Coach
April 16, 1997
Jerry was a friend of mine.
Eighteen years ago, the first time I saw Jerry,
he wore a Greek sailor’s hat, said “hello”, and ran by to tennis.
The last minute we talked,
we talked about his Mercury Marine hat
that Scott gave him.
He took it off to show me.
John, Jerry & I ate together almost every day,
(we were together last on Tuesday)
and almost every day we played the same game.
John & I almost always ate
as the day before. Jerry was the question,
but it would be an Olive burger, chicken noodle soup, chili (in season)
or when Patty was coaching him—Greek salads.
This time - John: grilled chicken sandwich (with fries).
Joe - Small Julienne, lite French, two pieces of bread, no butter.
Jerry - Olive burger (no fries, he would eat some of John’s, but he didn’t).
Dessert?
Not often, chocolate cream pie for John & Jerry, occasionally for Joe.
When I knew him first,
Jerry was a searcher.
He was seeking, something…
something he filled with backpacking, running, dogs, cats, a Z-28 & dates.
He was looking for Pattie.
The stories sure got a lot less harrowing.
And his happiness was without doubt and secure.
Jerry was a story teller.
The truth was almost always enhanced,
(to the benefit of the story)
told with humor,
and told with a wonder of life itself.
His stories revealed, not only their object,
they revealed Jerry. There were hundreds.
The same ones & new ones, repeated endlessly, but
added to again and again.
Like the childhood stories of Ted & Randy winter camping
in Wilderness State Park. Coaching stories of tennis kids,
over zealous parents, and competitive coaches. Boy Scout
stories. The Truman System (as opposed to the Dewey System (library joke)). School stories of students & teachers -- parents & principals. Supts. with hit lists.
Eaton Rapids and farm boys & their wayward cows.
Teachers who taught in the dark to students who became owls.
Stealing all the AV equipment from the high school library, the librarian always came and took it all back, then Jerry would expropriate it again.
Until finally, they put him in charge. Jerry was patient.
Buzz the cat stories. The cat with an attitude.
Backpacking out West. Sailing stories, of never
leaving port, and leaving in the middle of a storm. Pattie stories
of her father, who wanted Jerry to enjoy that whiskey he couldn’t drink himself.
Of Pattie’s kids, and of their kids. Would Scottie ever marry the
girl? Would Stevie come back from Japan and who was he dating
now?--where?? Unbelievable, Pattie bought another vacuum! He told them
all with love, and with astonishment
with reverence, and with the need to share.
Don’t get me wrong.
Jerry could drive me crazy,
and I know I upset him.
The difference was, he would never confront,
rarely show anger, I can’t remember him ever swearing.
He would withdraw. He would not make you feel bad,
even if you hurt him.
It wasn’t in him.
I once saw anger flash across his face.
Once.
I find that I am where he was
when we first met.
I work out of his office,
where I came and learned so much.
I learned about ‘breaking set’ to solve problems.
I learned to stay downstairs.
I learned that if you stayed downstairs, when the blade came through, it missed us.
I learned that to get things done, you had to plant ideas and wait for them to grow in an administrator’s mind. (This is time consuming!)
I learned how to play ‘good cop’ - ‘bad cop’. Jerry was always the ‘good cop’.
I learned every trick there is to get the business office to buy the stuff you want.
I learned what a good coach really does.
Jerry seemed old to me
when we first met. Doing a little subtraction,
I find that I’m just that age. I should hope to be
that wise and that kind & gentle.
As long as I am able to wade into the current,
each time I slip into the stream,
I know that in the stream,
in the woods that surrounds me,
in the stillness that engulfs,
I will hear the laughter,
the teasing & the revelations.
Most of all, one of Jerry’s endless gentle stories
will come to mind,
and I will laugh out loud.
Jerry is a friend of mine.
East Lansing
April 19, 1997
East Lansing Series
©1997 Coach — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.
Eighteen years ago, the first time I saw Jerry,
he wore a Greek sailor’s hat, said “hello”, and ran by to tennis.
The last minute we talked,
we talked about his Mercury Marine hat
that Scott gave him.
He took it off to show me.
John, Jerry & I ate together almost every day,
(we were together last on Tuesday)
and almost every day we played the same game.
John & I almost always ate
as the day before. Jerry was the question,
but it would be an Olive burger, chicken noodle soup, chili (in season)
or when Patty was coaching him—Greek salads.
This time - John: grilled chicken sandwich (with fries).
Joe - Small Julienne, lite French, two pieces of bread, no butter.
Jerry - Olive burger (no fries, he would eat some of John’s, but he didn’t).
Dessert?
Not often, chocolate cream pie for John & Jerry, occasionally for Joe.
When I knew him first,
Jerry was a searcher.
He was seeking, something…
something he filled with backpacking, running, dogs, cats, a Z-28 & dates.
He was looking for Pattie.
The stories sure got a lot less harrowing.
And his happiness was without doubt and secure.
Jerry was a story teller.
The truth was almost always enhanced,
(to the benefit of the story)
told with humor,
and told with a wonder of life itself.
His stories revealed, not only their object,
they revealed Jerry. There were hundreds.
The same ones & new ones, repeated endlessly, but
added to again and again.
Like the childhood stories of Ted & Randy winter camping
in Wilderness State Park. Coaching stories of tennis kids,
over zealous parents, and competitive coaches. Boy Scout
stories. The Truman System (as opposed to the Dewey System (library joke)). School stories of students & teachers -- parents & principals. Supts. with hit lists.
Eaton Rapids and farm boys & their wayward cows.
Teachers who taught in the dark to students who became owls.
Stealing all the AV equipment from the high school library, the librarian always came and took it all back, then Jerry would expropriate it again.
Until finally, they put him in charge. Jerry was patient.
Buzz the cat stories. The cat with an attitude.
Backpacking out West. Sailing stories, of never
leaving port, and leaving in the middle of a storm. Pattie stories
of her father, who wanted Jerry to enjoy that whiskey he couldn’t drink himself.
Of Pattie’s kids, and of their kids. Would Scottie ever marry the
girl? Would Stevie come back from Japan and who was he dating
now?--where?? Unbelievable, Pattie bought another vacuum! He told them
all with love, and with astonishment
with reverence, and with the need to share.
Don’t get me wrong.
Jerry could drive me crazy,
and I know I upset him.
The difference was, he would never confront,
rarely show anger, I can’t remember him ever swearing.
He would withdraw. He would not make you feel bad,
even if you hurt him.
It wasn’t in him.
I once saw anger flash across his face.
Once.
I find that I am where he was
when we first met.
I work out of his office,
where I came and learned so much.
I learned about ‘breaking set’ to solve problems.
I learned to stay downstairs.
I learned that if you stayed downstairs, when the blade came through, it missed us.
I learned that to get things done, you had to plant ideas and wait for them to grow in an administrator’s mind. (This is time consuming!)
I learned how to play ‘good cop’ - ‘bad cop’. Jerry was always the ‘good cop’.
I learned every trick there is to get the business office to buy the stuff you want.
I learned what a good coach really does.
Jerry seemed old to me
when we first met. Doing a little subtraction,
I find that I’m just that age. I should hope to be
that wise and that kind & gentle.
As long as I am able to wade into the current,
each time I slip into the stream,
I know that in the stream,
in the woods that surrounds me,
in the stillness that engulfs,
I will hear the laughter,
the teasing & the revelations.
Most of all, one of Jerry’s endless gentle stories
will come to mind,
and I will laugh out loud.
Jerry is a friend of mine.
East Lansing
April 19, 1997
East Lansing Series
©1997 Coach — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.