Terry Mosher
I don’t think we get to see many greats during our lives. And when I say “Great”, I reserve that word for people who are obvious, people who stand out not just in their profession, but have a special aura about them that most of the rest of us don’t.
And it’s easy to say somebody is great just after he/she has died. For some reason, we move people up a level or two as soon as they exit this Earth. So to be sure you know what I mean, I have known a couple people who I downgraded upon their death, not that it’s my function to be judgmental because that is God’s right. In other words, I wasn’t sad that they died. The world, in my view, got better the instant they left.
But there are people that make me real sad when they leave. And the world certainly is not better because they left.
Don James fits into greatness. He was not only a great college football coach, but a great man who had a major impact on those around him, and not just on the football field. I have heard the rumors for years about Don and wife Carol and what they have done for others far away from the peering lens of a camera or the pen of a writer.
Don and Carol use to have a summer home on Case Inlet near Allyn where they would often retreat in the off-season. It was from there the stories would leak out by word of mouth about the two of them showing up at various charitable functions in Mason County and devote not just money but time to the efforts.
I have a friend who is a Wazoo Cougar through and through, and just because of that he didn’t want to like James. He tried hard not to. But in the end he had to surrender to the stories that swirled about Don and Carol and the good things they did for people. Sure, he still wanted his Cougars to beat Don’s Huskies, but he found deep compassion for the enemy.
It is likely I won’t see anybody of Don’s caliber again before I die. I know I always felt secure when I was around him. He just had that presence that told you that ok you are safe now, and now that he’s gone I don’t have that security blanket anymore.
I don’t think I should continue to tell you how great James was because the shock jock talk radio guys and the TV folk jumped into the fray along with various writers to inundate you with that fact. I’m guilty of that, also. But what about other “Great” people I have met, if any.
Back in the mid-1960s I worked with a guy – Ernie Bonar – who was as good as they get. Ernie always seemed to be ahead of everybody else when there was some help needed. The rest of us would find out about trouble some person or family was having and talk about ways we could help. While we were talking, Ernie was doing. He didn’t’ talk about it, he just did it.
Ernie died a long, long time ago, but I still remember. Once I left Oklahoma for a job in Alaska, Ernie would write to me, encouraging me, even though he didn’t have to do that. When he died I lost a quiet mentor who has not been replaced.
My dad – L.H. Mosher – was a great guy. I didn’t realize that until I was approaching 40 and he was approaching death. While he lay dying in the Olean (New York) GeneralHospital, I would write little notes to him every day from my home in Bremerton. My sister and brothers would read the daily notes to him while he was supported by life-sustaining tubes. That went on for weeks until he finally succumbed on Jan. 9, 1980.
Dad was not much of a talker. He was about six-foot-three, maybe a half-inch or so taller, and he claimed he weighed 222 pounds. I think it was probably closer to 235. He was not fat. He grew up on a farm and was like many sons of farmers was as strong as an ox.
He once told me the story of how he left high school. He was going to Hinsdale (New York) High School and as a sophomore one day belted a home run ball into the third flood window of a classroom. The school district wanted his parents to pay for the broken window, but they refused. So, the story goes, they kicked my dad out of school.
Remember, this was 1920, so it’s probable the story is true. So dad went to work in the local Mobil refinery and worked for Mobil until he retired in 1967 at the age of 62. Along the way he built homes, did remodels, had an electrical business, did plumbing, and when he wasn’t busy doing double-shifts at the refinery, filling in for friends who were sick or wanted a day off to hunt or fish, I could find him in his work shop, taking things apart to see how they worked.
He loved work. And eating. Three meals a day – 7 in the morning, noon, and 5 at night. He was like Don James that way, in that when it was time to eat or to work, nothing stood in the way of that. He was on time. Always.
We didn’t talk much. Once my mother died and dad remarried, I was the odd man out of the blended family and really raised myself. Those were my dark years and only recently have I managed to shed myself of all the defense mechanisms that I built up in those years as a means of protection.
But dad was great. A powerful man. – the most powerful physically I have ever known – but a gentle giant who never said a bad word about anybody (never, really), never swore, or if he did not around me, and was as giving as expected of somebody who reached maturity in the Great Depression, knew how difficult life could be, and knew how much survival depended on helping each other (something the Republicans could learn).
When I think about it, my dad was such a great example that I don’t know if I have ever heard my two older brothers ever swear or say a bad word about anybody. My other brother is an old Navy guy (he flew in the F-4 Phantoms) so swear words can sometimes come a little too easy for him, but not very often.
I had a friend who died too young (23) who I might have been able to label as great had he lived longer. He was a guy who lived every moment of every day to the fullest with a big smile. He was very giving and loving and it was a terrible shame he died so young, although I half expected it because he was so fearless with everything he did, including driving his car as fast as it could go, and one day he drove too fast.
That’s about it for greatness. We have had some good coaches who have been good people around here. I won’t name them for fear I leave somebody off and get mail I don’t need.
Suffice to say, James was in rarified air. He was as good as they get on this Earth. Did he have faults? Sure, and if he was here would be the first to tell you so. But that doesn’t distract from his greatness.
Be well pal.
Be careful out there.
Have a great day.
You are loved.