Coach

Like most people growing up I had many coaches, and I was lucky enough to have some very good ones who managed to teach me more about life than about whatever athletic endeavor we were playing at.  But there was only one man who I only called "Coach," and who I could never in my adult life get myself to call anything else.

And the heck of it is, he wasn't my coach in the strict sense, because he did not teach me athletics.  When I was in junior high, I signed up to be a manager for the wrestling team at Avoca Central School.  I'm not sure why, but I think it probably had to do with the fact that I was not a basketball player (the two sports have concurrent seasons), but I felt like I had to do something.

And so I met Walter Peterson.  I was terrified of him.  He was big and loud and demanding.  He actually got on the mat and wrestled.  I also knew that sooner rather than later he was going to discover that I was not wrestling material and that meant my helping with the team would not have a long life.

I was wrong. So very, very wrong.  I mean he did discover that I was not going to be a wrestler, but he also sensed, I think, that I needed to belong, and he watched me closely enough that as I grew he discovered I had other gifts that could serve his program.  I was an organizer, so he had me keep close tabs an supplies and the care of equipment.  I was his recorder in the weight room, making sure the refs were giving his boys a fair deal.  I made sure each home match was video-taped.  And, most importantly, when he was in charge of the sectional tournament, he had enough faith in me to let me run it, as I did many tournaments for him.

He was always Coach.  That came out of the deep respect I developed for him, and the respect he gave me back.  When I coached my own summer track team I tried to emulate him.  And the sense that creativity comes out of mutual respect has served me well all my life.

He wasn't perfect. He could be fiercely competitive, ornery, and stubborn to a fault.  But he always loved fiercely too.  His family, and his wrestlers, which sometimes included those not destined for the mat.

Coach Peterson, Coach, died this past Sunday after a long struggle with ALS.  It was a grossly unfair disease for him to struggle with, a wrestling coach losing control of his body.

I am grateful for him, more than these words can possibly say.