,000 through corporate donations and people who click onto imwithphil.com. It should be enough to build a Habitat for Humanity house. Brooklyn Phil, who wrote a book about an ill-fated political campaign that became the Hollywood movie “Grassroots,” got permission from the director Stephen Gyllenhaal to screen a rough cut here on Thursday as a fund-raiser.
Residents seemed to like the movie. And they liked the joke, too. People in stores and restaurants call out “Phil” just to see men turn their heads. They keep asking Phil from Nottingham, England, to speak so they can hear an accent far removed from their own.
Merrell Potter, the police chief and a Baptist preacher, is not too worried about keeping the Phil Campbells in line. For one thing, the town prohibits the sale of liquor.
“We’re ready for them, but we haven’t called out the National Guard,” Chief Potter said.
On Saturday, the Phil Campbells will march in the town parade. Glasgow Phil, from Scotland, will perform some music, along with a Phil from Birmingham.
And the town will celebrate its sons.
“We don’t know if there is any magic in the name,” Chief Potter said, “but we’re hoping there is.”
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