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Mr. Donahue
February 12, 2007It couldn't be, I thought to myself.
It just couldn't be.
But let me start at the beginning.
It was August 2006. I called the Northside Independent School District to speak with Superintendent Ed Donahue about the school's upcoming expansion project.
A photographer and I had already visited the school in northern Wilbarger County to take pictures of the campus before they started construction after passing a $1.1 million school bond.
Plans include a new library and a new gym.
I had met Mr. Donahue at the school face to face -- a kind, patient, jovial man.
Just the kind of man you'd expect to be running a small school district.
I had called him that day in August after our in-person visit, just needing a few quick answers to some last-minute questions.
Superintendent Donahue wasn't in his office, his secretary replied. He was out at the football field.
"What's going on out there?" I asked her.
"Practice," she replied.
And then there was a long pause.
"Oh," she said, "didn't you know he was the head football coach?"
I didn't, and Coach/Superintendent Donahue hadn't told me while he was giving us a tour of the campus that August afternoon. He wasn't one to brag about his responsibilities at the school, after all.
When the Northside Indians football team went on a roll that fall, though, I thought it was time to let our readers know about the two hats Donahue was juggling. The story ran on our front page on Oct. 14.
He hadn't planned to be the coach, he assured me.
Apparently, a coach had left that summer, and when Donahue couldn't find one on short notice, he decided to lead the team himself.
He had previously been a football coach in his early years in education, and now he had to step up to help the school out of a bind.
He was just doing what had to be done, he said. Nothing special.
Coach Donahue led the Northside Indians to the Six-Man Division II State Championship title.
Not bad for a last-minute, fill-in coach.
Fast forward to Feb. 1, almost two months after the state championship. I imagined Donahue was kicking back in his office, still reveling in the team's victory.
I had called his office to talk to him about the school's old gymnasium, a 1942 Works Progress Administration-era building that is far from regulation.
The 'bench' is the auditorium stage. The out-of-bounds lines are only inches away from concrete walls.
It truly gives the Indians a "home-court advantage," Donahue had joked.
I called the school, but the superintendent/head football coach wasn't in his office, the secretary told me.
He was at the gym.
I chuckled.
It couldn't be, I thought to myself.
It just couldn't be.
"Melissa," I started slowly, "is Coach Donahue also the basketball coach?"
He is, she replied.
For both boys AND girls.
Of course, Coach Donahue didn't make a big deal out of it when I asked him about it.
His two assistant coaches are both young and he wants to make sure the team is coached the proper way, with a focus on making sure the kids learn the basics.
"Imm training them the way that I want it done," he said about his assistants. "I'm teaching those guys how to teach the kids."
He knew all year he'd be on the basketball court, he said.
No big deal, he stressed.
"The teachers here work extremely hard. They have a lot of extra jobs, so I do, too," he said.
In a small school, you've got to wear a lot of hats.
In a small school, you've got to be committed to doing whatever it takes to make the school a success.
But in a small school, it really, really helps if you can find an Ed Donahue.
Posted by Lara Richards at 02:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Locked cars
February 08, 2007Everyone has their distinct personalities.
Their own peculiar quirks.
And that goes triple for our photography staff, which I've realized first-hand traveling many miles with them through our region.
We have four photographers at the TRN, and Jeffrey Haderthauer is the latest edition. He's been here about two years and joined the paper when I wasn't working here, so I'm just starting to get to know him.
One of Jeff's main attributes, in my own opinion -- MY opinion, let me stress -- is that he's not from a small town.
He's not necessarily "big city," mind you, but he grew up in the north and has spent most of his life in towns/suburbs not the size of Vernon or Henrietta and definitely not Crowell.
Jeff's not snooty about it, per se. He doesn't degrade small town life.
He's just not small town. AT ALL.
Which brings me to the story.
Anytime I'm out in the region with Jeff, I always laugh after we stop for an assignment because he always, always, always, locks his SUV.
Always.
We were in a cotton field off a little FM road.
He locked his car.
We parked outside the closed Megargel High School.
I heard the beep-beep of his car alarm.
We stopped at the Bluegrove Cemetery to wander around the old historic graveyard hidden deep in the heart of Clay County.
Beep-beep again.
And Jeff always does it, and I always make fun of him.
"Who's gonna break in? Coyotes?" I joke.
So you can imagine my surprise and sheer joy when he and I went to the Joe Schroeder Dairy in Windthorst two weeks ago.
We pulled up to Mesquite Valley Farms, a new milk bottling facility on the farm located about a mile outside of Windthorst.
Down a dirt road, of course.
We got out of his SUV and started to walk to the door.
I didn't hear a beep-beep.
Jeff looked at me and proclaimed his new-found trust of the region.
"Hey, Lara, I didn't lock my car."
And I smiled like any proud small-town mama would.
Posted by Lara Richards at 10:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
