Once A Coach

   Hillsdale is not unlike most Midwestern cities, surrounded by cornfields and rural highways. In the last few years, new "wind farms" have popped up here and there, their gigantic windmill blades gently rolling in circular arcs. For the most part, the city has steadily grown in the past decade. Shopping malls and restaurants dot the outskirts of the city now, engulfing some of the landmark buildings that date back forty, fifty years. One of those "landmarks" was a rickety old diner, known as The Cabin.

"The Cab," as the kids today called it, never seemed to have an empty parking lot. Breakfast, lunch, or dinner- it never mattered; customers would face all kinds of weather at all hours of the day, especially after Hillsdale High School sporting events. The menu had evolved somewhat, but the food was still that good. The flashing lights from the rooftop could be seen all the way across town. In over sixty years, The Cabin had plenty of stories to tell. That raw, March night would be no different.

The door opened, and a tall male stood under the awning for a moment.

"Sometimes," he thought, as he zipped his Gortex jacket snugly around his neck, "the weather around here does match the mood of the moment."

A cold, damp rain splattered the face of the dark figure as he headed out to his truck. Underneath his jacket, he held his laptop securely, protecting it from the elements. As he crawled into the 2000 Ford, Coach Ben Reynolds let the water dribble down his nose for a second.

What he figured to be a good idea earlier that evening had really turned out to be a bummer. He thought the lady would have been impressed with his little DVD, but it appeared she could have cared less. She seemed to be more interested in whether her son could join various clubs. That’s not what he had thought when he first came.

In fact, he never really wanted to come at all to The Cabin to begin with that night. However, when the Norton family had called him initially, they seemed to be decent people. All they had wanted to do was talk about the Hillsdale schools because they were moving to town. This wasn’t Reynolds’ area of expertise, but they insisted on seeing him specifically. They had heard he was a guy who would "shoot straight."

It didn’t matter to Reynolds that the Nortons had a son who was supposed to be a good football player. During his 15-year tenure at Hillsdale, the coach had heard that claim from virtually every move-in he had ever encountered.

No, what bothered him was the fact that Mrs. Norton was concerned that her son would only be "just a number" at the school, "not a person." Since they were coming from a smaller community, she wondered whether people in Hillsdale actually cared about each other.

Despite his insistence to the contrary, Mrs. Norton wasn’t convinced over the phone. Actually, that was another thing that perturbed Reynolds. She never got on the phone herself. Instead, she had her husband, a really nice guy, do the talking while she lurked in the background, chirping in whenever she felt it necessary and having her husband repeat what she said.

Obviously, the Nortons weren’t familiar with the Hillsdale "family." Coach Reynolds had gone to great lengths to make family and community a vital part of his football program. Last fall, in fact, he had produced a DVD honoring the mothers of the senior class. It had been his daughter Jo Ellen’s idea. He used pictures and video clips from the players’ childhood he had collected, mixed in some video highlights from the past season, added Senior Night photos with players and moms, and then put it all to music. It wasn’t Steven Spielberg or anything, but when he had shown it at the banquet, there wasn’t a dry eye in the place. Hillsdale people care; there’s no doubt about it.

That’s why Reynolds had agreed to meet this family at Hillsdale’s favorite restaurant and also why he brought his laptop. He decided to "prove" his point to Mrs. Norton. When he popped the DVD in, he just knew in his heart the two Nortons would understand and appreciate the message, just like all of the Hillsdale people had. Just thirty seconds in, though, and the lady was looking at her notes. Dad seemed to like it, but it could have just been respect for the situation. Reynolds didn’t recall if the boy was watching or not. In fact, that kid really didn’t say much of anything the whole time they were in there. Big deal! What a waste of time!

As Reynolds started his truck, he noticed the family scurrying to their SUV. He had told them if they wanted particular information about the school, they needed to contact Mrs. Smythe, the school counselor and Mr. Hubbard, the school principal as soon as possible, if they were really interested. He wondered if they would or not, but then shrugged his shoulders. Big deal!

He shifted gears and began to leave the parking lot. "What was the boy’s name?" he said to himself. "Jerry? Jimmy? Joey?" He chuckled at his lack of perception.

He looked at his watch. 7:50. Just enough time to get home to watch 24. "Some things are more important than others," he thought, as he sped down the road.

"Oh, yeah." It then came to him. "His name’s Jack." Just like Jack Bauer. He felt better knowing he hadn’t totally lost his mind.

The rain continued to fall as the truck disappeared into the night, the lights atop the roof of The Cabin still flashing.