Coach Garbett and the Shoe Shine Kid

     It was around 1968 or 69.  A new kid, Mike Shannon, had just transferred to Henrico High School from one of the city schools in Richmond.  He was a nice enough kid but if you spent any time at all with him, he found a way to pluck your last nerve.  Part of it was that since he was the new kid, he was putting a tremendous effort on fitting in and he wanted to establish himself as one of the cool kids.  Back then, the world was made up of two kinds of people: popular kids and unpopular kids and Shannon (most of us guys had taken to referring to him by his last name) coveted being one of the cool kids.  Of course, he had a few strikes against him.  He wasn’t gross looking or anything, but he wasn’t going to win any beauty contests either.  He had braces, blue eyes and blonde hair and he wasn’t as big as a minute, five feet nothing and weighing 100 and nothing.  But he wanted to be popular and would say and do anything to achieve that status with his peers.

     We were in Coach Garbett’s gym class together in 8^th Grade.  It was the only fun class for many of us.  The rest of the classes required too much effort and doing homework and taking tests etc., but in gym class, it didn’t matter how stupid you were and if you were a guy, at least you never got embarrassed in front of girls for poor performance.  You could focus on strength and speed and it didn’t matter how awkward, gangly or uncoordinated you were, your status in the group was established by your athletic prowess in the first week of school, unless of course, you were a transfer student during the middle of the school year like Mike Shannon.

     On rainy days, the P.E. staff would have to improvise the curriculum because all the classes going on would be forced indoors and the gym would have to be split up to accommodate all of them.  There were classrooms that were used for Health or Driver’s Ed, or for such occasions as inclement weather. On one such day, Coach Garbett let us avoid doing any real work and treated it like a study hall.  Kids could read or socialize, play checkers or chess or cards, or just stare at the walls until the bell rang.

 I need to go on and get this out of the way before I get too deep in the story.  Some of the male coaching staff were JERKS. Coach Garbett avoided this distinction as far as I was concerned.  The boy’s coaches seemed to have that macho 60’s thing going.  They commanded respect from the boys but rarely gave back the respect that they felt they deserved. It was their class and they weren’t going to put up with any monkey business from a snot-nosed kid who was just as likely to be prepubescent as not.  At that age, the world was a turbulent and sometimes violent place among the boys.  It could be difficult to navigate all the changes going on inside of oneself, let alone, trying to figure out how to survive each day before you could go home at the final bell.  This was supposed to be one of the good schools in the area, but there were fights every day and they would draw big crowds until one or several of the teachers were able to break it up, or in some cases, one kid was decidedly beaten up quickly and said “uncle”.  And if there was blood, the victor was going to get ratted out by the loser or some Dudley Do-right. Millennial's would have been miserable in that environment and wouldn’t have lasted a day.  Things were black and white in those days and everybody understood the rules.  If you had a conflict with another kid during gym class, the coaches would get the boxing gloves hanging on a nail on the wall in the coaches’ office and the boys would settle the issue like “gentlemen”.  That was the standard and the protocol, and we understood it completely.  Serious injury was rare at that age.  About the worst thing that could happen was getting a bloody nose, but every boy had the option to chicken out if he didn’t want to risk a bloody nose.  He just had to suffer the consequences of damaging his reputation.  I chickened out from fighting Johnny Bowen in one such scenario in 7^th Grade and have regretted it ever since, but that’s a different story.

    People that know me might say, “well why don’t you just forgive those coaches who were jerks to you, after all, that was about 50 years ago”, but it’s not really a matter of forgiveness.  Things were the way they were.  There is nothing to forgive and I don’t have any leftover bitterness or anything like that.  As intimidating as that environment was for many of us in the lower grades being thrown in with the upper class-men, we survived.  But the fact remains, some of the P.E. coaches were JERKS back then.  That was my honest assessment then and I still do not believe that my appraisal was wrong.  I’m not judging anybody, just simply recalling the way it was, and still, some of the memories are fond ones. I could be nice and be magnanimous, take the high road and all that, but I won’t, and I will not apologize for my opinion, and I ain’t in any mood to sugar coat anything.  And if any of those JERKS who would now be considered old geezers want to debate how they treated their students, I have a couple of pairs of boxing gloves hanging on a nail on the wall of my own garage.  And I ain’t no 135 pound 8^th grader anymore.  We can settle any differences like “gentlemen” like they used to encourage us little guys to do.

     Now that I got that unpleasant part of the story out of the way, back to Coach Garbett, who was NOT a JERK.  Maybe I liked him because he would treat his boys like human beings and not some inferior creature, on whom he would be compelled to exhibit his dominance.  He would talk to us and show an interest.  Maybe I like Coach Garbett because I was flattered that he recruited me to come out for the track team.  Recruiting like that was very unusual.  Coach Garbett was an innovator in that sense because it simply didn’t happen much.  Coach Garbett achieved a lot of success because of it.  His teams were large in comparison to other High School track teams and if I am not mistaken, it resulted in multiple championships.

     On one rainy day, during gym class, Mike Shannon was playing a game of checkers or chess.  He might have been playing against Winnen Russ, or it might have been another student.  The only people I specifically remember being in that class were Mike Shannon, Winnen Russ, myself and Coach Garbett.  If it wasn’t Winnen playing against Shannon, Winnen was close by with Coach and a few others, including myself, who were just watching the match and I am sure providing some sarcastic commentary on the game in progress.  At some point during the game, Mike Shannon hands Coach Garbett a penny and says, “Here you go Coach, go shine your shoes”.  And suddenly, the world changed.  Coach Garbett, quick as a panther, grabs Mike Shannon with both hands by his shirt collar around his neck and slams him up against the wall.  Shannon’s feet were off the floor, dangling beneath his body, his back pinned to the wall as Coach Garbett, red faced, neck veins bulging, and eyes full of rage said, “Shannon, don’t you ever disrespect me again”.  I think there were a few other choice words directed at Shannon.  I don’t remember anything else that Coach Garbett said, but I do remember that the rest of the class had suddenly grown silent as everyone in the room was now watching with fear and awe at the predicament in which Mike Shannon found himself, dangling off the floor in the firm grip of a grown man who had just had his last nerve, plucked like a guitar string.  Eventually, Coach Garbett regained his composure and released Mike Shannon from the wall.  As far as I know, there were never any official repercussions, something that could never have happened in today’s politically correct world.  But the times were different, and while many of us were at peace with the world and just accepted the status quo of the way things were, many of my peers look back longingly and think we have lost more than we have gained.  Time marches on, waiting for no one, and as we grow older, our circles become smaller until it’s our time to stop marching. But our legacies can continue to march on through the memories of the ones we have touched with our lives

     Coach Garbett passed away last week.  There was a memorial service held in Saluda this past Sunday in his honor.  Ironically, I had just reminded Winnen Russ about that day a few weeks ago, so his death sparked a little nostalgia from a time when things seemed a little simpler and yes, maybe even a little better for those of us who feel a little out of place in today’s world.  I can say that Coach Garbett was always a gentleman to me.  He served as a role model and mentor to many students and athletes who attended Henrico High School in the 60’s and 70’s and was a cut above many of his peers. RIP Coach Garbett.  You made a difference to many and will be missed by them.