Home Town Heroes by Mac McStravick - HTML preview

And she did. She never missed an opportunity to teach my something about people. She always made me feel welcome, and periodically she would invite me outside her room where the teachers’ picnic benches were to eat her home made fried chicken, or chicken fried steak for lunch. She was one of those people who could acknowledge the difference between students and teachers. If a teacher smoked on campus, they took their chances. But if a student smoked on campus he was a “flippin degenerate”. The same applied to possession of a knife. A teacher/coach is an adult with many types of jobs to do, and a knife is just a tool for cutting. When a student was caught with a large knife, his parents made a big deal of Holes having a pocket knife during a football game on school grounds cutting tape off a player. Mrs.Koreneke, stood up at the facility meeting and laid the logic out for us.

“ To start with, Holes is a grown man, and not some teenage adolescent with something phallic to prove. Second of all, he has to cut items daily as part of his job, including tape, mouth pieces, and jerseys. This little jackass and his cow of a mother should realize that the only tools the mule headed one needs are paper, pen, textbooks and brains. “ And with a grin, “No offense, Muley”.

“ No kidding”, Holes responded before I had an opportunity to, “ if only we had the tools to make more touchdowns as easy as cutting tape”.
That was the end of the meeting, but it left me with a fond memory. My own mother was back home in Louisiana, and Ma Koreneke treated me like one of her own-with love and care.

When Ma Koreneke found out I was dating Anne, she made sure I dressed nicely, and knew the best places to eat out when we were out on a date. I even took Anne on a long afternoon date to San Antonio, where a former student of Ma’s had taken up residential and financial success in that rare picturesque city by opening a restaurant near the River Walk. The lunch had been wonderful after visiting the many Missions that dot the landscape throughout the city, and when I opened my pitiful wallet to pay for the meal, I was told the bill had been paid in full. Someone else had paid. I was glad Anne had not been present to see my relief at the news, but when pressed, the manager had looked me in my eyes and told me he had taken care of it as a gift to his favorite teacher, Ma Koreneke. He also told me that there was no way he could truly ever repay her for all she had done for him, and therefore this was a token of his esteem. I never forgot that. As a teacher, one never knows how far into another’s life we have crept. Whether on cat’s soft feet the memories flow into their thoughts, or like an elephant roaring in with the rough surf, demanding an accounting of why a decision was made, and how can one be so stupid! I remember both types of teachers in my own life, but only one type fondly. Mary Belle Koreneke was one of these to both students and rookie teachers. Chapter Nineteen

The Kitty and Old Henry ****

I cannot begin to explain the things that moved Skipper, but a few items stick out in my mind when I look back over the years with an eye tuned towards understanding his motivations.

First, Skipper had a knack of being a bit of a hypocrite when he was trying hard not to be one. This maybe hard to understand but just thinking back I can think of a few examples which still brings a chuckle to my throat. Those red Folgers coffee cans were a bit odd looking when I first arrived, sitting on the coaches desks as dirty, rusty symbols of some long ago wakeful triumph. Sometimes the coaches would put the lids back over the red, dented cuspidor so as to keep the contents from pouring out should the can be hit by someone in haste to leave the office or caring balky equipment to and from the field. This was the state of the office spittoons when I arrived.

Now Skipper did not believe in using profanity around his Boys, and he stuck to it. He made the rest of us walk this same line, and all of us had to make a quick apology to the Boys when in a rare moment we might slip and let an unflattering word get away. I had grown up in Catholic schools when I was younger, and had lost the habit of using impolite words in polite society after an incident with Sister Mary Margaret and a bar of Ivory Soap. As far as the other coaches, they fought their own battles over this issue-including Skipper.

Holes contribution to this rare event came after he attended a play put on by the high school drama department. He not only attended, but every year he would slip into a play and have a minor part, which he claimed generated more revenue for the school due to an increase in ticket sales the night he was performing. I doubted it, for the drama department never let me see the ticket sales results.

It seemed that during the months the play was in rehearsals a “kitty” was used to help keep profanity off the stage and out of the theatre. A “kitty” would seem to be like a purse, where when you screwed up and used foul language, you had to add a dollar to the purse, or “kitty”. This money was then used to have a party after the play was over and splurge for food or entertainment. Holes came in with this idea one day after Skipper had a firm talk with all coaches after a particularly hard day in the off-season. Holes took one of the dented Folgers coffee cans, walked over the bathroom and rinsed it out, before making the declaration that the can could be used as the “kitty” to hold a dollar each time we swore or cursed around the Boys. We all laughed about it, but agreed to use it and talked about how small a party we would have with the amount of money we would raise due to foul or profane language. Even Skipper liked the idea and agreed to keeping it in the coaches office. But, I had not counted on the Henry and Mr. Smith incident.

****

Henry was seventy odd years old, and had seen many sights in his lifetime besides being the janitor for the field house. He had gone overseas with General Pershings Rainbow Brigade during World War I, and had survived the Ardennes and numerous mustard gas attacks. How he had survived so long after these attacks and his habit of chain smoking , I do not know-but he had. He had worked as a cowboy, a policeman, a logger, and now a janitor. His most interesting short lived jobs included working as a security guard and body guard in Hollywood during the 1940„s. I think this was the main reason Henry and Skipper seemed to be such good friends. Skipper enjoyed spending time talking about movies and actors with Henry, and Henry enjoyed sharing insider information about the people he had meet.

Every once in awhile after hours, you could find those two enjoying a beverage in Skippers office: scotch for Henry and a small bottle of soda for the Skipper, laughing and talking about their love of movies and gossiping about the people they knew in Rocin. There was not too much to do in Rocin in the evening if you were not working, as the television stations in Houston and San Antonio had a hard time reaching Rocin in those days. Every so often though, Henry seemed to lose his focus on reality and his light hazel eyes seemed to dart about with a paranoid agitation, looking for the enemy or a surprise mustard gas attack. When this happened, the coaches or teachers ran to get Skipper so that he could calm Henry down. This dementia is what caused Mr. Smith-the Vice Principal, and Henry to butt heads.

Henry had an old military cot in the laundry room hidden to the left of the washing machines, where he could lay down if he needed to rest. He usual needed to rest sometime after ten in the morning and before one in the after noon. Sometimes the nap lasted from ten to twelve , but Henry always got the P.E. and athletic clothes washed and the dressing rooms cleaned up prior to football practice. The Boys loved to come into the field house and see him working with his stained coveralls, and Rocin baseball cap placed on his head at a precarious angle. Because Skipper treated him with respect, the boys, and the rest of the coaches treated him the same way. A couple of students over the years had even interviewed him for school reports over World War I. He loved telling a good story, and Skipper loved hearing them.

The day Henry s problem become general knowledge was much like any other Spring day in our high school world. Henry had started the clothes in the dryer that morning after mopping the dressing rooms floor, and had fallen asleep in his cot, keeping warm while enjoying the rhythm of the dryers. Soon though, he began to feel slightly cold during his restful slumber, and awoke to find the pilot light off on one of the two dryers, and the startling rank smell of natural gas filling the air.

Before Henry could make a through investigation of the problem, Mr. Smith, on the prowl, had come into the field house and was making a quick inspection of the problems in the athletic department that he would addressed when next he spoke with Skipper. Besides, it was a well known fact that Mr. Smith did not like Henry and could not wait to catch him sleeping on the job. Henry, for his part, returned the feeling with similar vigor.

Like a full bellied pot-stove in his dark suit, Mr. Smith waddled into the laundry room, and found Henry on his ancient knees, looking into the bottom portion of the dryer trying to find the problem.
“ Henry,“, he demanded, “ what have you gone and broke now?
Henry just pointed, and grunted, “Pilot light is off.“

Mr. Smith, who loved his polyester and wool suits, and hated dirt, throw a clean towel onto the floor and knelt down beside Henry, nudging him out of the way with and elbow and a look of contempt.

Now, the way Skipper told me the story, may not have been the way Mr. Smith saw it, but I prefer Skippers version probably because it always made me smile.

It seemed that Mr. Smith, with dripping disdain, turned to Henry and asked for a light to get a better look at the problem under the dryer. Henry with a gleam in his eye, reached into his shirt pocket and took out a box of matches, and with deliberate care took one single match out of the box, shut the box and looked into the frightened bi-speckled eyes of Mr. Smith not more then six inches away from Henry„s green eyes. For Smith, the world must have gone into slow motion as fear took hold of his senses. Unfortunately, his rotund little body did not move as well as it once did, and as he moveded to get out of the way of the impending destruction of the field house, he jumped up and dove out of the way, hitting his foot on the edge of mop pail while his short stubby legs tangled up with the mop itself, tripping and trapping him into a pile of filthy, sweaty athletic uniforms.

When Mr. Smith finally came up for air, he saw the match had not been struck, and the slight smile that was on display across Henrys face he became livid as he realized the joke that had been played upon him.
“You son-of-a-biscuit”, Smith shouted, only he used the correct term for a female dog.

Henry light the match.
The sight of the corpulent, squatty figure of Mr. Smith running out of the field house in cowboy boots, and dark suit with the brightly colored polyester tie, shouting “GAS!” should have been strange enough, had it not been for the old man with silver white hair, coveralls, and a Rocin baseball cap who was following Smith and closing ground rapidly with a pronounced limp. The race was on.
Skipper caught sight of this peculiar race on his way back to the field house and watched in amazement as Henry tackled Smith to the ground. Skipper swore the only words Henry keep repeating, as he pulled Henry off of Smith, were“these damn Krauts”. He was suffering from what would become known as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, orwhen he felt threatened- flash backs.
Chapter Twenty The School Board

****

After the incident, the old janitor was relieved from his job for two days, and a special session of the school board was called to hear his case and consider his dismissal. Skipper, as a follow veteran and friend, went to help represent Henry and his feat in the school board session. After an impassioned plea by Henry, the Board left and returned in an hours time with a verdict of guilty, and sentenced him to be fired from his janitorial duties within the district. This would be a crushing blow to an old man who had very little left in life but his time with the coaches and Boys of Rocin.

Skipper stood up in his slow measured way, cleared his voice and asked to speak to the school board. He was a tall man made taller by the old and dejected man sitting beside him. I was there for this part, as was most of the town of Rocin. The school board was made up of men from around the town and area of Rocin. Encouraging smiles and acknowledgements came from some of these men who had had sons play football for Skipper and thought the world of him, plain faced were those who had not.

“ Gentlemen”, he began, “ when I first came to the town of Rocin in 1952, I was greeted by a man who was out cutting the grass around the football fields. He was not so gray or so old, but he was very kind to a strange man in a strange place, and asked me to share his lunch with him. I spent a wonderful afternoon listening to stories about the town and people that would become my home.”

Every eye in the room was either on Skipper, or Henry as they sat their listening. Skipper paused and scanned the school board members from left to right checking their eyes for understanding.

The Coachs eyes stopped at one of the members on the right side of the table.

“ Say Ben, he even asked me to say a prayer for your mother who was sick with pneumonia at the time.
Skipper looked to Bens left.
“And Paul, he was so happy with you and Linda on the birth of your new son, he almost sounded like he was the new grandfather. I can even remember when Randall there threw up in the locker room after a tough days practice, and Henry mopped it up without complaining, patted him on the shoulder and went and brought him a glass of water to rinse out his mouth.”
“Folks, this man who sits in front of you has nurtured and prayed for you people for more years then I care to remember, and now you are making the decision to send this good and righteous man away, and never allowing your children a chance to be loved by this man.”
Skippers eyes took on the all to familiar look of flint, while his squint and voice betrayed his deep feelings about what Henrys friendship meant to him. Henry keep his eyes lowered to the floor, looking like the old frail man he was.
“ My friend Henrys only fault was having being a veteran during W.W.I, and during a moment of crisis, reliving a memory where he had to fight or die. We can not blame Henry for this experience, even if he did volunteer to fight and die for his countryyour country.”
“And now, as he has reached the twilight of his remaining years without his cherished wife, or children- except for those of us who look on him like family- we are sending him out with nothing going nowhere? We owe this man more then that! He did not mean to attack Mr. Smith, and he has apologized. What else will we have him do?“
Some of the heads around the table were slowly beginning to nod in agreement as Skipper continued.
“Many of you fought in World War II or Korea, or knew people who did. We watched brave men cry, and young men die. The dead are forever young, but the ones who survived are old and gray. Henry survived World War I. He survived and taught our youths the skills he learned as a young man defending our country. He has taught them respect, honor, valor, and honesty. And how do we show him our thanks and give him respect -by firing him because of one forgetful and stressful moment?
“Because if we must judge him on one moment or action of his life, let us use his act of volunteerism for the First World War, or the loss of breathe he suffered in the mustard gas attacks he endured, or even the Silver Star he earned at the Ardennes.” Skippers voice had risen with his feelings during this discourse to the school board. Now, he returned to the quiet yet commanding voice, which held long pauses to control feelings.
“I am asking that you, the school board, give him another chance. Give this brave veteran the chance do the job he has done for all these many years, and influence the lives of another generation of young men as they pass through this school on their journey through life.”
Henrys eyes lifted off the floor, he raised his head, and squared his shoulders. The years dropped off, and there in the chair next to Skipper sat the man who had fought the Germans and lived to roughly enjoy old age. One who had treated the boys under his care with kindness and fairness. Rather at opposites with the way Mr. Smith had treated an old man in the laundry room. Henry did not ask to speak to the board himself, but the effect of Coachs words had made a difference in his appearance. He had heard in public what Skipper thought of him. And, with the esteem he felt for Skippers opinion, he looked on himself in a new light. Whether he got the old job back or not, he was still a man with dignity and pride. Nothing could change that.
I watched and admired this change in Henrys demeanor, while he stood up, and thanked the school board for their time. Then, he turned around and walked away from the table he had shared with Skipper, and with all eyes on him, proudly walk down the aisle and out the door. The admiration I had felt a moment ago was now lost in sorrow and veneration as I watched Henry leave, so much so, that at first I did not hear the crackle of a clap as one set of hands pounded together to create a rhythmic noise of approval. This one set of hands was joined by another, and then another until the whole group was standing up, looking out the door that had just been vacated by Henry.
I had been sitting with the other coaches throughout the proceedings, and I knew who had started that clapping. It had started right next to my right ear. The only person who had been right next to me was, my nemesis, Killer Bob, who had begin the standing ovation. And picking it up from him was Holes, who seemed not just proud of Henry, but defiant after Skipper„s gallant speech.
The school board upheld their ruling. Henry would no longer be employed by the Rocin School District. It was the general opinion around the field house that the school board had to take the side of Mr. Smith to let him save face. The older I have gotten , the more I understand politics. I understand it, but I do not like it, and I wish that common sense or a sense of righteousness had taken hold of the school board on that day, but it was not to be.
****

Should Henry have been given another chance? The unanimous consensus in the field house was - Yes! The School Board had got it wrong.
The coaches returned to their office, and threw themselves down at their desks with nods of disbelief. Skipper did not say anything, but that did not stop Holes. He began to curse and swear, until Harry reminded him of the Kitty, and the payment of a dollar for each swear word that had been uttered, that would have to be placed in the red coffee can on his desk. Holes reached into his skin tight coaching shorts, and only came out with a small pouch of Redman chewing tobacco and a ring full of keys. At this point, due to his exasperation with the situation, his language reached a new level of flowing, similar to the profane rappers that share the air waves with religious and political talk shows today.
Holes keep this up until Skipper got up from his chair, left his office, and moved towards Holes desk. Once at the desk, Skipper opened the coffee can lid, and reached into his pocket. He then pulled out one twenty dollar bill, and then a ten dollar bill, and put the money in the can without saying a word, never taking his eyes off of Holes. The Coach then turned around and left the field house without saying another word.
Harry, smiled at his old friend Holes, who had stopped speaking after Skipper„s actions, and said:
“ Looks like Skippers O.K. with your word choices. I guess you can keep it up.”
Holes looked at him in disbelief, and then back at the coffee can in disgust.
“Harry, this is the „Kitty”, Holes exclaimed, reaching over to my desk, grabbing a different dented red coffee can.
“The coffee can Skipper put the money into was my spittoon. Now, before I say another word, get your butt over here so that we can clean the money off. I have not gotten Skippers money worth yet.”
Killer Bob stared in stupefied disbelief at the two of them gingerly picking the money out of the tin can, and tipping the brown, lumpish contents out into the sink. Chapter Twenty One A peaNutty Buddy ****

There were other things about Skipper that were not hypocritical. One of these events was the peanut-butter event. Never let it be said that anyone coming to Skipper needing food was turned away.

Harry had told me of the Steptoe boy who always found himself with Skipper at lunch time. Johnny Steptoe was the son of a gas pipeline meter reader, who spent much of his hard earned money on booze. Johnny had neither money nor food for his dinner, and would make his way out to the field house so no-one would see him go hungry, or he would not have to suffer while watching the other students eat.

According to Henry, before he left his position as janitor, during one of these lunch interludes, Skipper saw Johnny sitting on one of the benches outside the door going into the locker room.

Skipper stopped by the corner of the field house and studied the young freshman before he spoke to him gauging his age and reason for being there. He had not seen him out for football, or track, and he looked way too short for basketball.

“ Hey there, Young Man“, Skipper started with a growing smile,” You new or something?”
Johnny just shook his head and looked away embarrassed. The old pine plank he was sitting on sat there just as quietly as he did.
Coach , standing up in the doorway, leaned an elbow on the door sill, and cocked his cap back over his head and thought silently. He had seen this look before over the years, and he was guessing the boy was hungry. Maybe that explained why he was so small and puny.
“You know, I was fixing to eat my dinner, how about sharing it with me?”
Johnny looked back toward Skipper hesitantly
“There is way too much for me, and I would not be able to finish it all today, and a portion of it would have to be thrown out“. Now, Im not doing you any favors, and actually, you would be doing one for me.”
Johnny thought this over, smiled and gently nodded his head.
“Well”, Skipper declared, “lets go to my office and have a look. “
This was just the beginning of the many shared lunches between the two. Ever day after that Johnny could be seen in Skippers office sharing lunch with him. It was a heart warming sight the big white man and the little black boy. Though he never played football Johnny would be one of Skippers boys. And when Johnny wrote his first book, he dedicated it to the man he shared lunch with his freshman year.
Even Harry would find some spare coins to buy Johnny a candy bar now and then.
What Skipper did not know was that Johnnys dad , though a drinker to excess, loved his wife very much, and proved it five times over six years. And, though Johnny was the oldest, he was not the hungriest. Therefore with each year another Steptoe would enter the high school, and another mouth to feed. When Skipper finally figured this out, he changed plans. He could not stop feeding Johnny and the others, he would just have to change their eating patterns.
Once there were two Steptoe kids in high school, Skipper gave them their own locker in the field house: Locker Number One. Then, he gave them a combination lock with the combination to allow them to get in when needed.
And finally, he gave them a large jar of peanut butter and honey, and supplied them with a new loaf of bread every week. This changed to a new loaf every three school days, once there were four Steptoes in the school at the same time.
I had a hard time believing“Handsome Harry”, who told me this story after it was told to him by Henry, until the day I took off from school for a much needed Rest and Relaxation day, and having slept in, made it to school in plenty of time for lunch and to prepare for off-season that afternoon. Since I was on my own time and in no hurry, I went down to the field house and into the locker room looking for evidence of the famous locker, Number One, next to Skipper„s office. There before my eyes were three students eating peanut butter and honey sandwiches while sitting on the blue painted wooden benches neatly placed in front of the lockers. I could not believe my eyes.
They looked at me as an intruder, and I very much felt the part, as I had nothing to hide me from their enquiring and suspicious eyes. I had come looking for them, had found them, and could not think of anything to account for my being there.
Harrys entrance into the locker room helped me make an excuse and gave me an opportunity to leave. He nodded after me with a knowing smile, which allowed me to turn red, as I turned left to leave the building.
But, I was soon to find out this was not unusual among teachers, supporting their students. Ski supported one of his players, and even Harry supported one of his players whose mother , no surprise here, was an attractive divorcee. The difference was Skipper did it in the open, with more then one student. It was school gossip and with gossip there is always an ear for the hearing, that was Mr. Smith.
A directive came down from Mr. Smith, that no students could leave the cafeteria, and go down to the field house during lunch for any reason. A point had been earned by Mr. Smith, but counter-point was not too far away. Skipper, upon hearing this decree took his concerns for the Steptoes to the high school principal. A new directive came out from the principals office the next day making the Steptoes boys, Students Assistants, to the coaches during the lunch period. In this way the boys go to eat, and Skipper added more fuel to Mr. Smiths fire concerning the conspiracy to get him in the coaches office.
I have often viewed Skipper and the other coaches through bits and pieces of memory. They stood by each other and their Boys, whether players or just adapted students. They armed me with the knowledge how to share and care deeply for our Boys, our school, and our town.
Chapter Twenty Two People Do Change ****

There were a couple of more interesting things that happened during that first year at Rocin. David Shepard returned from boot camp and Military Police training in February. The first place he came to visit was the field house , and the first person he came to visit was Coach OBryan. He meet Skipper right before off-season practice, as it had taken him about a day and half ,coming by bus, from Alabama. He did not look the same: he looked better. He had always been tall and muscular, but, now he held himself ram-rod straight, and looked you directly in the eyes as a man should. Even his grip was firm with strength, and, in my case, seemingly with genuine warmth. I was surprised at how glad I was to see him, and see him looking so well. I guess the military life had appealed to him after all. He had won some honors coming from his schooling, and had been made a rank similar to that of corporal. If I appeared glad to see David, then Skipper was ecstatic.

He not only gripped his hand readily, but pulled him into a bear-hug in front of all the boys scattered around trying to re-energize after a stout work out. This collision of tender paternal bonding surprised all of us, as could be witnessed by the look of astoundment on the players faces. I do not know why I was surprised, but I was. I look back with the advantages of time, and believe it was because of the depth of emotion that surfaced on Skippers face. I saw moisture build up in his eyes and begin to over flow, dropping over the rim of his eyes skipping down his face as a pebble skips across a pond with bold and brave jumps.

I felt the lump in my own throat, growing large and tightening up my windpipe with tender emotion.
Davids response to Skippers greeting was one of surprise, at first, but he returned the paternal greeting with such affection as to end any ideas of impropriety. His tears could not be stopped, and could only be compared in duration to his huge smile, which would not, or could not, leave his face. The only problem I had with this reunion was the fact that it took Skippers attention away from working on my offensive game plan I was putting in during the off-season after the boys had gone home. At Skippers insistences, all coach were excepted at these meetings in the field house. None seemed to mine the extra hours put in after work, except maybe Harry, as it limited him to a date nearby, instead of foraging further a field for feminine companionship.
At that time in my life, I am sure I was a little envious of the Coachs success and friendship with the boys. He had years of experience doing this, and all I had was months. The only word I could use to describe this relationship he had with them was Love!
I wondered then if Skipper had any children of his own. I knew he had been married sometime in the past, and he lived by himself now on a little five acre plot of earth he called his ranch. Holes would know the answer, and I resolved to ask him when we were alone after the work out today.
****

After the meeting, which Skipper had missed to take David out to lunch, I tried to Holes alone to ask questions about Skippers early life. But, Harry and Holes were cutting up and I could not get Holes alone. I chose not to waste any more time and I asked them both about Skippers children.

“ Skipper had one son,” Holes said, “ but they were never close.” Harry nodded in agreement. “ He left when his mother left Coach.” Holes and Harry looked at each other with a kind of telling glance. “ Skippers son died in a car accident five years ago.” Holes delivered these

words sadly.
“ He was a real ring-tailed cat. “ He continued.
“ A wild man.” Harry agreed
“ He had numerous run-ins with the law be