A Mother’s Day Tribute: The Football Coach’s Wife

Behind Most Every Great Coach, There is a Great Wife. My Mom was One Of Them.

My mother was never an athlete.  Growing up in the 1950s, she would have had few opportunities on a court or field.  Those chances would come for her daughters later, after Title IX was put into effect.  But Mom did have a horse, and won plenty of ribbons for riding back in the day.  And she was a terrific piano player. But traditional sports were not in her wheelhouse.

Mom and her eldest son

However, Mom married a red-blooded, bona fide athlete.  Dad was a hardworking offensive lineman (and team captain) at his high school—the same high school where he was student body president.  He parlayed his prep success into four years of college and football at what is now Western Oregon University.  A 5-7, 160-pound guard who labored under the guidance of legendary coach Bill McArthur—whose name adorns the school’s football field.

Longtime sweethearts at church, Mom and Dad were married right out of high school. I was born nine ½ months later—and yes, the math is accurate.  My first sister followed fifteen months later, and we all lived in a small apartment just a few blocks from campus.  My Mom was a Football Coach’s wife even before my dad had blown his first whistle.  I don’t have any firm memories of that time—maybe the smell of the sawdust under the grandstands or the popcorn bursting open in the old machine in the same area.  But she took us to some games—probably not all, but many of them.  I still have a photo of me perched on my dad’s shoulder.

In the fall of 1962, Dad became a teacher and coach at Mom’s old high school—South Salem High.  By that time, my second sister was on the way, and both Dad—and Mom settled into the football coaching routine that would dictate their lives for three-plus decades, even adding in my little brother and half a dozen foster kids along the way.

Practices for Dad began in the late summer with daily doubles—morning and afternoon sessions where kids wearing full gear—helmets, shoulder pads, and padded pants—would toil under generally sunny skies.  Weight lifting programs weren’t part of the regimen back then, as many players had spent the better part of their summers toiling at various agricultural jobs around the area.

This was when Mom first became a Coach’s wife—and widow.  Those early practices were followed by daily coaches’ meetings, and she was left to tend to her kids alone.  It was a pattern that would be repeated every year.  Once the season began, Dad would teach all day (his specialty was math), then hit the field for practices that ran for around 2 ½ hours.  He would come home tired and hungry, but in a good mood—and we all welcomed him with open arms.  For the first couple of years, Dad coached at the JV level, and was sent to scout the next week’s varsity opponent on Friday nights.  That would be followed by coaches’ meetings on Sundays, when the whole cadre would huddle to watch the Super-8 game films shot, processed and returned for viewing in 36 hours.  Those film sessions would run for 2 to 3 hours.

If the team was successful—and South Salem was successful for most of the sixties and seventies—the season would be extended to the playoffs. (South won the state football title in 1971).  I don’t recall any of the extended season routine specifically, but would not be surprised that there might have been a Thanksgiving Day practice in the mix a few times.

But that is only one part of the story for Mom.  Coaches’ wives were also expected to attend football games.  Not every single one of them—but most of them.  Mom would sometimes get grandparents to watch us, but I remember huddling together on the old rickety wooden bleachers at Bennett Field, covered with Dad’s old college wool blanket, and sipping hot chocolate from the thermos she had brought along.  Trying to watch the game and not think about how cold it was outside.

Thirty-plus years of this same routine for Mom and Dad… first at South Salem, then as the first head coach at Sprague High School, and finally at McNary High.

Add to this, the Salem Football School—an “ahead of its time” summer camp for young football players that Dad ran for 25 years—and you will see that Mom had quite the burden to bear.

And yet, I really don’t recall any arguments about the time involved.  Mom actually did much of the financial figuring for the football school, and she simply viewed the long hours alone as her role in the husband and wife world.

After retiring from coaching, Dad became my broadcast partner on local radio for another 30 years.  It wasn’t the same demanding schedule he had in coaching.  He came early to every Friday night game to talk with coaches, did his normal top-notch game analysis, then was very ready to leave for home shortly after we signed off.  It was great fun, but not the same grueling hours he put in as a coach.  We even added in a few years of college ball at Western Oregon, where he once played.

Still, when he told me he was going to step back from the microphone, I thought it was primarily due to his cancer diagnosis, which took his life three years later.  And it was, but it wasn’t.  He also said that Mom was wanting him at home.  That also was true.  But not the whole truth.

Mom had started to show signs of dementia, but he didn’t really say much about it.  Downplayed it, in fact.  But the truth was, his very busy offspring hadn’t really noticed.  And we just viewed it as a husband taking care of his wife.  And he was caring for her.  But it was also more than that.

The Coach’s wife had done her service, and now it was the Coach’s opportunity to return the favor.  Which he did without complaint or excuse—doing all the cooking, handling the finances, caring for her in all aspects of her life.

And the Coach did it all with his kids remaining somewhat clueless—until the day he broke his arm, and was forced to go to the hospital.  My youngest sister and I traded off staying with Mom—two days on, two days off.  And it was then that we discovered his secret.  Mom’s mind had been slipping more than he was letting on.  From there, the family decided that our parents needed more care than we could provide on our own.  So a senior facility was located, the family home was cleaned and sold, and Mom and Dad were shuttled off to their new lives, just as the COVID pandemic hit.

Dad died in October of 2020.  The viral panic had limited our contact with him.  I cried on and off for weeks.  Mom’s memory situation made her eligible for hospice, which allowed us to visit her without restriction.  She could still identify us kids, but other current life situations were unclear to her.  We had her beloved piano moved into the care facility as a donation, and she played it up until about a month before she passed away in August of 2021.

The Coach’s wife had outlived her spouse, even if her mind bore little resemblance to the bright, inquisitive woman who had managed a household, raised her children and foster kids, and loved a husband.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.  Your first since you left us.