"The Wind Blows Might Nigh..."

From: Carl R. Holladay

To: 'Scott Portis' ; 'Bobby Ward' ; 'Ward, Paul - 08'

Cc:

Sent: Tuesday, December 11, 2007 7:40 AM

Subject: RE: Coach Ward

Scotty et al.

Thanks for the stories about Coach Ward. I, too, remember him fondly.

I can identify with the Ray Chandler stories. Once, during recess, while we were playing baseball, I made some snide remark about him, not realizing the danger of doing so while he was holding a baseball bat in his hands. A few seconds later I felt it in the pit of my stomach. I thought I’d never breathe again. Needless to say, I watched my words from then on.

One memory from football practice. Coach Ward was working with the linemen over on the far side of Pudor Field. It was one of those drills where the linemen broke up into two groups, one carried the ball, the other tackled, the action taking place between two blocking dummies Coach had placed to create the lane. No sooner had the ball been given to me than I realized that I was facing Warren Blankenship, with nowhere to go but straight ahead. I figured that my young life was over. At Coach’s signal, I forged ahead, but Warren had mercy on me. If you ever need an image to connect to the Scripture, “It’s a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God,” think of Warren. Needless to say, I was happy to see him graduate that year and move on to higher things.

For some reason, I remember Coach Ward’s clipboard. Never have I seen a clipboard put to so many good uses. Of course, it held his plays and other papers for practice. But I think I recall it being used to hammer lazy players on the helmet or bust them in the seat of the pants, and who knows what else? Others can correct me here if my memory is playing tricks on me.

Others are right in recalling how Coach Ward, Mr. Pudor, and others taught us discipline and teamwork. As for the latter, one lesson I still remember, and have recalled over the years, is how he taught us to kick-off. Walking up and down the field, he told each of us on the kicking team to look to the other end of the field and imagine a lane 5-10 yards wide that we were responsible for. “If everybody protects his lane and lets nothing through, they can’t run a kickoff back,” he’d say, or words to that effect. Over the years, I’ve sometimes reflected on that as a pretty good defensive strategy in other situations.

He was also a superb teacher. I still have vivid memories of how he taught us to block and tackle. He not only taught us, but he also showed us. He’d get down in position, with his calf muscles bulging, show us how to spring off the line, and actually block the other player without holding him. To this day, I still can’t believe they allow NFL linemen such free use of their hands. As for tackling, he insisted on putting your shoulder into the runner’s gut, reaching for his legs, clasping your hands, and putting him on his back. Football for him, at least in my brief experience, was a game of basics, and he taught them well.

Not that I ever mastered either of these, but Ricky Lankford, Buster Barger, and I seemed to have done something right as we held down the left side of the defensive line our senior year. We lost our first game (to Milan, I think). We used a single wing (I was playing right guard). The next week, Coach Ward switched us to a T (or split-T) formation, which we used the rest of the year. I was switched to defensive end, and I think we went undefeated that year. He drilled my assignment into me. I was to cross the line of scrimmage, take down the pulling guards, and turn the play in. If the QB kept the ball and turned in, he was mine (or Ricky’s). If he handed off, Buster as the outside linebacker would take care of the running back. I recall that a good bit of that year I spent lying on my back watching pulling guards and tail backs running over me.

One more story. There was the time, I think it was against Bruceton, but it may have been in practice, when we were lined up for a play, and one of the defensive linemen sounded off about how he was going to pulverize us, and without missing a beat, Guy Fowler was heard to exclaim, “The wind blows might nigh every night!”

I’m sure some of the details are fuzzy and have probably been created out of the fog of memory. Others are welcome to correct me.

Regards,

Carl

Carl R. Holladay

Charles Howard Candler Professsor of New Testament

Candler School of Theology

Emory University

Atlanta, GA 30322

Office: (404) 727-4017

Fax: (404) 727-2494

Mobile: (404) 754-8265

"Hey, Hay Seed!"

From: Scotty Portis
Sent: Thursday, December 06, 2007 4:57 PM
To: Bobby Ward; Ward, Paul - 08
Cc: Tom Portis; Tim Priest; Scott M. Portis; Ronnie&Nancy Rice; Ray Ivey; Paul Allen; Johnny Pitts; John Clement; Joe Smothers; Gloria Fortner; Fred Holladay; Duck Priest; Betty Ann Tanner; Buster Barger; Carl Holladay; Charlie Rhodes; Ned Priest
Subject: Fw: Coach Ward

Winston (Charles), great blog about your colon (glad it was ok). Every body needs a colonoscopy eventually. Also, I would encourage readers of this email to go to Winston's (his ailas) to read his side splitting humor of life at Huntingdon High School. Addresses below.

Great words also for our revered Coach. I knew Ray Chandler very well and was on the receiving end of at least one of his fights. The fight was so intense we rolled in the ditch (water included) down by the little store on Benton Street close to the old high school. I called him "Buffalo" and then preceded to pay the price. We became great friends on the football team during high school. I threw him a very important pass for a touchdown during the Paris game my senior year. The pass was not that good but Ray snaked his way through the entire Paris defense for one of the early TD's (final Mustangs 41-Paris 7). These were during Coach Wards days (years one and two after Larry Stewart) that the Huntingdon faithful thought that a successful season was not only winning every game but not letting the other team even score. Ray was an excellent football player as a blocker and pass catcher.

Coach Ward literally pulled Ray out of the scrap heap and made a solid citizen out of him. Poor Ray met an untimely death from the dreaded cancer (leukemia I think).

Phillip Barnett related a very funny story to me this morning at his gym concerning Johnny Compton. At Coach Ward's funeral someone remarked, "Poor Coach Ward, he will once more have to put up with ole Johnny Compton". I knew Johnny and have long heard of his antics on and off the football field. Tim Priest will enjoy this and probably remember this incident. Seems that the Mustangs had an open date mid season and Coach not wanting his well oiled machine to get rusty filled that date with a team from Nashville. When the team bus pulled up, one of the first players off the bus looked at Johnny and said "Hey, hay seed, we liked to have not found this hole". "We finally had to follow the 'cow shit' just to get here".

After the ensuing kick off Huntingdon had the ball and Compton looked up while still in the huddle to see the same guy who would be playing across from him in the line. Compton preceded to tell Tim that there was going to be a 5 yd. penalty for "off sides" on this first play. Tim said, "Johnny, how do you know"? Comp's reply "Tim, you just call the signals". Well, if the snap count was on 3 at 2 Compton jumped in that guys face and rearranged his nose with a tremendous forearm; I believe it may still be called a "forearm shiver". That set the tone and Huntingdon won the game something like 40 to 0. Tim, feel free to jump in and correct any of this as it is second hand and you were there. I remember Johnny as being a force on both sides of the ball (God rest his soul).

Thanks again to Charles (Wintson) Rhodes for his comments and to all of you who have participated and will continue to participate. These stories have done a lot to help a broken heart (mine) and hopefully for Little Paul (sorry Paul Jr. but that is how I know you), Bobby and Ms. Kay.

God Speed.

Scott Portis (Mustang 1955-1958)

A Helping Hand

From: Charlie Rhodes
Cc: Tim Priest; 'Marshall F. Priest MD, FACC' ; 'john pitts' ; 'Tom Portis' ; 'Scott M. Portis' ; 'Ronnie&Nancy Rice' ; 'Randy Clement' ;'John Clement' ; 'Joe Smothers' ; 'Gloria Fortner' ; 'Betty Ann Tanner' ; 'Fred Holladay' ; 'Gary Hall' ; 'Paul Allen' ; 'Ray Ivey' ; 'Wallace Pinkley'

Sent: Thursday, December 06, 2007 6:30 AM

Subject: Re: Coach Ward

My apologies for the delay in joining in the discussion here. I have been distracted for a few days with prepping for, having, and then blogging about, my first... and last ... colonoscopy. For the brave, curious, or perverted among you who have a few minutes to burn, you too can experience it at: http://www.nobodyasked.com/2007/12/01/colonoscopy/
For those who do not know, I write under a pseudonym, or chosen name, Winston Rand, in an attempt to retain some decency with the Rhodes family name.

Being a 98 pound weakling with allergies to everything, it was impossible for me to play football. But growing up in Huntingdon, I couldn't help but learn to love the game. That allure continues now, decades later, as an avid Vols and Titans fan. Playing in Mr. Tate's band helped me to grow into a 198 pound weakling who anchors the Lazy-Boy on Saturdays and Sundays, and works out by walking Neyland Stadium steps a few times each fall. While I had no close association with Coach Ward, I developed a deep and abiding respect of him ... at times it took on the trappings of fear ... from some of my closest friends. That group included Bill Rice (R.I.P.), Levoy Brown (anybody know where he is?), Jim Fortner, James David Woodard, Buddy Ezell, and others. So, while I have no real story to tell about Coach Ward, I will relate one strong and meaningful memory of him. Anyone who can fill in or correct the details, please do so.

There was a lad being raised in less than desirable circumstances. Some would call in squalor. In the cities, they would have been called "street people". I never knew what happened to his parents, but he had been taken in by his grandfather, who was known as Buffalo. Having no real family, and missing the building block foundations that the rest of us had as kids in family environments, the young man got into trouble frequently. He had learned to fight and would take on ... and whip ... any kid in town. To his credit, or perhaps by a combination of efforts by his grandfather and teachers, he did come to school most of the time. When he applied himself, he was not a bad student. Recess, whether picking a fight on the playground or sneaking smokes, was his strength. Motivation and discipline were not to be found among his strengths.

Whether in phys ed class, by casual observation on the playground, feedback from other teachers, I never knew. But Coach Ward took an interest in the young man. Coach became a surrogate father in many respects, even to the point of making sure the strapping young man had food and clothes. My memory is fuzzy here, but some of you may recall -- Coach Ward may have taken the young man in to live in his home the last year or so of his HHS career. This kid, who had nothing, was pulled out of a hopeless situation to become Co-Captain of the football Mustangs his Senior year, when he was also Senior class ('60) president. After college (Memphis State, I think) he became a contributing member of society and the community in Dyersburg, where he lived until his untimely early death from cancer at age 45. Without the firm but gentle, caring hand of Coach Ward, that young man would likely have spent his life like his grandfather -- rummaging through trash and doing odd jobs about town, when he was not a resident of City Jail. You might remember him. His close friends called him "Razor", for reasons long forgotten. His name was Ray Chandler.

Many of you have related stories of the stern discipline and hard work you learned from Coach Ward on the gridiron. There is no doubt he was a great teacher and coach who helped many boys develop into men. But when I think of Coach Ward, what stands out first and most is his generosity and caring as demonstrated by his nurturing of Ray Chandler.

Incidentally, Scotty mentioned my blog, and while I would not dare to bore you with it, there are a couple of stories that you might enjoy:

Mr. Tate: http://www.nobodyasked.com/2007/02/09/senior-math-mouth/

Firetower: http://www.nobodyasked.com/2007/01/25/journey-to-fear/

Charlie Rhodes