No room to park
and people somber,
well dressed
headed to the church.
Students wearing an adult face
and their Sunday best.
No seats and still more coming.
Standing by the side aisles
and in the entry hall.
Five hundred friends and family
and one stranger.
They waited together.
Respectful silence quietly broken
by a whispered tale of teaching
or coaching.
Students looking at each other for
confirmation of their new behavior.
The vestibule overflowed to outside
and still more arrived.
The loving warmth of the five hundred
taking the chill
from the cool kiss of death.
The one for whom they weep was washed
to the shores of Valhalla on a wave
of salty tears.
But a stranger was dry eyed.
He could not weep
for a man he hardly knew.
To honestly mourn
the stranger needed to know the man
for whom so many wept.
The bier had a tennis racket
floral arrangement
as a reminder of happy times shared.
The minister and a friend had much
to say of the man.
They were there to bury
a man of substance.
Patient teacher of those
who needed his patience
and love.
A believing,
optimistic coach who looked for
for ways to help
each reach a potential
in life as well as sports.
Gentle kindness
mixed with edge softening.
Humor made him
a masculine role model
for generations of players and students.
Thus was described a loved man,
a good man,
a school man,
a family man,
a community man.
The widow shared in a note
her supportive
intimacy with her husband.
She told of a husband
who provided a safe port
where shoes are thrown off in
defiance of the terrible confusion
outside of the charmed circle.
As " If You Were Somehow Here Again"
was sung
the stranger wept
for the man.
He now could honestly
grieve for Jack.
He was no longer a stranger
and the stranger
joined the five hundred.