I can still smell the wet rubber, feel the chill of the 37-degree air, and the sound of Coach Tom Nortons feet banging on the wooden bench. Oh, the memories of playing Peewee hockey. Other than my dad, Coach Tom Norton was my most memorable coach. Mr. Norton was a raspy, silver-haired man who always wore a tie when he coached. I followed that same tie-wearing pattern when I coached my son’s Peewee team 36 years later. Coach Tom stood about 5’ 7” but in our eyes he was a giant. He commanded attention, he demanded respect, and he insisted that you be decisive in your actions even if you were wrong. “Do it with passion and gusto; even if you’re wrong!” he yelled. During one of our practices, I was racing to center ice for a puck but then thought the other defenseman was getting it, so I stopped . . . so did the other defenseman, thinking apparently that I was going to get it. Coach Norton blew the whistle and screamed my name. “Schmidt, which one are you, Alphonse or Gaston?” I had no clue what he was talking about and he could see it in my eyes. Then he started making erratic flailing gestures with his hands and body and muttering, “After you my dear Alphonse. No after you Mr. Gaston.” Coach Norton looked quite silly in this display but I didn’t dare laugh. He said, “If you don’t understand, look it up when you get home, son.” radioink/Article.asp?id=2810479&spid=24698
Posted on: Thu, 03 Jul 2014 21:25:13 +0000