Stories

Over the past several days I read a novel titled Staggerford.  It was the first novel published by Minnesota author Jon Hassler.  The novel takes place over the course of one week in a small fictional community located in central Minnesota--Staggerford. The novel's main protagonist, Miles Pruitt, is an English teacher, primarily teaching senior level English.  Miles has been teaching at the school, from which he graduated, for about 12 years.   First copyrighted in 1974, but first published in 1977, the novel represents a look into the life of a school teacher in a rural community.  While no year is known, I would place the time frame of the novel in the early 1970's.  That may seem, to many, like a long time ago, but I saw it as somewhat of a mirror into the life of my oldest brother who started his teaching career in the early 1970's.  As I was reading the book I heard about the death of my oldest brother and would attend his wake and funeral.  During this time, I could not help but think of the stories in the book, and those that are held in the minds and hearts of each one of us. There are those expressed and those held to the heart.

Cover of Steve's Memorial Card

In the book, Miles Pruitt has had his 114 senior class students turn in a paper dealing with the topic "What I Wish."  During the course of the week covered by the book, the stories of a few of the 114 students are presented.  The book made me think of the life and experiences of an educator.  Each child they deal with has a different home life, and a different set of experiences, good and bad, that go to school with the child.   Just as in the book, a teacher or coach may be the one constant that some of those students have.  At the conclusion of one heartfelt two paragraph "What I Wish" story, Hassler writes:  "No wonder the briefcase was so heavy, thought Miles.  He should have known better than to collect all 114 papers at one time.  The wrongs and losses and near misses of 114 people, when packed together in one briefcase, took on the heaviness and solidity of rock."  So while the student papers of Miles Pruitt "teased him off the road of hope into the gulch of despair" I could not help but think of Steve's wake and funeral.  For you see, wakes and funerals are meant to do the opposite.  The wake and funeral are meant to tease those who loved him out of the gulch of despair, and onto the road of hope.  I hope that  Steve's wife Cathy, and daughters Kristin and Elissa have found the wake and funeral to be of some help in their healing journey. 

Steve's family

A funeral mass provides solace through the Christian grace of a promise of life everlasting; it connects our baptism and death; it is the story of the promise of the resurrection of Christ. It is the personal relationship of the deceased with God.   But, the wake is a different matter.  A wake involves personal relationships with the living recounted through stories.  I was privileged to hear  the stories of a few of the many who came to the wake on a cold Friday night in Fort Atkinson.  What I heard where heartfelt words expressed with true emotion.  There was a woman who described herself, as "just a mom", but wanted to express condolences on behalf of a now grown child who is out of state.  Her son had been coached by Steve, and she said, he learned more than about football.  There was Colton, who described Steve as kinda of tough, but fair and even.  After Colton concluded his statement I thought of the possible apocryphal comment made by Henry Jordan about Vince Lombardi--"he treats us all the same--like dogs." Perhaps this is the same Colton, who was a soccer player, and when about to write on a white-board in Steve's natural resources class, Steve suggested that since he was a soccer player he use a pink marker.  Today's world of political correctness would not find this funny. It did get a big laugh out of the class.

Casket at funeral home

The stories stretched to his earliest days of football.  There were those from teammates in the middle 1960's when he played for Sun Prairie High School.  There were the then boys, now men, about my age, who played for him in the 1970's.  I spent some time in particular talking with two brothers, farm boys, one played for him in 1971, and his brother a few years later.  Heck, there may even have been some who I had to play against when I played with Sun Prairie.  They recounted that even though they played other sports, he was their best coach.  There were the Millennial's who played for him in his last years as head coach at Fort, and those who he coached at Milton.  Their story was the same as those last of the baby boomers.  There were those from two generations of the same family he coached.  There was the man who played for him, and coached under him.  Steve became head coach at Fort after students petitioned the administration to bring him on as head coach.  He had left as an assistant a few years earlier.  Yet, he did not just look to the common or known athlete.  He coaxed persons who had never before played the sports to join. One of these was the funeral director. The success Fort had in football, even after he stopped coaching Fort in 2001, was directly due to his having built not only the high school program, but also the feeder 7th and 8th grade programs.  A bid to play at state ended at the one yard line after the QB (a son of his offensive coordinator) changed Steve's call from a hand off going over the tackle, to a QB sneak in an attempt to get glory for himself.  Steve's call would have worked, Steve said, as he knew the opponents tendencies from film and game experience.  At the time Steve had a fullback who averaged eight yards a carry.

The stories were not limited to old or young men, the story I most recall was from a young lady who indicated that "Mr. Hovel was her track coach."  She went on to say she never saw herself as an athlete, much less doing track, but Steve encouraged her to join the team.  She found in herself, she said, something she never knew and became better for it.  I found it a poignant moment for a person to share with a stranger something so personal. It was indicative of the meaning Steve had for her, and, by extension, to so many others.  What I noticed, through these stories was Steve as an educator and a coach touched the lives of many.  Many of those persons took time to stand in a long line on a cold Friday night to attend his wake.  There is something of hearing these personal connections that provide at least some solace in what is a difficult journey. If you think of history, it is really the compilation of stories.  Facts and figures could be recalled, but they have little meaning without personal connection. 

Seven Surviving Hovel siblings

Many persons attended Steve's wake finding a need to come not to simply express condolences, but to share their stories, in a way to help them deal with his death.  Yet, in so doing their stories allow us, Steve's family, to move from that gulch of despair to the road of hope.   As a teacher and an educator Steve strove to draw out the best in his students.  Those who came to his wake and funeral showed that he had done well the work entrusted to him. There are but few higher compliments to a person than to say: a job well done.  So, Steve, as you see these words from a new perch, let me simply say:  Well done, Steve, well done.