Ode to Mr. Coonley

By Jack Rightmyer

Having been an athlete most of my life and a high school track and cross-country coach for over 30 years, it’s hard for me to describe how much I’m missing the local sports scene. Since 1974 I’ve attended just about every William F. Eddy High School Track Meet as a competitor, a coach and as a spectator. The meet was cancelled this year because of the pandemic, and the day of the race I went out for a run and thought about some of my favorite Eddy Meet memories. My favorite occurred back in 1983, and it involved my best friend’s father Mr. Norm Coonley, who passed away a few years ago.

Mr. Coonley was one of those “Greatest Generation” guys. He served in World War II, was honorably discharged, moved back to Schenectady, got a sales job, fell in love, got married, and eventually had five children. As his family got larger, he built on to his house to make it fit, and he supported his children in all they did. I spent many nights and afternoons at the Coonley house listening to his funny stories. He was the father many of us wished we had.

Mr. Coonley was the kind of guy who saw the worth in everyone. I started hanging out at his house when I became friends with his son Jim, a track teammate of mine. This was a family that talked together at the dinner table. Conversation was important to them, and the conversation was quick and witty. You had to be on your toes to eat at that house, and you had to be ready to laugh at any second.

Mr. Coonley loved sports. He was a semi-pro baseball pitcher in his youth, and I loved when he came to our track and cross-country meets. He always had a kind and supportive word for us when we ran. He knew running was a tough sport. His son Tim, who was five years older than me, had once been a track star at our high school. Tim’s name was on the school record board in the hallway. I’d pass by that every day walking to class and wish my name was up there.

Mr. Coonley always welcomed all of his son’s friends back when we’d come home from college. He’d want us to sit and tell him all about where we were and what college was like. Mr. Coonley never went to college, but all his children did, and he was proud of how hard they worked to accomplish all they did.

After college I got a job teaching English and coaching the track and cross-country team at Notre Dame Bishop Gibbons, my old high school. I was 22 years old and coaching some top-level high school runners and loving every second of it. Mr. Coonley not only knew who my good runners were, but he even stopped by some of our biggest area meets to watch them run, and I wasn’t even his son.

It was 1982, the year I got married, when his son Tim was diagnosed with brain cancer. Tim was in the prime of his life with a great job, happily married and about to become a father. His older brother Craig was a doctor and was able to get Tim the best care possible, but it wasn’t enough and he died in the spring of 1983.

This was the worst time ever in the life of Mr. Coonley, who had grown up as a poor kid in the Depression and had suffered the loss of his parents. “I’m worried about my dad,” Jim would tell me over the phone from Connecticut, where he was living at that time. “Tim’s death has hit him hard. The life has really gone out of him.”

I felt so bad for Mr. Coonley and the entire family. I had gotten to know Tim pretty well in the past five years, and it was hard to imagine that someone as young and as lively as him was no longer here. It made me appreciate how good my life was at that moment. I had only been married for eight months. I was teaching English at my old high school and loving every bit of my coaching.

Our biggest meet of the year was coming up soon the William F. Eddy Meet, and one of my top runners Thom Day had a chance to win the 800 meters. All the area newspapers had written extensively about the number of quality runners that would be coming to the meet and Thom Day’s name was mentioned as someone from the area who had a shot to win.

About 30 minutes before Thom’s race I looked down at the Union College track and there was Mr. Coonley standing amidst the throng of spectators. I thought of what Jim had recently said, “I’m worried about my dad… The life has really gone out of him.”

I climbed down from the bleachers, walked up behind him, and placed my arm over his strong shoulders. “Mr. Coonley, I’m so glad to see you.” “Hi, Coach,” he said. “I’m here to see this 800-meter race.” 

“It should be a fast race. How are you doing?” He was quiet for a few seconds but tried to pull himself together. “Not so good.” His eyes were a bit moist. “But I’m happy to be here today and watch your boy run.” “I’m glad you’re here,” I said, trying not to tear up myself. I gave him a pat on the back and we chatted for a few minutes, and then I went to look for Thom to give him a few last-minute instructions.

I could see in Thom’s eyes, minutes before that race, that he was petrified, and why not, he was an area kid with a chance to win going up against the top runners in the state. Everyone in the area, fellow coaches, fellow athletes, local track fans, were rooting for him.

When the gun went off Thom settled in to the top pack of five runners. This was not going to be one of those run slow in the beginning and then kick it in with 200 meters to go. These five runners were racing from the start.  

In the bleachers I followed every move Thom made, and I occasionally glanced down at Mr. Coonley as he screamed encouragement when they raced by for their first lap. Thom had never gone out so fast in his life and I worried that he would fade in the last stretch.  

On the backstretch, with a little over 200 meters to run, he seemed to dip his head down just a bit as if to say, “I’m done. You guys take it.” He fell off the pace just a bit and four runners zoomed ahead of him, by a step then two. I knew winning the race would have been hard for him, but I was expecting that he’d be in the top three, and now it looked like he was going to settle for fifth.

As the runners came around the last turn with a little over 100 meters to go, Thom seemed to pick up his head and lengthen his stride just a tiny bit. He went by one runner, then another. He was barreling down the straightaway like a car out of control. He was in third place, then second and with 15 yards to the finish he erupted into first with a personal best time by over two seconds – and an area best time that would stand for over 20 years.

The crowd was going crazy, jumping up and down and screaming, and Mr. Coonley was beaming and pointing up in the bleachers at me. I ran down and gave him a hug and then made my way to the track to congratulate Thom who was being hugged by his mom and dad.

Amidst all the excitement, I never did see Mr. Coonley after that race. There were reporters to talk to and other coaches and by the time I looked for him, he had left. Through the years when we saw each other Mr. Coonley always used to say, “That was the greatest track race I ever saw, and I went back home happy for the first time in many months.”

I’ve remained friends with Thom Day for these past 30 years. A few years ago, we reminisced about that glorious race, and I told him about Mr. Coonley.

Thom got sort of quiet when I told him that story. “You know I’ve always felt there was something not normal about that race,” he said. “I was beaten, but in that last 100 yards something happened to me and I just took off like it was so easy. I’ve never felt anything like that ever again.  Now I know that it must have been Tim or something, but I was supposed to win that race that day.”

A year before Mr. Coonley died, Thom visited with him and they talked about the war, and how both of them came from large families, and about baseball and running. They spent a lot of time remembering that 1983 Eddy Meet race. Thom gave Mr. Coonley his enormous trophy he won that day.

“I can’t take this,” said Mr. Coonley.

“It’s yours,” said Thom. “I think I won that race because you were supposed to have it that day.”

Jack Rightmyer (jackxc@nycap.rr.com) was a longtime cross-country coach at Bethlehem High School and today is an Adjunct English Professor at Siena College. He has written two books “A Funny Thing About Teaching” and “It’s Not About Winning.”