Table of Contents
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I visited Canadian on October 27, 2023 and was so impressed that the short story I intended to write became a book. It began as a story about high school football in my hometown of Two Harbors, Minnesota but soon evolved into a story about good people doing good things for others. In this excerpt, I’ve included four chapters from among the book’s 53 chapters. It will eventually be available as a printed book and audiobook. Meanwhile, you can read it for free via this link which includes a few chapters relevant to the Canadian portion of the book along with a link to the entire story.
I’m looking forward to returning to Canadian next fall for a football game!
Chapter 31: Where Else?
The community of Two Harbors knows good people associated with the high school are willing to do things for others. Some of those people are affiliated with the local high school sports teams. Make a phone call or send an email; they’ll be there.
Good people doing good things for others.
That’s it—the end.
But this can’t be “the end.” It can’t be just my hometown. Somewhere out there, there must be others. I’m guessing there are many. If true, why don’t we hear about them? Where are they?
I was determined to find one. Not necessarily another town where five boys managed the move of an elliptical exercise machine from a garage to a basement. I wasn’t looking for duplicity. But another city where townspeople in all seasons of life were building and maintaining connections and supporting each other.
I wanted to find another town where happiness still happens.
To my surprise—my very pleasant surprise—one email later, I found one.
During the past 12 months, if I was given a nickel every time I asked myself, “How did I wind up here?” I’d have enough money to buy one of those four-dollar cups of Starbucks coffee. Was it fate? Divine guidance? Purely random? I have suspicions but not conclusions.
I was born and raised in Minnesota and spent 18 years in Colorado before a job transfer landed me and my wife, Vickie, in Fort Worth for 10 years. In March of 2023, we returned to Denver, reuniting Vickie with her two daughters and an amazing grandson.
Family matters.
But so does football.
I hope you are laughing.
I wanted to find goodness somewhere other than my hometown. The logical question is, “You couldn’t find it in Colorado?” Good point. I don’t have a good answer for that. The truth is, I didn’t try. Texas left an impression. I miss high school football down there. Not to mention barbeque, Buc-ees, and Brahms. This story became an excuse to return.
Texas would always be the destination, but there was a problem. While living there, I saw many football games but don’t recall hearing stories resembling those emanating from my hometown.
Where would the Texas chapter of this story begin?
My flimsy plan was to email as many Athletic Directors in West Texas as necessary until I found a welcoming school with a story to tell. I needed to find the right small town where football was about more than just winning. I wasn’t confident this was possible. Honestly, I was hesitant to share my story idea with schools in Texas. I thought I might receive a bunch of replies along the lines of “We don’t really do anything like that school back in Minnesota.”
During my first stint in Colorado, my brother—ironically, lived in the suburbs of Dallas. On countless occasions, I drove from Denver to Dallas. In my quest to drive every paved road in America, I often drifted off the beaten path. On two occasions, this included a detour through several memorable towns. I’m a sucker for old-school water towers, single-screen movie theaters, and longstanding athletic fields once trampled by youngsters before they ran off to live fulfilling lives. Several such towns exist in the Texas panhandle:
- Wheeler—home to a beautiful grass-covered football field I’d once walked across after stopping to see the memorial to Apollo astronaut Alan Bean. I was an Apollo fanatic. Spending time there would have been fun.
- Wellington – location of one of my favorite old-school water towers and the beautiful “Ritz” movie theater
- Shamrock—a pivotal location on fabled Route 66 where a beautiful picturesque movie theater, where perhaps my favorite “press box” overlooks the small-town baseball field—Irish Field, and a goosebump generating art deco Conoco service station.
- Canadian–a town on my mental map for three reasons. First, for its exceptional heritage of excellence in a bit of Texas lore—high school football. While living in Texas, Canadian won three state championships in their division. This is a town of 2,500 people. How does this happen? Next, I remember driving through town and seeing the paw prints painted on the local streets. Those prints lead directly to the high school football field. Finally, I grew up 124 miles from the Canadian border. Why is there a town in Texas named Canadian?
Four candidates to contact. I started with one. The tiebreaker was simple. It wasn’t the football championships or paw prints. Canadian was furthest north—closest to Denver. That’s it. That’s all. Geography determined the selection. If Canadian didn’t respond, I’d contact the next closest town—Wheeler. Then Shamrock. Then Wellington.
I emailed a stranger on Saturday, October 21, at 12:19 pm. Seventeen hours later, at 7:15 am on Sunday, a response flew into my Inbox.
I thought, “Who gets up this early on Sunday, checks their emails, responds enthusiastically, then attacks the rest of their day?” I eventually learned that the guy on the other end of this email is wired unlike anyone I’ve ever met.
His name is Andy Cavalier—the Athletic Director and Head Football Coach at Canadian High School.
Andy offered an enthusiastic invitation to attend a football game the following Friday night in Canadian. There are 1,500 high schools in Texas that have football teams. I threw a dart against the wall. That dart couldn’t possibly have landed in a better place. Bullseye.
Chapter 43: Not My Place
This is the story of the best seven dollars I ever spent. One ticket. Keep the stub. Scrapbook it.
While every game day in Canadian is special, tonight will be different. Elevated. Hundreds of people are following the paw prints to Wildcat Stadium. Something big is about to happen. The Wildcats are playing the Tulia Hornets. The game is typically the Friday night headliner, but tonight’s halftime festivities would steal the spotlight even though the Wildcats band traveled to their statewide competition.
It’s uncommon for pregame and halftime to rival or even upstage the game. Tonight will be different.
But what isn’t down here?
The playbill rhythm of this Friday night would be:
Ceremony.
Game.
Ceremony.
Game.
Postgame Ritual.
One ticket provides access to everything—a backstage pass. I should have shined my shoes and worn my Sunday best.
It’s Senior Night in Canadian. A pregame ceremony whereby moms and dads walk onto the field with their sons and daughters. I don’t know any of these people. That doesn’t matter. If you’re the sentimental type—and contrary to everything you’ve read so far, I’m not suggesting that I am—this will get you every time. All those years leading to this moment. What’s going through their minds as they walk onto that field together? Then you notice that one of the dads is starting to cry. Happens every time. Always a dad.
“Hold it together pops. Come on, dude—you can do it. Hold it together, big boy.”
Then he loses it. Full-fledged sobbing. Crap. Look away before you follow his lead. Don’t look. Don’t look. By all means, don’t look!
But humans are compelled to look—we can’t miss moments like that. I looked. My bottom lip started quivering again. Or maybe it just hasn’t stopped since last night.
Watching the procession of football players and cheerleaders with their parents is enough to make this night memorable.
It did.
Nothing more is needed.
There will be more.
We can top that?
Hold my beer. Canadian isn’t done.
Coach Cavalier and Principal James Bryant insisted I meet recently retired former Canadian football coach Chris Koetting during the game. This wasn’t an invitation to meet any ol’ coach in Texas. When you lead your teams to three football State Championships in Texas, you, seemingly by decree of the governor, receive an appendage to your name.
England does it:
Sir Paul McCartney, Sir Elton John, Sir Lewis Hamilton.
Texas does it, too, albeit with less pomp, formality, and a different naming convention. In this case, “Coach Chris Koetting” becomes “Legendary Coach Chris Koetting.”
I know how it works down here. This man is a big deal. Everyone thinks so. I was hours from learning that I’d need to correct that previous sentence. It should read: “Everyone thinks so—everyone other than Chris Koetting.”
Coach Cavalier had a job to do—a team to coach. His team jumped out to an early lead and never relented. Meanwhile, Principal Bryant served as my chaperone for much of the night. He let me wander around unsupervised at times. But I’d eventually find my way back to him. That wasn’t difficult—he was never far away—keeping an eye on me and all that. We agreed to wait until after halftime before James would introduce me to Coach Koetting.
The second quarter ended. Halftime arrived. One team left the field—the Tulia Hornets would have plenty of time to regroup for the second half. The Canadian Wildcats football players removed their helmets, placed them in an orderly manner on the backline of the end zone, and then returned to midfield.
They were joined by dozens of people, all past their uniform-wearing years. While it’s been a while since some of these folks last walked onto that field, many looked like they could quickly throw on a helmet, jersey, football pants, and shoes and compete admirably in the second half. This was a field where they worked tirelessly to earn Coach Koetting’s respect. That meant everything to them then. Tonight, they returned to Canadian, to Locust Street, to share their respect for him. That means everything to Coach Koetting now.
Tonight, the football field was about to receive a new name:
“Chris Koetting Field at Wildcats Stadium.”
This ceremony didn’t follow the typical post-retirement timeline of deferring such honors for many years—sometimes decades, for this honor to be bestowed. There are times when it’s OK to sidestep those guidelines. This warranted that. This ceremony wasn’t only about the trophies in the high school display case. It was about a special person—the great leader, Chris Koetting, who went from a childhood of playing on the streets and fields of Panhandle, Texas, to having a field named after him in a town 73 miles away.
He made quite an impression.
After winning state championships, Coach Koetting was known for encouraging his players, “Don’t let this be the greatest day of your life.” Go on. Keep striving. Keep doing good things. Top this. Don’t stop here. Tonight, his directive to them boomeranged right back to him. The presence of so many of his former football players at Wildcat Stadium was an example of them abiding by their coach’s directive—they made this another great day in their collective lives.
Can anything equal winning those state championships?
I’ll go out on a limb. Tonight did.
These folks have been on quite a ride with Chris Koetting. All those bus rides around the panhandle. Mostly winning, rarely losing. Then, those trips from Dallas back to Canadian with the championship trophies crowd-surfing from the front of the bus, to the back, then back to the front. Emotions were as high as they can be. That elation thing.
Invincible.
Tonight, the emotions were just as strong but different. Tapped into a different sentiment sector. The reverence sector. All those “yes, sir, no sir” lessons of childhood lead to nights like this. Affirming to someone who lived down the street that they made a difference. Demonstrating by your presence that one man’s leadership still resonates. Still celebrating. All fortunate to have crossed paths with each other.
It’s a heck of a way to say, “Thanks, Coach!”
Another layer, as deep and heavy as the red clay of Texas, had risen to the surface, ever-present on this night. Five months earlier, at the end of the 2023 school year, Coach Koetting and his wife, Rosemary, decided it was time for Chris to retire. The coach was facing another significant adversary—one known as early-onset dementia.
Sobering news.
There’s always a story behind the story, beyond the headline—the under-the-radar stuff. The halftime ceremony was very much about two people, not one. The field would be named after their former coach. Still, the older folks among us are acutely aware of the importance of a supportive wife, mother, and friend delivered to a guy when that marriage thing happens. Tonight was also about Coach Koetting’s lifetime teammate—his wife, Rosemary—a Registered Nurse for more than 20 years, who has taught Health Science careers classes at CHS since 2019 when the Koetting’s twin sons were Seniors.
This was her night, too.
In October of 2024, Rosemary shared that Chris is doing well. Playing a lot of golf. Together, they hiked to the highest peak in New Mexico and ran a half marathon in Jackson, Wyoming. Coach is still accomplishing things off the field—competing again, just as he did with his football teams. But he’s now competing alongside his lifelong teammate, Rosemary.
Coach Koetting’s former football players followed him onto this and other Texas football fields dozens of times. On this night, they’d once again follow their leader. In victory, he preferred to step to the side—letting others receive the credit, let them have their moment. Tonight, it would be impossible for him to slip into the shadows.
This was about the man—the boy who played football in Panhandle, Texas, played games in his neighborhood, and aspired to inspire others. Round peg, round hole. The perfect fit. The right time and place for this chapter of Chris’s life to be lived.
During the ceremony, those who love him are standing behind him. Intentional or figurative, the message was clear: “We’ve got your back, coach, we’ve got your six.”
”It's I got your number, I got your back, when your back's against the wall. You mess with one man you got us all."
I’m a stranger to Canadian. I’ve never met Coach Koetting. That didn’t matter. This ceremony flipped all my frog-in-the-throat switches—happiness, sadness, reverence, and honor. Good people doing something for another. In essence, this ceremony was about the person. The trophies were the derivative of Chris Koetting just being himself.
The ceremony concluded. Halftime was over. It was time for the younger boys to resume playing their game. Meanwhile, Koetting’s former players surrounded him on the sideline as the game continued.
One thing became apparent. I walked over to Principal Bryant and said, “James, I’ll need to skip meeting Coach Koetting tonight. I don’t want to take one single minute away from him and his players. This is not my place. Not my time. It’s his, and it’s theirs.”
In response, James offered an agreeable nod. He understood.
8:54 PM
As the game progressed into the fourth quarter, I was standing on the sideline, not far from those lingering nearby for their opportunity for a quick conversation with the man who’d made such an impact on their lives.
I couldn’t hear those conversations. I didn’t need to. I just needed to observe. The handshakes—the manly hugs—one former player after another approaching Coach Koetting, squaring up in front of him, steadfast eye contact, then offering their words of appreciation. All good, but something was different. Those manly greetings were altered—the traditional handshake, right shoulders bumping together, left arms reaching around with two or three quick back slaps. Ya, that still happened, but with a subtle difference. As guys, we have a time limit on those back slaps. Proper protocol mandates a split-second bump, then a quick release. Then, one or two more. Tonight, those split-seconds turned into full-seconds. The final back slap leading to an embrace. Rules were broken. Those violations of protocol told me all I needed to know.
They love this man.
This is what love looks like. Love for each other. Love for football. Love for Canadian.
One former player talking to Coach Koetting enthusiastically pointed toward the south end zone while sharing a memory. He and the coach laughed heartily. Something happened there. It may have been a decade ago. It connected them then, it will connect them forever. It’s good to have those little things that become forever things—especially when it involves someone else.
A thin line of white chalk—the sideline of the football field, separated all of them from their childhood. Every one of them wanted to cross that line. The calendar tells them no. Many of these guys experienced the pinnacle of their high school sport—Texas High School Football State Champions. They did that together. They write books and make movies about that kind of thing, don’t they?
Most of us don’t know how that variety of sporting elation feels. They do. That’s gone. They aren’t.
Another sentence correction is needed. “That’s gone?” Their elation may have tempered but will always simmer. That’s part of what I’m observing tonight. That feeling of elation persists. They are back here tonight because of that.
All I could do was watch. Those conversations were taking them all across Texas. From one field and bus ride to another. From their lives with Coach Koetting to their lives today. Every one of these guys experienced life as a Wildcat in a different way. Their personal way.
They lived it. I didn’t.
“Their place, not mine,” I kept telling myself. “Their place, not mine.”
Completion of a Tulia Hornet pass led to a short gain. A Canadian Wildcat defensive back made the tackle just a few feet away from me, near the sideline at the 20-yard line. I’d drifted a bit too close to the action. Moments later, a hand firmly clenched my shoulder. I immediately thought, “Security guard—I’m too close to the field.”
I turned around. This was neither a security guard nor law enforcement. One man had separated from his pack. This was a man who, amid one of the biggest nights of his life, was about to make my next 10 minutes among my most memorable.
“Hello, I’m Chris Koetting. Are you the guy writing the story about Canadian and your hometown?”
What the…
“Yes, sir, coach, I’m that guy. My name is Tom Smith. I’ve enjoyed my first day in Canadian. It’s an honor to meet you.”
I suspect my response wasn’t that smooth. I was too surprised—a bit staggered that he somehow knew who I was and that he approached me. It was supposed to be the other way around—me asking for a few minutes of his time–not him asking for mine.
Curiosity is a wonderful thing. Coach Koetting seems blessed with an abundance.
“What motivated you to write this story?”
“What led you here to Canadian?”
“When did you start writing?”
“What kinds of stories have you written?”
“Where will we be able to see and read this story?”
This was one of the most significant nights of Coach Koetting’s sports-consumed life. With his kindness, he knocked down my preconceived notions of “not my place, not my time.” He made me feel at home. Even more, on this momentous night when this football field was named after him, Coach Koetting did something I’m still trying to comprehend:
He made ME feel like I was the most important person at Wildcat Stadium.
There were roughly 792 people at the game that night. In terms of importance, I ranked #792. But I could have floated back to the hotel.
The “what the heck happened” feeling persists nearly a year later.
My thoughts often flow back to Coach Nelson in Minnesota. Coach Koetting wasn’t just asking questions. He’d stolen a page from Coach Nelson’s playbook. Coach Koetting was giving me the “forget about me” treatment.
Two great leaders. Same tactic. This is how it’s done.
I drove to Texas to learn about Canadian. Our brief conversation left me dumbfounded and enlightened. I’m 63 years old. I’ve met a lot of people. I don’t ever remember someone making that strong of an impression on me. It was only 10 freaking minutes.
Or was it?
Behind those minutes were the years of Chris Koetting evolving from that youth football player in Panhandle, Texas, to becoming the leader known statewide as a Hall of Fame Coach. But on this momentous night, it didn’t feel like I was crossing paths with a legendary coach. He didn’t present himself that way. There was no discussion about all the wins and championships. My takeaway is that I crossed paths with a good, humble, thoughtful person.
Be nice. Show interest. Demonstrate respect. Put others first.
Life lesson delivered.
It’s uncommon. Too uncommon.
Coach Koetting—the common man exhibiting uncommon kindness.
Another life lesson: I should strive to be more like him.
That’s it. That’s the trick. The secret. Men with football fields named after them seem wired in this forget-about-me way.
A few hours after serenading his daughter and the rest of the crowd at the pep fest, Brandon Wall, the Head Coach of Canadian’s basketball team and assistant coach for football, said, “Considering what he’s done for the community, nobody deserves this more. And probably, nobody wants it less. That’s just how humble he is. It was never about him. It was always about the team and the rest of the coaches. He’s the best for all those reasons, none of which include wins and losses.”
I met many wonderful people as this story evolved. Not just coaches. All living honorable lives. All worthy of notoriety–all deserving of a sign-maker breaking out the large block-letter stencils to hang above a press box or stadium entryway with their names etched forever.
There just aren’t enough fields.
My day in Canadian was ending—the curtain about to close. A day unlike any other for me. From the elementary school this morning to Coach Koetting tonight. These people are all so supportive, welcoming, and encouraging.
Of Coach Koetting, I thought, “He’s like everyone else in this town.” Or do I have it backward? Maybe everyone else in this town is just like him? Or, are they all like someone else—the unforgettable influencer highlighted in the next chapter?
9:17 PM
The game was over. The teams shook hands. The Tulia Hornets boarded their bus for the 153-mile trip towards home. Another Friday night at a football field in Texas comes to an end. Stadium lights at 700 football fields from east Texas to west will soon simultaneously be turned off. The wind turbines will come up for air—catch their breath.
“But Tom, their sole purpose is to come up for air. When they do that, they are working, not resting. And if it’s a windy night, they’ll keep spinning. You need a different metaphor.”
“Nah, I’m sticking with this one. I like it.”
9:37 PM
This is the first time I’ve seen this.
While covering dozens of football games for the Dallas Morning News, we’d write a four or five-paragraph postgame story known as “The Gamer.” Then—within 15 minutes of the game ending, I’d call the newspaper headquarters in downtown Dallas, review the story with one of their editors, then upload it to their system for publishing online and in the newspaper the following day.
Within 20 minutes of the game’s end, I’ve packed my gear. I am ready to capture my obligatory game-over, stadium-empty picture. And when I say empty, I mean empty. Every other stadium would be vacated by now. The athletes, band members, cheerleaders, and parents already gone. This was the romantic part of me capturing those authentic Friday Night Lights pictures from dozens of North Texas football fields.
My wife is re-reading that sentence. She can’t stop laughing. One word triggers her.
Meanwhile, in Canadian, nobody seems to leave the game early to beat the traffic. But then, most of them probably walked to the game. One of those small-town, romantic things.
She’s laughing again.
Twenty minutes after the game’s end, dozens of people were still on the field. Parents, players, cheerleaders, and coaches gathered near the south end zone. It looked like they were speed-dating, moving from one cluster of conversationalists to the next and the next. They talked, laughed, and hugged. Future Wildcats—probably violating their typical curfew and bedtime were playing tackle football at midfield. They were collecting memories to go along with their bumps and bruises.
9:57 PM
Most of them are still here. This isn’t normal. What’s with these people?
Eventually, a few would slowly—almost regrettably, walk up the hill towards the parking lot. The adults seemed reluctant to leave—like they were kids again, and this was their night to stay out late.
10:16 PM
Some of them are still there. It’s been almost an hour since the game ended. I’m growing impatient.
Then, one of the ever-present voices in my head stepped up to the microphone and asked me, “Tom, why would they leave? They’re already home. This is it. The south end zone of Chis Koetting Field is just an extension of their backyard, patio, or deck. They are as comfortable here as relaxing on their couch or recliner on East Cheyenne Avenue.”
10:18 PM
After that reprimand, my “patience” was rewarded.
Sixty-one minutes after the game ended, the final person exited the field. I took the symbolic picture that will reside forever in my digital photo album. It will prove that I was once here–that I saw a game at Koetting Field.
Now, it was my turn. I was the one in no hurry to leave. Just me and this football field. I stood there and looked around. A mental replay of everything I saw today—trying to understand and make it stick. This wasn’t just a football game. It was a full day of watching how this town functions. Fifteen hours of observing their long-standing traditions. Fifteen emotional hours of answers to my ‘why Canadian” question.
I was granted several hours of privilege tonight—free to roam the stadium, observe, and learn. A welcome guest in their home. Their home away from home.
Chris Koetting Field at Wildcat Stadium.
Their home sweet home.
Chapter 44: Oops!
My road trip back to Texas in mid-December of 2023 went perfectly until I learned months later that it didn’t. I had two objectives for this trip to Texas. First, to see the Texas high school State Championship football games at AT&T Stadium in Arlington—home of the Dallas Cowboys. Next, I needed to do essential research for this story.
My brother, Larry, and I wore out the seat cushions while watching three days of the state championships. The first objective had been achieved.
Now, about that research.
While plotting my trip to Dallas, I decided II needed a different route for this trip, roads I’d never previously traversed. I’ve driven to and from Denver to Dallas at least 20 times to visit my brother. I drove east from Denver to Oakley, Kansas, then turned right. Highway 83 leads straight to, of all places, Canadian. What were the chances? But Canadian wasn’t the ultimate destination—it was another town an hour down the road.
My research led me to an excellent story by Rylee Robinson of Amarillo’s News Channel 10, KDFA, in April 2023. The following sentence of Rylee’s story led me somewhere I never imagined visiting.
“My dad took me to a football game, and it was with the Groom Tigers. I was five or six years old. He took me to that game, and I was hooked,” Coach Koetting said.
As I began writing stories, I surmised that I was supposed to immerse myself in the world of the people I write about. I intend to confirm that assumption if/when I ever meet a real writer.
I’d driven to the intersection known as Cloverton, Minnesota, the birthplace of Coach Halsted. I stopped my car there. Stepped out. Felt that ground under my feet. Took a couple of pictures. It felt like the right thing to do. Somehow, this experience taught me more about Halsted.
With that, I knew I had to drive to Groom, Texas. My story needed balance. I drove the dirt roads of eastern Minnesota to find Coach Halsted’s birthplace. I was obliged to walk in the same mud as Koetting when he was a young boy. I needed to see the streets, the schools, the water tower, and, most definitely, walk onto their football field. I needed to feel that grass under my feet. I needed to better understand Chris Koetting.
Amid a Texas-sized thunderstorm, the trip from Canadian to Groom was quite an adventure, but I arrived safely. As planned, I drove around town. Some might say there’s not much to see in a city with a population of 552. They might be right. But this is my kind of town. It was fun to drive down the main street, see a restaurant whose parking lot was jam-packed, see the school, and visit the ultimate objective–their high school football field.
A few footprint-shaped puddles caught my attention as I walked near the 10-yard line. One stood out among the rest. It was smaller—perfectly formed in the shape of a young boy’s shoe. Even with all this rain, its outline held firm—as if it had been baked by the Texas sun, never to lose its form, like a dinosaur footprint.
My imagination took over.
This petrified footprint may have baked in the Texas sun for nearly 50 years. It’s possible that this footprint was left by none other than a young boy who walked these streets, then onto this field—a young boy named Chris Koetting. Coach was here. I looked around at everything. My eyes were observing what Chris saw at his first football game.
I had a new angle to this story. I would romanticize the steps taken around this town by one of the story’s central characters. I had done proper research. The subplot had been plotted. My detour to Groom was well worth it. I better understood Coach Koetting’s upbringing. I was now able to add to the legend, even if my words would be of the mythic variety.
Months later, I revisited Rylee Robinson’s story—an excerpt is pictured below. I’d previously read the first paragraph. In hindsight, I should have also read the second.
Oh crap. Chris Koetting’s childhood was spent in Panhandle, Texas—25 miles away.
That petrified footprint I was prepared to immortalize was probably left by a petrified boy running home when the lightning bolts fell from the sky in Groom an hour before I arrived in the wrong town.
Furthermore, the game didn’t take place in either Groom or Panhandle. Rosemary Koetting informed me that Chris and his dad took a road trip to Jacksboro, Texas, more than 252 miles away. They saw the state championship game between Groom and Big Sandy—the latter team featuring two players who’d become football famous—David Overstreet, who played for the Oklahoma Sooners, Montreal Alouettes, and Miami Dolphins, and Lovie Smith, who coached the Chicago Bears, Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Houston Texans, and the University of Illinois.
The game left a mighty impression on Chris Koetting.
Meanwhile, my mistake left quite an impression. I was deflated: “Nice research, Citizen Smith. Don’t forget your day job.”
If only I had a day job.
Fortunately, life sometimes affords do-overs. In December of 2024, while on yet another road trip from Denver to Dallas to watch the Texas State High School Football games, I was able to visit the correct town. Koetting’s childhood town. Panhandle, Texas. I drove the streets, walked onto the football field, studied the horizon, and even saw a house close to the football field with a huge letter “K” appended to the front of the house. I concluded that front yard must have been where Chris spent his childhood. I could have asked the Koettings for his childhood address but no, I’ll stubbornly imagine this was it.
Amid all this, I thought of that footprint in the mud in Groom. While much of the experience of writing this story made me cry, this was the opposite. This made—and continues to make, for easy laughter. All that confidence I had about my “research.” All that pride in allowing my imagination to run free thinking of a young Chris Koetting running and biking the streets of Groom.
Lombardi said if we pursue perfection, we’ll find excellence.
I found Groom.
I’ll forever be glad I made this mistake.
Above photo of Chris Koetting courtesy of Rosemary and Chris Koetting
Chapter 46: Let's Go to Work!
There’s a daily contest occurring in Canadian. It’s called “Who can say the nicest things about someone else?” A cascading stream of compliments for one person after another. Some compliments flow from the current to the past, others deliver me to the present:
“Coach Flowers was a father figure to us.”
“You’ve got to talk to Luke Flowers about his camp.”
“Don’t miss what Principal Risley has going on at the Elementary School.”
“You have to talk to Coach Lynch–nobody was more influential.”
“We learned from the legend—Coach Koetting.”
And then there was one more.
“Just wait until you meet Coach Cavalier.”
Nobody adequately warned me about that ball of energy—the purveyor of optimism, known down here as Andy Cavalier, or “Coach Cav,” for short.
Where do I start? How about a parking lot? I don’t have all the details, but it appears to have played out something like this:
Police officers were called at 4:30 in the morning to investigate a disturbance outside a sleepy hotel in central Texas. There seemed to be a party in the parking lot at this oddest of hours. Who would possibly be out there celebrating at 4:30 am? Hotel residents peeked out their windows and then saw the flashing lights of law enforcement vehicles converging. Hotel tenants locked their doors, including that minimally helpful chain-link thing you slide in the uber-secure metal slot.
The revelry was about to end, or at least be suppressed for at least five or ten minutes before its boundless energy source was released from custody. There was indeed a celebration going on. But it was a party of one. One man celebrating like few others. One man celebrating—not his birthday, anniversary, or favorite holiday—nothing like that. He was celebrating today—this day. Not yesterday or tomorrow. Today. In the hotel parking lot. At 4:30 in the morning. A day like any other day—this gift of 24 hours to appreciate his life and influence others towards making the most of this day and the limited time we have together.
Andy Cavalier—the Algebra teacher at Canadian High School—the loving father of three—the football coach of the Canadian Wildcats football team, was in the parking lot recording a video. The acronym of the day was TGIT—”Thank goodness it’s Today.”
The officer approached Andy. “Sir, we’ve received reports of someone disturbing the peace in this parking lot. You are the only person out here. Do you mind telling us what you’re doing?”
“Yes, sir. Good morning, sir. I was just standing near this parking lot light post, pointed my camera, then I clicked this button to begin recording and I started talking.”
“Do you have some identification?”
“Yes, sir. Here’s my driver’s license.”
“Wait. It says ‘Coach Cavalier.’ Is Coach your real first name?
“No, my real name is Andy, but the folks down at the DMV are so used to calling everyone in my family “Coach” that they figured we might as well put it on my license.”
“OK, Coach, what exactly was going on out here?”
Andy responded, “Do you want to hear the whole thing straight from the top?”
“Sure, but I must advise you that anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You also have the right to consult with an attorney.”
“No worries about that officer. I’ll tell you everything.”
The officers looked up at the hotel windows, now filled with robe-wearing tourists. One of them said, “Well, we’ll have no shortage of witnesses to hearing your side of the story. Go ahead, Coach.”
“OK, here’s how it all went down.”
He cleared his throat, extended the selfie stick, clicked the “record” button, then…
“Good morning, happy Tuesday!”
“Come on, go ahead, put your feet on the ground, get your knees pumping, get your head on the swivel, go get yourself a big old drink of water, get that digestive system flowing, turn around, and make your bed, start checking things off your list and go ahead and decide right now whatever life throws at you, you’re gonna’ make today great. Let’s do it together for each other.”
“Come on! Here we’re going back into “Legacy” by James Kerr, “What the All Blacks Can Teach Us About the Business of Life.” So much great stuff in here. Still talking about our responsibility of leaders training other leaders. The “mission command model” requires the leader to provide a clearly defined goal, the resources and the time frame. You see, the rest is up to the individuals in the field. A clear understanding of the leader’s intention and the right training are the key to the implementation of mission command.
Now listen to this. ‘By arming staff with intention, leaders can enable their people to respond appropriately to changing context without losing sight of the task tactical imperative.’
Yes, so here’s the thing guys— right here in Canadian, right from the top, our School Board, our Superintendent says our mission is ‘Every Child Every Day’ through high expectations, through a safe learning environment, to developing character, and to be preparing kids for their future. So everything we do academically, everything we do athletically, everything we do in the band, in our “One Act Play,” in our extracurricular activities, it all fits together so that we can prepare our kids for the future, so that we can do it with high expectations so that we can do it safely and so that we can develop their character because we want a fully well-rounded person to go out into the world, into our community and make it better together. That’s why we’re here. That’s how you train leaders.”
“Come on. (Andy then whistles). Let’s go to work!!
Andy turned off the recording. He was done. Bath-robed hotel onlookers stopped brushing their teeth so they could cheer.
One officer asked, “Do you do this every day?”
“No, but almost every Monday back home in Canadian. If I’m feeling up to it, I’ll do it on other days of the week, too. Like this morning, I just had something on my mind I wanted to share. Didn’t want to hold this in!”
The officers were dumbfounded. One looked towards Andy. “Coach, can you give us a minute? “
They stepped away, then huddled.
“What do we do with this guy? Sure, he’s disturbing the peace, but if it’s always those messages, we need him to continue disturbing the peace.”
“I say we let him go. If we press charges, the worst he will get is community service.”
They looked at each other and laughed.
“So, he’d be sentenced to keep doing what he was sentenced for?”
This is not square peg, round hole kind of stuff. By day, the Algebra teacher; by afternoon, the Athletic Director; by evening, the football and track coach; by morning, the motivator. Oh—and husband to Wendy and father of three.
It’s dizzying to imagine. When does he sleep? Well, that’s another story. Andy said, “I get up at three or four most mornings. In the summertime, I can sleep in until four.”
I heard what he said, but still—for entertainment purposes, I asked him to repeat it.
“Even before the alarm rings, I’m probably already awake. I just use my watch for an alarm. I’m just kind of waiting for it to finally go off so I can get up and go.” I don’t know—Wendy, what would you say—most days, I’m pretty much out of the house by four or so?”
His tone felt apologetic, as if he should have his days started even earlier.
Andy’s wife, Wendy, was sitting beside him. She tilted her head, shrugged, and smiled agreeably, then shared, “I think he realizes what God instilled in him is to love and serve others in his community. His specialty seems to be growing young people into men. We’ve been very fortunate to land here in a place where we get to do that. He just loves kids. He’s always looking for ways to get, do, and be better.”
Based on everything I’ve learned about Coach Cavalier, I made a rhetorical statement directed toward Wendy.
“And it’s legitimate with him—it’s not a front?”
Wendy laughed. “Oh, no! It’s not a front. It’s very real. I don’t think a person can do that (wake up that early) unless they know deep in their soul that they have a purpose in life and it’s a perfect fit for them.”
Andy countered with, “I do need sleep. During the school year, I’m getting to bed at eight or maybe nine. But life happens too, you know. We’ve got kids we’re chasing. Actually, football season is the easiest time for me to catch up on my sleep because it’s pretty much just practice all week, come home, grab dinner, then go to bed. It takes a strong coach’s wife to be the wife of Coach Cavalier. Wendy does so much for our family.”
Residents of the six houses nearest to the intersection of Locust Street and East 17th Street in Canadian don’t need a calendar to remind them which day it is. On Tuesdays through Sundays, it’s chirping birds, crowing roosters, the neighbor’s garage door opening, and the pitter-patter footsteps of a young boy or girl delivering the newspaper to a doorstep. OK, the last one is a relic of the past. How about the sound of alerts on a smartphone that rattle, buzz, and vibrate the moment it awakens from sleep mode?
Six days of the sounds of morning. The seventh day—Monday—is different. As they transition from weekend to workweek, their Monday mornings are often jolted by a window-rattling whistle followed by a trademark rallying cry:
“LET’S GO TO WORK!”
The sound waves ripple from 1607 Locust Street, to 1605 Locust Street, to 1603, then 1601, even down to 1513 and 1511. Like clockwork. The train whistle and rallying cry. It’s the football coach by himself. The pre-sunrise parking lot outside Miles P. Henderson Field House is Andy’s recording studio—the stage for his One Act Plays. Hundreds of plays typically scripted with similar openings like, “Go ahead, put your feet on the ground, get your knees pumping, get your head on the swivel, go get you a big old drink of water, get that digestive system flowing, turn around and make your bed, start checking things off your list.” Each play concludes with a thought-provoking, depth-filled ending.
Local law enforcement doesn’t show up. They know better. There’s something to see here, but no need for alarm. Nobody is complaining.
Andy stands alone. Unlike Friday nights, there are no cheers here. Just a guy trying to make a difference. Sharing his feelings. A good citizen. Encouraging others. Social media messages of building instead of tearing down. Being vulnerable, yet strong.
Max Dumbauld, a 2024 graduate from Canadian high school, said, “I’ve known Coach Cav since I was a kid. I was fortunate to grow up with (his son) Camren, who has been one of my best buddies. I’ve never seen a man so driven and committed to not only making us better athletes but also making us better men. I’ve never seen anyone of his own free will get up every morning, go work out, ride his bike, or run up to the field house and provide motivation. He’s always there for you—not only on the field but off the field, too. I’ve had many great conversations with him, especially when I got hurt my junior year. He was really there for me. I’ve never seen him in a bad mood. He doesn’t settle for “good enough.” He’s definitely pushed me beyond what I thought I could do.”
Max laughed while sharing, “Now, I have to say I’ve had complaints here and there about him just because our workouts are so hard!”
“But at the end of the day, I knew it was for the greater good. He helps you understand that. He does a great job at just being able to read everybody and connect with you personally. Everyone’s not the same. Everyone has different backgrounds. He understands that and really knows how to connect with us kids. He’s a role model I’ll look up to forever and tell my kids about.”
I arrived at Wildcat Stadium to see a football game. I was immediately sidetracked by three alphabet letters in the south end zone. A series of large stones—heavy buggers, lean into the hill overlooking Chris Koetting Field. Each year, the letters change to reflect a guiding principle of the team. In the autumn of 2023, the rocks form three letters:
“AVO”
I looked towards the north end zone expecting to see
“CADO”
Once again, my life spent in the pool’s shallow end limited my detection of the depth of soul possessed by others. I arrived in Canadian looking for an integrated relationship between a football team and their community. AVO was another clue that I’d found it. But what did it mean?
I performed a search on my smartphone: “What does AVO stand for?” The search results included:
Alaska Volcano Observatory
Apprehended Violence Order
Apple vs Orange
Australian Valuation Office
Amps – Volts – Ohms
Adversary and Vulnerability Operations
There’s even a website called acronymfinder.com. They didn’t have anything obvious. Maybe it would indeed be AVOCADO, but they ran out of rocks?
Then I stumbled upon Andy Cavalier’s recorded message on social media from Saturday, August 12, 2023. It conveyed the guiding principles the Canadian Wildcats football team would chase during the forthcoming season. Coach Cavalier stated:
“Good morning, happy Saturday! Man, I know I don’t usually wake you up early on Saturday, but it’s a special Saturday. Today, we’ve got our first scrimmage, our first competition, our first contest of the year, where we get to go out and take the field. We’ll see what comes our way, see what shows up that we weren’t expecting, see what we have to overcome, see what we get to celebrate together. I absolutely cannot wait.
I want to share a little bit with you this morning. If you’re on our team remind you, and if you’re not on our team, share with you what we’re talking about on our team this year.
Here we go.Our motto this year is “AVO.” Love conquers all.
Here’s what it means to me.
The idea is that no matter how hard something gets, love is the only bond that is unbreakable. It’s the only motivation that will keep you fighting when things get really hard; I will never stop fighting for you. Why? Because I love you. If I love my teammates, I will do everything to the best of my ability. Anytime I feel like taking a shortcut, I won’t. No matter how difficult things get, I will keep fighting. I will lift you up when you are struggling because I love you.
Any other motivation will fail when it gets hard. If I play to win, at some point, it will get too hard. If I play for revenge, at some point, it’ll get too hard. If I play for myself, at some point, it will get too hard. If I play for recognition at some point, it’ll get too hard.
But listen, if I prepare with the level of detail that proves my love. If I practice with the level of passion that displays my love. If I play with the level of effort that is created by love, I will have an extremely positive impact on my team, my program, and my community.
Woo—ooo!
Hey man, AVO, love conquers all because it’s a choice. Therefore, when you choose, you have given yourself the opportunity to hang on tighter than anybody even knew you could.
Come on, man, let’s go to work!”
AVO. “Amor Vincit Omnia.” Love Conquers All.
Max Dumbauld told me that the team gets together a couple days before football season starts. They move the rocks, mow the grass, then rearrange the stones to support this year’s motto. Max says it’s a great bonding experience. I’d say it’s a challenging workout.
Where does Cavalier find this stuff? I go to high school football games to eat hot dogs and watch football. Now, I’m forced to decipher acronyms. If warned of these acronyms, I might have expected to see something predictable like: “GTG – Go Team Go!” But Coach Nelson is guided by an acronym back in Minnesota too. Last month, I was captivated by the “Forget About Me, I Love You,” FAMILY gang. Now, I’m in “Love Conquers All” territory. The spirits are most definitely messing with me.
Andy Cavalier, August 19, 2024: Recording shared on social media.
“Good morning! Happy Monday!
I want to start off this week been telling you. I. Love. You. I love you. Here’s the thing. It has nothing to do with who you are or if I even know you. It has nothing to do with what you can do for me or the kind of a person I am. It has everything to do with that I believe I was given the opportunity to live on this earth to love the people around me. To use the time that I’ve been given to hopefully have a positive impact on the people that God decides to intersect my life with. So how about it? How about we go about trying to impact each other in a positive way and let’s attack this week together.”
On Monday mornings, I could waste two hours seeking guidance from propagandists posing as journalists on cable news networks. Or, I could spend two minutes listening to Andy.
Easy decision.
His words from that video led me back to October of 2023, when Coach Koetting went out of his way to visit with me. Then Reagan Risley, Jeff Quisenberry, James Bryant, Michelle Thompson, Colby Leech, the Pep Fest, and the folks at Mesa View Assisted Living.
This is all tied together like the laces on my shoes.
Either my built-in bull(crap) detector needs recalibration, or my intuition and observations are on target. I’m trusting the latter. This place is different. Widespread enthusiastic positivity. The best of intentions.
Of course, everyone has bad days.
No town is perfect.
But…
Andy Cavalier had a good role model. One of the best. His father, Dennis Cavalier, spent three short years in Goddard, Kansas. Forty-seven years after packing the U-Haul and leaving town, Dennis Cavalier was inducted into the Goddard High School Hall of Fame.
Three years of influence led to the Hall Of Fame nearly five decades later.
The following excerpt was found on the Goddard Education Foundation’s website dedicated to their Class of 2024 Hall Of Fame inductees:
“At Goddard, Cavalier was not just focused on winning games; he was dedicated to building a sense of community and pride within the school. He established several traditions that became a cornerstone of the Goddard High School experience. One of these traditions was the post-practice walk through town, where the team would engage with the community, building a strong bond between the school and its supporters.”
Thousands of men and women have served as coaches. Most emulated one or more of their childhood coaches. They learned what to do to become a good coach and, just as importantly, what not to do. Following the coaching handbook is relatively easy. Innovating isn’t. It takes foresight and courage to expand the realm of possibilities. Dennis Cavalier coached beyond the rote “X’s and O’s.” He moved the profession forward.
He took his team on walks around downtown. It wasn’t rocket science. A simple idea. Something all of us do. But taking an unconventional group through a conventional life experience. Dennis defied convention with expansive thinking. A game changer.
In addition to the Hall of Fame in Kansas, Dennis Cavalier has a building named after him in Texas beside the football field in Pampa.
Andy had good reason to try to stay awake.
Dennis Cavalier’s Hall of Fame induction video
Like father…
On the morning of February 6, 2024—three months after I first visited Canadian, I found this story online. Neither Andy, nor Wendy told me about this.
“The Texas High School Coaches Education Foundation (THSCEF) announced via media release that Andy Cavalier of Canadian High School has been named the 2021 recipient of its “Grant Teaff Coaching Beyond the Game Award.”
According to the release, “this award is presented annually at the Texas Coaches Leadership Summit to an individual who has impacted their team, school and community through their passion and commitment to “coach beyond the game” and honors their leadership in creating and sustaining programs that address the social issues today.”
…like son.
View Coach Cavalier’s video by clicking on either link to the right.
Out of all the schools in Texas, I randomly emailed this football coach, who I soon learned was also the Athletic Director at Canadian High School and had been named “Teach of the Year” for the Canadian Independent School District.
Twice.
Andy shared, “I think that I understood early that in communities like ours, teachers and coaches can be more influential in the future of the young men than anybody else in the community. There are plenty of things in front of our kids in their own lives and in our world these days through technology—they’re just inundated with negative influences and things that won’t help them be their very best. So I think I just understood early that as a coach, you can really try to use your position to impact a lot of people in your community in a positive way.”
Then, Andy deflected credit.
“My dad was the best at that.”
I’d gone looking for hope that goodness like that occurring in Minnesota, led by Tom Nelson, is indeed happening somewhere else—anywhere else.
And I picked this guy?
I’d never heard of Andy Cavalier. I didn’t even know how to pronounce his last name. While growing up in Minnesota, I’ve long been puzzled by the pronunciations of French Canadian hockey players. There were Yvan Cournoyer, Jacques Laperriere, Jacque Plante, Walt Tkachuk, Bryan Trottier, then, much later, Patrick Roy.
Then, the hockey name closest to football’s Andy Cavalier is Vincent Lecavalier.
Was it ka-val-leer or ka-val-ee-ay or ka-val-yay?”
I’m pretty sure I messed this up during my first phone call to Andy.
“May I speak with Andy Ka-Va-Lay?”
I stumbled. It was hockey’s fault. Eventually, I’d get it right. (It’s ka-va-leer).
This was almost the story of ranch hand, farmer, and cowboy Andy Cavalier. Andy and Wendy lived and taught in Pampa. Andy was an assistant on his dad’s coaching staff. Weeks away from marriage, life was as good as it gets. Then, tragedy—Wendy’s father, Rick Vincent, died.
A couple years later, while pregnant with their first child, Wendy met a guy named Ken Burger. Immersed in the joyous thoughts of starting a family, Wendy immediately thought of her mom, Lynn. Her mom was alone. Wendy thought she and Ken would be a perfect match. Lynn resisted. She made it clear that she was not interested in any sort of relationship.
Less than a year Lynn and Ken were married. Ken had won her over. They settled on his ranch south of Pampa, where they continue to reside. Andy would soon spend his summers working for his father-in-law at the ranch. Wendy and Andy eventually moved into a house nearby.
Then Andy went through one of those life-assessment phases.
“We finished the football season in the Fall of 2002 when we got beat in the quarterfinals. It was early December. I went over to my parent’s house the next weekend. I told my dad that I was going to finish the school year, but I was going to get out of education, and I was going to go to work with my father-in-law on his ranch full-time.”
“We were finishing out the school year, and on Memorial Day weekend, my dad died of cardiac arrest while mowing the lawn.”
Andy was 30 years old. He’d wanted to spend as much time as possible with his dad. He’d been doing that. Then this. Within five years, Wendy and Andy both lost their fathers.
Andy stepped away from teaching and coaching for a life of farming and ranching. He loved the work and the environment.
“Eventually, I just felt like God had given us this opportunity to be out there full-time with our family. We were led to move out to the farm maybe to create a bit of a buffer for me personally between having to walk back in that field house every day and figuring out how to handle that. We did get to kind of separate ourselves emotionally from that whole thing.”
“We stayed out there for a year-and-a-half. I loved it out there. It felt like it was a great way for a family to live. But when it came down to it, I didn’t go to bed thinking I gotta hurry up and get to sleep so I can get up and get going. It was not that way.”
Andy’s mom, Kathy Cavalier, seems to love football as much as anyone in the family. “When I was attending Southwestern College in Winfield, Kansas, my part-time job to help pay tuition was to be the secretary to the football coach. I had to assemble his weekly scouting reports, type them up, and distribute them to the coaches. That coach (Harold “Bud” Elliott) went on to coach college football at Eastern New Mexico in Portales. Both of my boys played for him there. That was a full circle.”
The other son Kathy references is Tony Cavalier, Defensive Coordinator at Amarillo High School. Of him, Andy said, “If you’re looking for a good football coach to talk to, my brother is a way better coach than me.”
I told Kathy, “You must be proud of your boys.” Seven months later, I listened to a recording of her response.
“Very.”
One word, expressed in a mother’s-love kind of tone. One darn football-inspired word said in that tone evoked tears. No, not Kathy’s tears.
Mine.
Wendy and Andy’s time on the farm had served its purpose. Decompression. Contemplation. Recalibration.
Then, the inevitable—a resurgence of the Cavalier DNA. Andy was once again impatiently checking his watch at 2:55 am.
“Good morning, students.”
“Welcome back, Mr. Cavalier!”
Inside Miles P. Henderson Field House, a series of names and dates are displayed on the wall under the header of “Be A Great Ancestor.” The display lists the names of almost everyone who’s worn the Canadian Wildcats uniform dating back to 1915. Each name is listed on a row with others who’ve worn the same jersey number. It’s a long list—the display spans perhaps three feet high and10 feet wide.
Many names appear multiple times. Grandfathers, sons, and grandsons. The branches of football family trees. Many names are no longer recognized by Canadian residents. No recollections of the face, the smile, or the life lived after high school. No ancestors remain. Only the name and jersey number of a boy who once ran onto a field to play a game.
My brain drifts. I imagine a group of boys wearing black and gold jerseys taking a knee in front of these names before the season begins. Robin Williams. John Keating. Andy now preserves this tradition.
Their coach.
Their captain.
Andy shared, “Before I finished high school, I knew I wanted to be a coach. My dad was a coach, my mom was a teacher. That’s what I grew up around. I was around the field house all the time when I was little. I can literally still remember times when, probably before elementary school—I don’t know how old I was—maybe I was in elementary school, where my one thought while going to bed was to try to stay up all night so I could be awake when my dad left in the morning. I wanted to go with him.”
“By the time I woke up, he was usually gone.”
Fifty years later, in 2023, that other quote from Andy:
“Even before the alarm rings, I’m probably already awake. I just use my watch for an alarm. I’m just kind of waiting for it to finally go off so I can get up and go.”
They often say a son follows in his father’s footsteps—becomes his father’s son. Like his father before him, Andy is out the door early. He goes to the field house, the stadium, the school, the church, wherever the town and his family need him. But now, a role reversal has taken place. Andy now brings his father with him. All those lessons learned. It’s all still there. In the best possible spiritual sense, Dennis Cavalier follows his son out the door. Always with him while Andy makes a difference in their community—helping kids find their way. Every step of the way.
Best of all, Andy’s mom is here to watch her son grow into the man his father was.
Andy no longer oversleeps.
Carpe diem.
Andy is a good ancestor.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, On December 14, 2024, Andy Cavalier served as a wedding officiant for the first time. I’m awaiting confirmation from the bride and groom that the ceremony began at 4 am.
