Back to Baseball Basics : Hitting the Ball, for Example!

Have you ever been frustrated by some skill that seemed beyond your reach? Who has not, especially in those ability-driven activities, sports and music? I have had three such notable lifetime experiences – two in sports and one in music. As of this post, and, late in life, I am batting two out of three, with one more meaningful challenge left – the art of hitting a baseball. I just purchased this baseball bat!

IMG_2331 Many fellow retirees might ask, “Why concern yourself with THAT now, in the golden years of retirement?” Are you contemplating a new career in major league baseball? Hardly, but I have a grandson now playing Little League baseball (his first experience), and our whole family is enjoying watching. Athletics come naturally to Matthew – we realized this rather early, with him. He and I enjoy throwing footballs and playing “catch” in the backyard with a baseball and glove, but team athletics pose a different challenge. So far, so good. Early in the season, Matthew was awarded the game ball for catching a pop fly for the final out in a close game with runners on base. He can field, he is fast on the base path, and he meets the ball pretty well with the bat. Lurking in the back of my mind is the challenge of becoming a good hitter at the plate. I hope Matthew has more success than his Grandpa did on that score!

11044580_10152741939913310_3547499852237230642_n[1] I vividly recall my challenges in freshman/sophomore high school baseball, and the biggest of all was hitting the baseball. Baseball came along before I found my true calling: Running the hurdles in track during my last two years. I had little confidence hitting at the plate because I had no clue as to “batting mechanics.” I wrote a personal memoir some time ago which included my early sports experiences. Here is a brief excerpt which relates one memorable and somewhat comical experience which accompanied my adventures in the batter’s box: My debut in frosh-soph baseball at San Mateo High benefitted from my treacherous learning curve that previous summer with the Lions. Our coach, Jack Alexander, was a good man who appreciated my effort; he also appreciated the fact that I was only going to help the team by the good example of my attitude and hustle. There was one time, however, when I surprised him – and good! It was a late inning substitution again. I do not recall the game circumstances, but we were playing Capuchino High School from Millbrae/San Bruno. I suspect we were losing decisively late in the game, given the situation. On the mound for them was a pitcher with the reputation of having the best fastball in the league; his name was Daryl W. He was going through our batters like a hot knife through butter. I could see he was a hard thrower for sure, so I stepped into the batter’s box with considerable trepidation. As always, hitting the ball was not something that came easily for me, and even our best hitters were striking out against this pitcher; so expectations were low all around. I stepped in, took a few practice swings, and waited. He went into his windup with a high kick and delivered. From what I could tell, the ball was coming very fast and it looked like it was coming toward my hands; I jumped back from the plate. The pitch came right over the plate with awesome velocity and terminated with a loud tha-WACK! in the catcher’s glove. Despite the great velocity of the pitch, the ball apparently had some real lateral movement as well because it ended up a perfect strike. My first reaction was ….GEEZ! Then, I felt slightly embarrassed for having jumped back from the plate on a perfect strike. My confidence was now even two or three notches lower, and I was just hoping that his control would not falter and that I would not be killed by a fastball to the temple. I steadied myself as he delivered again. I got a peek at the ball coming – this time seemingly right over the plate – and swung for all I was worth. Crr-AACK! I opened my eyes to see that baseball take off like a shot very deep to center field. When I recovered from my surprise, my legs began to churn toward first base. Why, I do not know, but the center fielder was playing back around 350 feet from home plate. He drifted back a bit and caught the ball. I suppose his thinking might have been as follows: in the unlikely case that anyone is able to hit this fastball pitcher, it is going to go deep. There was a lot of excitement on our bench as I trotted back to sit down. I am certain that no one else hit that pitcher harder than I did that day. Some time later, Tom H., who was one of our better first string players, told me how clearly he remembered the way I crushed that pitch. He said Coach Alexander literally fell off the bench when I hit it as did others of my teammates. My baseball experience was both valuable and humbling. I felt quite certain that I lacked the eye-hand coordination required to be a good hitter. In a way, it was much like my inability to hit high notes on the trumpet because of a poorly-suited embouchure [Note: Later proven untrue!]. As with my first athletic experiences at Lomita Park school, it was even more obvious that there would be no easy tickets for me in sports and that hard work and dedication would take me only so far in baseball. Besides, baseball was a team sport where an aura of personal confidence went far in promoting achievement as well as solidarity with one’s team mates. I always got along well with my team mates, but confidence was not one of my personal assets. Nothing breeds confidence like success, and nothing breeds success like confidence; it seemed I was just not able to get a foothold in baseball.

End of memoir excerpt

The other two especially significant “doing” challenges in my life besides hitting a baseball were: Playing the trumpet, especially in a higher register, and acquiring a strong and reliable tennis serve. My ultimate breakthroughs in these last two endeavors happened long after I began taking trumpet lessons in my early teen years and long after I started playing tennis in high school. Those two personal “triumphs” came about only after careful study and analysis of the technique utilized by trumpet players and tennis stars who had what I wanted – proficient ability. I finally learned how to learn things.

“Learning how” to Finally Do Something Well:
Perhaps the Greatest Feeling in the World!

The renowned author, David McCullough, expressed it very well when describing the elation of becoming proficient in a challenging task by doing it: “I can do this…and I am getting better!” He stated a canon truth when he maintained that skills like painting and playing the piano cannot be mastered by reading a how-to book; one has to do them! I agree, but I also maintain that the optimal method of learning for us not-naturally-gifted mortals is to supplant the doing with critical analysis of how to do it vs. how we are doing it. Further “doing” then becomes an attempt at experimentation with different approaches and a verification of what works best – working smart, in other words. My experience has revealed, in no uncertain terms, that practicing the same, possibly ineffective approach, over and over and expecting different and improved results is bound to frustrate…been there, done that. When my wife took home movies of my long-term lousy tennis serve many, many years ago, I was astounded at just how lousy it looked, as well. I had no idea – no concept of the inept body mechanics at play. I could immediately see why my serve was so weak and unreliable. Until I made major changes to my body mechanics which were in concert with motion physics (yes, science!), I got nowhere. Starting from scratch on a completely new serve was not easy and required hours of backyard, slow-motion visualization of my new service motion. It was difficult training new muscle responses, but it worked. The result: A classic-looking, reliable serve, and most important – one with power that really benefitted my tennis game. Cabrera-Back-Foot[1]Back to baseball! I am rising to the challenge, once more, in search of optimal body mechanics… like those of the great hitters in baseball – players like Babe Ruth, Ted Williams, Joltin’ Joe DiMaggio, and Stan Musial. Often, great natural athletes like these know little about the physics of baseball; they instinctively visualize the appropriate body mechanics and efficiently proceed to convert them into automatic reflexes. The rest of us can truly benefit from watching the slow-motion and stop-action films so readily available today which reveal the instinctive secrets of the great ones. So…it’s off to the backyard with my new baseball bat for some slow motion visualization of what it takes to produce an efficient and effective batting swing. This stuff keeps me feeling young! I love investigating the whole learning process in sport, and I have high regard for the great coaches in any sport who can quickly and efficiently improve the athletic performance of young athletes by sharing their hard-won knowledge and insights into optimal technique. I have aspirations that I might even finally learn how to hit a baseball: Hmmm….better late than never. Yes, I am confident that I can learn to do that – the last remaining item on my lifetime big-three list of personal challenges. Make no mistake, there have been and remain many others, as well. These three were merely among the most vexing.

More importantly, I hope that I can be a baseball resource to my grandson, should he ever need any extra coaching. It may happen that the tables might be turned and Matthew will be the one who shows me how! Either way, it’s a win-win situation.

Two Teachers: People Who Touch Our Lives in Ways Big and Small

Last month I was scanning the obituary pages of the San Jose Mercury News, our local paper. This is a new habit for me, albeit only an occasional one. My wife has long made it a point to regularly check the obit pages; I never did…until the last few years. I have come to understand the rationale: There are so many abbreviated life-stories on display. I always check the birthdate of the deceased, but only after looking at the picture first, when present. When the birthdate is in the 1920’s or the early 1930’s, I feel a sense of reassurance (I was born in 1940) that I still have some living left – at least statistically. But I focus more on the faces in the pictures; it is often easy to identify those who presumably led happy, productive lives by studying the images, especially when the deceased is portrayed both in the bloom of youth and the later years when life has left its imprint. The written obit, of course, fills-in the blanks, typically revealing lives well-lived, but not exceptional stories. Once in a while there are major surprises like the kindly old face looking out from the page who, as a strapping young man, flew 20 B-17 bombing missions over Nazi Germany in World War Two. The obituary pages provided me with one of those surprises of which I speak just last month.

Two People – Both Teachers – Whose Recent Passing
 Re-kindled Good Memories for Me

Two former teachers of mine passed away recently. The second of the two touched my life, but briefly. I was casually scanning the obituaries last month when I encountered a rather poorly reproduced black and white picture of an attractive middle-aged woman. (The color version and the younger picture used here are from the website obituary). The write-up which followed related that this woman was, for twenty-seven years, a dance instructor at San Jose State College, located just south of here. I looked intently at the picture and thought, “No, it can’t be,” but it was.

Carol Smith - SJS_2

At that time, she was Mrs. Smith, my social dance class instructor at the college in my freshman or sophomore year – way back in 1958 /59. As an engineering major at San Jose State, I fortunately enrolled in Mrs. Smith’s class to 1: Learn to dance well (came in handy), and 2: To meet some coeds. It all worked according to plan! I had a chance to meet young women (noticeably absent in engineering and math classes in those days!) and to dance with them. It was such a great class experience that I made it a point to enroll in social dance class every term after transferring to Stanford University for my junior year. In one of those classes, I met a girl who I dated on a regular basis during my last year at Stanford. It sounds funny to speak of “dating” in this day and age; it was a whole other world back then!

I recall Mrs. Smith (her married name at the time) as a vibrant, personable, and attractive young woman with the grace, figure, and long-legs of a dancer – which she truly was. She had red hair and a freckled complexion…and she had style.

 The obituary noted that she died in a Utah nursing facility at the age of 80.

I was enrolled in her dance class for only one or two terms, but stumbling upon her obituary in the paper by chance really set me back on my heels. She was a fine dance instructor whose teaching and personality made that class period one of my many happy experiences at San Jose State.

I tried to visualize her at eighty years of age and in a nursing home; it was difficult when viewed in the light of my memory of her as a young woman. The situation crystallized the reality we all ultimately face; I am no stranger to the thought of our mortality, but the particular chance experience of recalling Mrs. Smith after so many years and in such a contrasting light did shake me a bit, causing me to stop and seriously reflect.

Carol Smith - SJS_1

I went to my den shelves and pulled out one of the many notebooks from my considerable stash of college materials I have saved for lo, these many years. It was a social dance class spiral notebook which I compiled during the course. I tried to apply some humor in the form of brief quips to the “footstep pattern sequences” which I had diagrammed for the various dances such as the foxtrot, tango, waltz, etc. At the front of the book, I made references to the then-famous dance instructor, Arthur Murray, by writing with tongue-in-cheek, “My deepest thanks to Arthur Murray without whose assistance, I could never have written this book.” Just above that on the front page, Mrs. Smith assigned me a course grade of A- and, in red ink, wrote,

“My deepest thanks to Al Kubitz without whom (& people of similar ilk) teaching could become quite ordinary.” That meant a lot to me at the time.

Dance Notebook_1Dance Notebook_2

A few years back, I tried to cull-out some of the many memorabilia I had saved from my college years. I paused as I held that little notebook over the trash can…and decided to hold on to it. I am so glad that I did.

Carl “Berny” Wagner: San Mateo High School and Track
A Person and Coach Who Changed Young Lives

San Mateo High School’s senior class of 1958 sat through countless lessons during the four years spent inside that venerable, old brick building which dated from 1924. We learned history, we learned to diagram sentences, we learned some Spanish, French, and German, and we learned about angles and triangles in geometry. As important as those classroom lessons were to our futures, the most valuable lessons I took away were those that I learned on the athletic fields. I wrote at length about those athletic experiences in my blog post of February 2, 2014, Life-Lessons Learned from Playing Sports. What I have to say about our track and field coach, Berny Wagner, in this post will have much more clarity if you have read that piece on sports (available in the blog archives).

Coach Berny Wagner

Berny Wagner, just  as I remember him at San Mateo High – 1957

I sadly noted Berny’s obituary last year in The Stanford Magazine, Stanford University’s alumni magazine. Beside the many insights he provided me personally as I worked to become a proficient hurdler on his varsity track teams, the lasting lesson I learned from Berny was the importance of class and excellence in athletics and in life. Those of us young lads who were fortunate enough to come under Berny’s tutelage learned, first hand, how to be a “winner” in athletics. Yes, he taught us how to compete successfully – to win – but he also taught us how to compete fairly with grace, dignity, and class.

Coach Wagner was infallible when it came to highlighting those personal and athletic traits which distinguish winners from “losers.”

As a runner on Berny’s track team, you learned to NEVER slow down three or four yards from the finish line of a race no matter how exhausted you felt – even in a distance event and even though the victory  is clearly yours. You always ran through the tape at the finish line. In the short, quick sprints, you had better not be seen showboating, breasting the tape at the finish with hands held high overhead in a “victory salute.” Coach emphasized that only a fool would relinquish a victory in a close finish by not leaning hard into the tape and thereby gaining precious inches which could have been the winning margin.

I will never forget one of his pet peeves as a track coach and a specific illustration of his insistence on competing with class. One spring day early in the season, as the entire track team was assembled for a brief meeting on the infield grass, Coach Wagner made clear that he never wanted to see any of his athletes competing in track spikes wearing argyle street socks as opposed to athletic “sweat socks” (or no socks). Coach did not need to tell me that…but there are always a few who just don’t get it, so he made that quite clear to us all. I distinctly recall him saying, “If you don’t care enough about your sport and your event to show up at a meet properly equipped, you have no business being out there in the first place!” Amen. He and I were totally on the same page in all such things. Sure enough, I saw them out there during our track meets, kids from the other teams competing in spikes and gaily-colored street socks; those competitors rarely placed well in their events, and they looked ridiculous next to Berny’s boys.

Coaching track and cross-country, even at the high school level, was not a sideline duty for Berny; it was the major part of his role on the faculty. He was a dedicated and intelligent student of the sport of track and field and held B.A. and M.A. degrees in education from Stanford University. His coaching career began at the high school level and took him to a ten-year stint as head track and cross-country coach at Oregon State University; it was there that he developed the gold-medal winner in the high jump at the 1968 Olympics, Dick Fosbury. Fosbury had perfected the then-unique-to-him high jumping style famously known as “the Fosbury Flop” and revolutionized the high jump event using it. It has long been the universally-used technique. Later in his career, Coach Wagner coached two Olympic squads and settled into executive positions within the governing bodies of track and field in the U.S.A.

Berny’s multiple talents were evident even to us young lads on his 1958 championship track and field varsity team at San Mateo High School. He had great goals and plans for his young athletes, and he executed them with precision and discipline. He ran a great program. Everyone knew the practice plan for each day’s workouts and each event. There was no uncertainty, no confusion. Observing some of the league’s other coaches in action, we sensed how fortunate we were at San Mateo. Time would amply validate our good fortune as Coach Wagner went on to bigger and better things. His greatest coaching thrills were yet to come.

Coach Wagner and my indebtedness to him had been on my mind for many, many years after graduation. I knew of his later successes, but had not seen him since high school. I was not even sure how to locate him in June of 2011 when I finally decided to make an all-out effort to thank him for all he did for us boys. It was not so easy locating him; I wrote letters and made phone calls. Finally, I learned that he had suffered a very severe stroke several years prior, was partially immobilized, and was in an assisted-living facility in Corvallis, Oregon. I sent him the following letter: 

Dear Coach Wagner,                                                    June 17, 2011

 Do you recall your championship San Mateo High School track team of 1958? This is your senior high hurdler (and lows, too) from that team, Al Kubitz. So many years have passed, yet I remember vividly those days at San Mateo High, particularly my experiences on the track team and the great good fortune I had to be coached by you. You were the most influential of all my teachers – I felt it then, and the years since have amply verified it.

 You were the perfect mentor for us young guys; you were respected for your coaching competence and organized approach and well-liked for your obvious dedication to us student athletes. The lessons I learned in the process of striving for and achieving my goals in track and through our association have guided me throughout my life. I wanted you to know that!

 I am enclosing some pictures that I hope will bring back pleasant memories. A few are from my scrapbook and 1958 yearbook. In addition, I am sending you an excerpt written some time back as part of my unfinished memoirs. It is an account of my experiences with track and why they meant so much to me. I thought you might find some of it interesting; at any rate, please be sure to read the last two pages.

 After San Mateo, I graduated from Stanford University in 1963 in electrical engineering; I retired from that great career in 2001. Linda and I have two daughters and four grandchildren. I am hoping that one of my two young grandsons will have long legs and a knack for hurdling – who knows?

 I learned … that you have been battling some medical challenges the past few years. I wish you all the best in that regard and want to thank you again for all you have done for so many of us who had the great good fortune to cross paths with you through sports.

I followed up that letter with a phone call so that I could thank him and wish him well “in-person.” I am so glad that I did that when I did. There exist many similar, personal testimonials to Coach Wagner: He truly left his mark while training boys to be men.

Life-Lessons Learned From Playing Sports

Few experiences in life were more beneficial to me than the lessons learned from competing in high school track and field. Other learning experiences came from my earlier involvement with baseball and later mid-life involvement with tennis. Most revelations were of the positive kind; a few were not, of course. My two track events in high school were the high and the low hurdles.

SI Exif

I am the proud possessor of two gold track medals and a bronze! No, they are not from running track at the Olympics, but from my 1958 senior year in track at San Mateo High School! Yes, I know, the gulf between such accolades is immense, but those awards, nevertheless, mean a great deal to me because of life-lessons learned along the athletic path leading to May 9, 1958 when they were handed to me by our high school track coach. That little “ceremony” took place on the infield of Burlingame High School’s track, the site of our Peninsula League meet finals that afternoon.

On that day, the San Mateo High Bearcats pulled off a most surprising local sports upset by defeating the heavily-favored Burlingame Panthers for the league track and field title. Every team member was awarded a gold medal for the team victory. The other gold is the one that means the most to me, for it symbolizes my victory in the league meet over the best high-hurdlers from the other schools in our league. It remains one of my most prized possessions. The bronze medal was awarded for finishing third in the low hurdles final. Overall, I had a very good senior year in track in 1958.

The 120 yard high hurdles race was run over ten 39 inch barriers spaced ten yards apart. At the Olympic level, the race is an equivalent 110 meters over ten 42 inch barriers – a height well above most people’s navel. The world record in the 110 meter high hurdles is just under 13 seconds, today – a phenomenal feat of speed and athleticism.

Early Experiences in Sport – Everyone Can Relate

I recall that my first insights regarding athletics came from schoolyard days at Lomita Park School in Millbrae, California, beginning in grade three. Do you remember playing kick-ball and dodge-ball? I do, and it was on the schoolyard while playing these recess games that I first realized that some kids are blessed with “natural” athletic ability, some kids are hopelessly uncoordinated, and the rest of us fall somewhere in the “great middle.”

Although reasonably coordinated, I recall my frustration with kick-ball as the ball squirted off my foot at an angle and low to the ground, kick after kick. I also recall the towering shots that inevitably came off the foot of a female classmate, Lela Mae. I can still picture her: Slightly pudgy, with freckled cheeks, hair in hanging ringlets, and a booming foot that regularly sent the ball over the outfielders for home-runs. Likewise in dodge-ball: When Lela Mae tagged you with the ball, it really stung! Donald, another classmate, also seemed so much better than the rest of us in these events.

Throughout grade school, I was never the first to be chosen for P.E. or recess teams; luckily, I was not one of the last, either! Thus it was with early grade school athletic experiences. I did begin to notice, however, that when the P.E. teacher had us run sprint races, I was inevitably one of the two or three fastest in the class.

In Junior High, the recess sport was tetherball. Once again, I was embedded in the upper region of the “great middle” (of the pack), no match for a few taller, well-developed boys who, with one initial punch on the ball, could watch bemusedly as the rest of us haplessly flailed at the ball to keep it from winding completely around the pole in one “hit.”

High School Baseball: Can Field Some, but Can’t Hit

In high school, I tried out for freshman/sophomore baseball and got a uniform, but rarely played. I came to high school baseball with no real playing experience except hours spent in the backyard playing “catch” with playmates or with my dad in earlier years. Initially, I excelled at one thing as an aspiring outfielder: When coach would hit us long fly-balls in practice, I was quick to run up on the ball…only to realize far too late that it was sailing over my head! Quite embarrassing, initially, but I did catch-on and became a decent outfielder. I was a lousy hitter, however – a sure ticket to the bench. Despite my lack of baseball accomplishments, I learned about team sports and what is required of a good ballplayer. I know that Coach Alexander was impressed with my hustle and attitude in practice; my good example, not my inherent ability, was what earned me a uniform.

The High-Jump and, Finally, the Hurdles to the Rescue

At the end of sophomore year, I got in the habit of stopping by the track team’s high-jump pit on the way in to the locker room after baseball practice. I found I could clear close to five feet using the outmoded scissors-kick style I had learned as a youngster from my dad. I became interested and arranged for an informal “try-out” one afternoon with the track and field coach, Berny Wagner. I impressed him by clearing five feet in my tennies and sweat-pants. We both thought I had a future in the high-jump on next year’s track team. Accordingly, I went out for the cross-country team that fall term to build my legs and my endurance. It was no surprise to me that I was regularly bringing-up-the-rear in our meets since distance running was never a strong point. I was in it strictly for the conditioning and track, but I worked hard at it. I recall one race which took us past a pig farm in South San Francisco. What an experience, gasping for breath only to run directly into a fog of pig stench! It was awful, but humorous… in hindsight!

While running cross-country, I worked on high-jumping technique and learned to run hurdles since that that exercise was supposed to build leg-strength and “spring.” Well, what “spring” I did  have deserted me, and I never was able to clear five feet again in the high jump to Coach Wagner’s dismay (never indicated) and my bitter disappointment.

Fortunately, I began to be seduced by the hurdles, especially the highs, and it all was making perfect sense. I had good foot-speed, but not good enough to compete as a sprinter: Those were the guys who always won those grade school P.E. races and naturally found their way to the track team in high school. Sprinters often have a more muscular build which is not conducive to negotiating ten 39 inch barriers…at speed. I also was tall, lanky, and limber through the hips – prime attributes for a high hurdler. I did face tough competition from sprinter-types in the low hurdles, however, where technique and limber hips are not so necessary.

I grew to love running the high hurdles where the rhythmic three-steps between the ten hurdles allows the runner to really find his “groove” in the race when all is going well. When things go bad in the hurdles, they can go very bad. Hitting one of the weighted hurdles (they do not tip easily) with any significant force can knock the runner off-balance or cause him to lose momentum and his ability to maintain the three steps between hurdles. At that point, the runner is “toast” and the race us lost. Often, runners fall to the track after a collision with the barriers and are in danger of being spiked by the runners in adjacent lanes. And then there is the not- uncommon discovery at the finish line of a bloody “knob” on the trailing-leg knee from contact with a hurdle. Hurdling is not for the faint-of-heart.

One poster-child (among many) illustrating the lurking disaster in every hurdles race is Lolo Jones from team USA, one of the Olympic favorites in the women’s intermediate hurdles event a couple of Games back in time. She had a comfortable lead in the event finals when she jammed one of the very last hurdles with her lead foot, causing her to lose momentum and finish just out of the medal awards. That was such a hard race to watch for an ex-hurdler! One learns early that sports can be a cruel companion; an attitude is necessary which can maturely handle not only the “agony of defeat,” but that great imposter, “the thrill of victory.”

The Good News / Bad News / Good News… for Me

The good news: I was enjoying hurdles practice and felt compatible with the demands of the event, especially in the high hurdles. I felt I had a chance!

The bad news: In my junior year, my first competitive year in track, San Mateo High had three of the very best high hurdlers in the entire league. Our star hurdler, Bob Kile, was a natural athlete with speed who was also tops in the pole-vault and a star halfback on the varsity football team. Dale Lebeck was a fine broad jumper as well as hurdler. Al Holmes was one of the best high jumpers in the league. It was a learning year for me. I placed third in the hurdles once or twice when a lane was available, but I learned a lot watching these three fine athletes practice and compete.

The good news: All three of these hurdlers were seniors who would not be returning next year!! I saw my chance, and I threw myself, heart and soul, into becoming a good hurdler. I practiced hard and late during sixth-period P.E. and after school. Often, I walked home from school – probably a mile and a half to two miles – after two tiring hours on the track. I read books on hurdling technique, and I did stretching exercises every evening before bedtime. I fantasized about being league champion someday as I mowed our back lawn. Basically, I lived an existence heavily focused on track which has allowed me, ever since, to fully appreciate the intensity and focus which is necessary for competition at the Olympic Games. Of course, I have no illusions about the magnitude of my high school experience compared to that of the Olympic Games, but the lessons I learned taught me about self-discipline, perseverance, and dedication to a goal. I learned, too, that year, how socially beneficial athletic success can be. In those days, track and field was quite a popular sport, and my hurdling brought me to the attention of classmates who were outside of my closer circle – an experience that was new to me given my athletic struggles of the past. It all made for a wonderful senior year. Would that all youngsters could have a similar experience and learn the life-lessons that I did because of track.

 Alan_Track_1X

The San Mateo Times Sports Page, May 10, 1958

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The San Mateo High School “Elm” of 1958

I owe my success in track to our track coach, Berny Wagner, who passed away last year. Coach Wagner positively affected my life more than any other teacher/educator in all my formative years.

Alan_Track_13

I intend to write more about Coach Wagner in a future post. Suffice it to say, his inscription in my senior yearbook just before graduation illustrates the kind of mentor he was to the fortunate lads who crossed his coaching path …in high school and, ultimately, at Oregon State University. The “greatest thrills” in his coaching career were still to come!