Bill

One of the most sudden and shocking losses I’ve experienced is the loss of my good friend’s dad, my former softball coach, Bill.

Bill was the kind of person who lit up a room. He knew everyone, not just by name, but he knew them. He took the time to ask people how they were and he genuinely cared. He made active listening look easy. He was jovial, always smiling and had a gift for motivating others. I guess the fact that he ended up a coach wasn’t by accident.

Bill coached me in summer softball. I was also over at his house often because his daughter, Katie, and I were (and are) very good friends. Bill knew the game of softball in a way that I’ve never seen duplicated. He knew how to be strategic, but he also knew what each team dynamic needed. He knew how to lead, but he was never pushy.

The final summer Bill coached our group, a group that had been together for years, he asked me a question I didn’t expect. He said, “Chuck, I need you to play third this summer. We need someone consistent there.” Two things: 1. Yes, Chuck was really my nickname. 2. I was a catcher. I fielded grounders like a newly born foal. Any other coach, I might have hesitated. And even though I did have a moment of “Really, Bill?!”, I trusted him. If he thought I could do it, so did I.

In that season, he had a vision of who he needed where and he needed me at third base. So surely, as the summer went on, I got more comfortable playing third. The infield he had chosen got into a groove. We built a flow on his vision. Turns out that saying yes to Bill that summer was a good choice, because we had a hell of a summer, and we happened to bring home a National Championship title, too. I could go on and on about our National Tournament but you’d all think you came to a softball blog instead. What I will say, is this man had the best speech for every situation. If we were losing, it wasn’t yelling at us and telling why we sucked. It was saying “Sometimes things don’t go our way. That inning didn’t go our way. But what I do know is we have a chance here…”

Looking back, it seems like a fairy tale. A group of kids who loved the game, loved each other, and trusted their coach. Our families were there, too. They braved the heat, cheered us on, and didn’t lose hope. To this day, fifteen years later, it is still my go-to example for the best team I’ve ever a part of. And Bill was at the helm of that ship. Even during my college seasons, I would call him for advice. After my last collegiate game, I called him and left a message, just telling him how grateful I was for his coaching and for getting me through four years of college ball with a different coach. I never left him messages. But I’m glad I did that day, because I’m glad he knew what he meant to me.

Bill died suddenly in 2014, just after his 60th birthday. He had just retired from the local community college where he taught and coached both football and softball. He was a community man that everyone knew and everyone loved. I have never seen a line so long at a memorial. When Katie called me to tell me, I was in complete shock. This couldn’t be real. He was a good guy, there must be some mistake. After I hung up with her, I literally fell to my knees. How could this have happened?

Loss is really strange. It’s sudden, even when it’s not. It’s big. It’s gaping. It’s hard. Coaching high school softball now, I think of Bill often. I think about what advice he’d give me now, coach to coach. I think about how much he loved the game. I think about how positive he stayed, even when the chips were down. I think about how lucky we were to have him. And, I laugh thinking about how he never rubbed in all of his sunscreen. I know he’s still on the fields watching. And, as it ended up, his view from his memorial site is right over the college where he taught and coached. Even though the softball field is now gone, I know he watches it thinking of all the memories made on that dirt.

We miss you, Bill.