Remembering Coach O (Or, Why Legends Never Die)

“Heroes get remembered, but legends never die.” - Babe Ruth

We were nearing the end of another long practice toward the end of yet another long, less-than-successful basketball season. Our team had improved, but we should have been much better than we were playing.

Coach Humphreys had been pushing us to play better, but our team just didn’t come together. To be honest, I don’t remember what year of high school it was or who the rest of the cast of characters on that year’s particular team was. I just remember the feeling that we were better than what we were playing.

Coach Hump had used the tactic of kicking us out of practice a few times to try to wake our team up. I remember one such time when several of us sprinted to the locker room, yelling at everyone to get dressed and get out quickly before he changed his mind and made us return to practice! Looking back, maybe me and the rest of the “hustlin’ hornets” just didn’t have quite enough hustle.

One practice, we weren’t playing well, coach was yelling, and, frankly, we were goofing off. He threw a basketball and told us that practice was over. As most of us quickly looked back and forth between each other and the nearest exit, Coach threw a wrench into our plans.

“Practice is over,” he said. “But, Coach Owens is going to stick around and do conditioning. It’s up to you if you want to leave now or stay and get better with Coach O.”

Not a single one of us wanted to stay. No one really likes doing sprints and conditioning…especially a lifetime old-school post player like myself. And our team wasn’t an especially motivated bunch. There was no way that any of us were going to CHOOSE to stay and run if we didn’t have to. Heck, most of us didn’t run full speed even when we were supposed to run.

Coach Owens wasn’t an overly imposing figure. Many of the kids on our basketball team would have been taller than him. But, in that moment he was a giant. Standing off to the side with his hands around his stocky waist, Coach O was quiet for a moment as he looked up and down our team to see what we would do.

Again, frankly, I don’t remember what was said or done next, but I do remember what happened next. Every last one of us got on the line, and we ran harder than we had all year. After practice, we talked about the experience in the locker room. “I didn’t want to run at all, but I had to for Coach Owens,” was pretty much the consensus.

My heart sank on Sunday morning when I read that Dave Owens had passed. It was like, in an instant, I realized just how big of an impact an assistant coach and freshman health teacher from 20 years ago had made on my life.

I remembered the story of running our guts out for him after practice that day. I remembered him asking me my favorite Bible verse one day in class and then sharing his. I remembered him talking about the beauty of the sounds of a hammered dulcimer in class. I remembered him sharing that, if he wanted a high, he would just roll down a hill and eat a Snickers and banana at the bottom. I remembered how he would ask with so much interest how different kids were doing both personally and in their athletic pursuits. I remembered sitting in health class my freshman year listening to his stories—I guess we learned health, too—and just being in awe. I remembered the enthusiasm he had going through this fancy new defense my freshman year in football with Coach Rowe. I learned later we were pretty much just running a standard 5-2 defense, but, dang it, Coach Owens made you think we were going to be the ’85 Bears. I remembered that my answer to “Where were you on 9/11?” will always be “Watching it in Coach Owens’ class my freshman year of high school.”

Most of all, I remembered the dude’s truly genuine smile. He cared about kids. He cared about people. You knew he always cared about you.

Throughout the years, I would see Coach O out. Maybe at a game sometimes or out at the store. I had heard he had been battling cancer. It was always nice to see him. I always made it a point to go say hi to Coach (which is somewhat out of character for my backwards self). Each time, I would kind of think at first that he didn’t remember who I was. But, that was okay. He was still him. But, then, he would say, “Now, Jim, are you still preaching?” Or, he’d ask about my sister or some other fact from decades ago.

Truthfully, I don’t know how talented of an actual coach Coach O was. I remember him teaching me some things about my three-point stance in football because of my penguin-pointed feet or giving me pointers on how to keep my balance when throwing the discus. I remember him firing us up on the football field and going over X’s and O’s during summer workouts. But, I really couldn’t tell you if he was the second coming of Vince Lombardi or some guy who didn’t know butter about sports (as he would say).

But, I can tell you this: he was truly a great man.

I didn’t really know him personally. So, maybe there’s a skeleton or two in his closet. I really don’t know, but I doubt it.

Coach Owens was the type of man that proved that you could demand respect but do it with love and kindness. He could rip you up one side and down the other, but then he would give you a hug and tell you he loved you. He was the undisputed slap boxing champion, but he also never missed an opportunity to ask how you really were doing.

When you think of sports and coaches, we all have heroes. People who have done great things that we admire and maybe aspire to be like. But, there are others. People who are just great humans themselves. These people inspire you to be better because, quite honestly, they are just better. Not better at something. They are better, brighter, kinder at their core. These are the true legends.

Coach Owens was one of those people to me. I’m forever grateful to have had a role model that showed me that you could be a man’s man but do it with kindness, compassion, and love.

That’s why legends never truly die. It’s because the mark they leave on the world far outlives them through the people they impacted along the way. I don’t know to what degree, but I know that I am different because I happened to have this dude in my life as a coach and teacher a couple of decades ago. And there are hundreds, maybe thousands more just like me who are better for having such a great man in our life.

So, Coach Owens may have passed away this weekend. But, I know this: Through his faith, he will live on in comfort with Christ. And through his life, he will live on in those of us he inspired with how he lived.

I came across this older article from the Ironton Tribune while writing this. It has lots of great quotes from Coach Owens when he retired. This is my favorite…

“Everybody has had a part of my life. I’ve been around a lot of schools. The biggest thing is I hope we’ve touched the lives of the students and their hearts will be good for themselves, and their families and the United States. I want them to make the country a better place to live in. That’s all I’ve ever tried to do. The kids are more important to me than the sport.” Owens joked that he always told the kids if they became millionaires not to forget him at Christmas. “And they keep forgetting me,” he said with a laugh. “But that’s OK. I love them anyway.”

Lots of people say the right things like “the kids are more important to me than the sport,” but, when it comes to Coach Owens, I actually believe it was true.