Belated Tribute to "Murd"

First of all, this is a great idea, and second, a round of applause to the Planning Committee and those of you who've devoted so much time and effort to making this tribute happen.



Coach Meddock, Dale, Murd, Zeb, whatever name by which we're now comfortable addressing you, you've certainly built a legacy of excellence with the great gymnastics teams and track and field athletes that you helped develop over so many productive decades. The high regard in which you were held by nationally prominent college coaches was evident to us on the gym team, as several traveled to our gym to help spot practices (I remember coach Bill Ballister from Oregon, and alum Mike Papantonio's entire Indiana team, including Kurt Thomas, stopping by to work out with us on their way to a trip at Penn State. And the team from my era in the late 70's will remember working out in Pitt's gym for an entire winter - kids three years away from really needing a shave holding their own in practice with collegiate scholarship athletes!). To high school kids, they were just practices; to adults with kids of our own, we now recognize that those were recruiting opportunities that you worked hard to create, to get us scholarships and an opportunity to move on to another stage of life that otherwise might have been unattainable.



I have many random memories of those days, unfortunately not nearly as entertaining or eloquent as those posted before me (maybe that's why I turned out to be a boring beancounter):

* traveling to Penn State to see the NCAA championships, to see how the guys at the next level did it.

* the Ohio State invitationals (where we kicked butt, as Pat Besong mentioned) against the top teams from surrounding states, and not coincidentally, received recruiting pitches from Ohio State's coach.

* the Slippery Rock invitationals, where, not coincidentally, we received recruiting pitches from the Slippery Rock coach, and earned a boatload of McDonald's gift certificates to boot.

* riding the bus after high school, out to B.E. Junior High, walking the half mile from the bus stop to the school, putting on our (practice) game faces while enjoying the normal teenage bragadoccio and banter during the stroll.

* the "captive audience" rides in the red VW bug, enduring/receiving a life lesson lecture during the drive - and imparting the same to our own kids two decades later.



With the benefit of hindsight, tempered by the experience of raising kids of our own, the parallels between these tributes and those that we would write of our own parents is striking, and probably too often left unsaid: The high expectations for good reason. The unseen hours of commitment and caring, invested not for personal rewards or accolades, but just because they knew it would make you a better person, and that you would live your life in a manner worthy of modeling by the next generation. It's surprising and impressive, how many alums have taken up a career of teaching, or coaching somewhere along the way. That of course includes the parents, who've committed their lives to coaching, challenging, and providing opportunities.

So everyone raise a Diet Pepsi in toast, and have a good time