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GOODBYE, COACH I 279

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 1993
10:40A.M.

The funeral services for Coach Lewis were starting in twenty minutes.
I sat in seat 18A on Reno Airlines on flight 59 from San Jose to San
Diego.
It had been a beautiful, peaceful flight over the Salinas Valley and
the LA Basin, where I first met Coach Lewis. We had traveled these
skies many times together. A lifetime-my life-was flooding through
my mind as I looked down from thirty thousand feet over the State of
California, the place where many opportunities were opened for me
by my high school coach. He challenged me to be what I wanted to be.
He motivated my mind to the possibility of going to college. He rec-

ommended me to Pappy Waldorf and Pete Newell at the University
of California-Berkeley. He was a second father to me, there for me at
the right time.
We were scheduled to land at 10:20 a.m. Frank Mattarocci, a for-
mer Cal teammate, was picking me up in one of his presidential limos
in time for the 11:00 a.m. service in Ocean Beach.
But there was a problem on the runway. No planes were landing
at the San Diego airport. We circled the airport fourteen times in
twenty minutes. We were going to have to refuel soon. Then we were
rerouted to Ontario.
As a captive of this stranded plane, I was helpless. I grew numb
with unventable anger. My stomach churned from pent-up sadness
and empty feelings of loss. I was overwhelmed by my lack of power
over this situation.
How could I miss this appointment? Coach Lewis had taught me
the respect for self and for others demonstrated by being on time. And
here I was, missing the whole event. How could I do this to the Coach,

Mrs. Lewis, and the Lewis family and friends? How could Coach Lewis
forgive me for this? How could I forgive myself? I was suspended ten