Bummy and the Coach

© 2014 by Casey Camden. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/01/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2219-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2220-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2492-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014902609

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 Russel Springs—The Early Years

Chapter 2 Bummy And The Coach

Chapter 3 P-O-L-I-T-I-C-S The Pickadoo Years

Chapter 4 The School Year Begins—September

Chapter 5 Autumn In Kansas October Basketball Clinics, Wogging, Family, A Good Bowl Of Chili, And Halloween Pranks

Chapter 6 The Chill Of November The Assistant Coaching Staff

Chapter 7 The Christmas Month—December Basketball Practice Begins

Chapter 8 Let The Games Begin The Pre-Season Tournament

Chapter 9 Harley, Mel, And Ox—Three Stages Of Personal Development

Chapter 10 Getting To Know Each Other

Chapter 11 The Team Poster, Miami In The Winter, And People Super Glue

Chapter 12 Early Rounds Of The League Tourney

Chapter 13 The League Championship, A Storm Is Brewing, And Getting Healthier

Chapter 14 Bummy’s Night

Chapter 15 The Post Season—Regional Play, A Father’s Day, The Warrior Ox

Chapter 16 The Post-Season First Round Of Sub-State Playoffs

Chapter 17 The Post Season Sub-State Play Championship Game

Chapter 18 Bummy’s Last Hurrah

Chapter 19 The Coach Is Back In Town—Catching Up

This book is

dedicated to my family, friends, fellow coaches and all of those players who truly love and respect the game of basketball. It is these players and coaches who completely understand the life lessons this greatest game ever to be invented can teach each and every one of us be it a player, a person, an athlete, a non-athlete, a parent, a worker, the boss, a family, a church, a community, a state, the nation, or the world. The following phrase would serve all of us well if taken to heart—All For One and One For All!

Emerson once penned the following, Successful is the person who has lived well, laughed often and loved much, who has gained the respect of children, who leaves the world better than they found it, who has never lacked appreciation for the Earth’s beauty, who never fails to look for the best in others or give the best of themselves. I have long held the belief that a good book is one in which the author has painted a picture in the minds of the readers, made the characters come to life, and created a lasting memory!

It is my hope that this book will help others to understand the roller coaster ride that life can sometimes be. If this book helps a person to become more successful, more understanding, and a better person than they had been, then the book has fulfilled the role for which it was intended!

It should be noted that this book is a fictional biography. With the exception of Bummy, the characters are fictitious in nature. Any resemblance to anyone living is a mere coincidence, even though in life, that line between fact and fiction is a thin and sometimes blurred one, indeed.

A special thank you goes to Cathy Campbell for her work and encouragement on this book. Dennis Crider, a photographer and sports enthusiast with a tremendous knack for capturing a special scene, deserves kudos for his photograph which is the book cover! A big thank you goes to Dick Hughes for the pictures he took for this book. I would also like to thank the Sabetha library staff for their wonderful attitudes and their technological expertise—Kim, Amber, Robin, and Taylor. I would also like to thank all past students, athletes, and people with whom I have been associated with over the years many of whom contributed in some way to this book. Many friends and associates read my manuscript and offered valuable suggestions and insight into what has transpired into this final production. Each and all of you made this book become a reality! Once again, I would like to say to each of you and to the world, All For One and One For All!

With a heavy heart, I would like to dedicate this book to those family members who passed on before this book became a reality. We miss you Dad (Bud), Kirk, Keith, Steve, Gordon, and Virginia! This book is also dedicated to our family pets; they lived the highs and the lows with us. Even though they are no longer a part of our physical lives, their memory and their unconditional love for us will live on forever. We miss each one of our family members and our pets—Ugy, Cici, and Harley.

For all of those who are no longer with us, this quotation is for you—Perhaps they are not stars in the sky, but rather openings where our loved ones shine down to let us know they are happy!

CHAPTER 1

RUSSEL SPRINGS—THE EARLY YEARS

Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, magic, and power in it. Begin it now!

Goethe

The day will happen whether or not you get up!

John Ciandi

"He’s quick enough to play tennis by himself!’

TCU Coach Jim Killingsworth discussing

Tulsa guard Paul Pressey

photo taken by Dick Hughes

The middle aged coach tossed and turned restlessly in his bed. He never required much sleep and he rarely dreamed, but this time was different. Coach Casey Camden was dreaming about his first teaching and coaching job at that small northeast Kansas town near the Nebraska border—Russel Springs, Kansas. His eyes rapidly fluttered just before he entered into a deep sleep. Casey Camden smiled to himself as he dreamed about the job interview he had with Principal John Severino.

Russel Springs High School consisted of fifty-three students—thirty-one boys and twenty-two girls. The faculty was young, especially the high school staff. Casey was twenty-three years old. He was tall, slim, and muscular. Coach Camden carried himself with an air of assurance. The coach had a highly competitive edge to him; he did not like to lose. Coach Camden often said over the course of his career that he hated losing more than he enjoyed winning. At the same time, he had a soft side to him when placed in certain circumstances.

Casey Camden had been encouraged to become a teacher and a coach early on in his life. Donna Hightower, Casey’s piano teacher, often told young Casey Camden that he was born to teach and coach. Mrs. Hightower stood all of 4' 10". Her influence on others was significant. Mrs. Hightower often compared Casey Camden and Bill Barnes. Coach Barnes was Casey’s junior high coach and teacher at Goffs, Kansas. In her opinion, Coach Barnes and Casey were much alike. They had a knack for communicating with others. Both loved the kids and would do all that they could to help others succeed.

Casey’s parents, Bud and Lucylle, also had a huge influence on their son. His parents encouraged a strong work ethic; they passed that desire on to Casey and his sister, Barb. They encouraged Casey to get a college education and a teaching degree. His high school coach, Larry Melson, served as a role model for Casey Camden. Teaching and coaching as a career became a part of his mental make-up at a very young age. Those who were most influential in Casey’s life either gently nudged him or sometimes pushed him toward the teaching and coaching fields.

During that first year, the school year of 1973-74, the teaching staff at Russel Springs High School became a close knit group over the course of the fall and spring months. Now it was three school years later and on those sunny fall days, Richard and Dave and Casey would look forward to their late afternoon tennis matches on the asphalt court across from the Methodist Church just as they had over the course of the past several years. Richard taught history classes at Russel Springs while Dave was the vocal and instrumental music teacher at the high school. Casey took a certain degree of pride in the fact that he was the English/ speech/ and Drama departments all in one. He had also started the school newspaper, Smoke Signals. Mr. Camden, as his students called him, also served as the freshman class sponsor, the student council adviser, the director of the fall and spring school plays, and the journalism adviser. Casey Camden wore many hats in that small school nestled close to the Nebraska border, but that’s the way he wanted it. The busier he was; the happier he was! Casey’s friends often remarked, "If Casey Camden has ten irons in the fire, he’s a happy camper!

Casey’s dream continued. His breathing slowed as his subconscious mind shifted to a shady, relaxing spot where he once sat under a huge elm tree while observing his fellow teachers and tennis companions compete. The autumn rays of sunshine felt warm on his face as a gentle breeze playfully danced through his brown hair.

Richard and Dave had just now completed their set of tennis. It was Casey’s turn to leave the comforts that the huge elm tree provided for the players as he warmed up by hitting the tennis ball back and forth over the net several times until small beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.

Dave remarked, You call it, Casey. M or W. Dave spun his Wilson tennis racquet.

W, shouted Casey as the racquet was still spinning and then tumbled in a heap on the asphalt tennis court.

W it is, you lucky sucker, scowled Dave. I suppose you want to serve first, don’t you?"

Casey grinned and said, What do you think, Mr. Gordmon?

Coach Camden had a wide variety of serves which kept his opponents completely off balance. Casey thrived on keeping others just slightly off balance. He was predictable yet very unpredictable. His personality was one that took a certain amount of joy in keeping others guessing just when they were certain that they had him figured out. He played tennis much the same way—switching speeds, angles, and game plans. All of those factors made Casey a difficult match for his friend, Dave.

Casey dominated the first game, 40 to love. His first serve took Dave wide. Casey’s second serve was a flat one that hit the T in the middle of the court. His third serve was again a flat serve wide that was traveling 120 mph. The fourth and final serve was a spinner that softly fell at Dave’s feet before he could reach the ball.

Red faced, Dave held his tennis racquet high in the air with one hand and used his other hand to point at Casey while he muttered to himself under his breath. Now, it was Dave’s turn to serve. Casey was very aggressive, charging the net each time to quickly take the second game from Dave.

Dave, talking more to himself than to his opponent said, Sometimes I ask myself why I even bother to play you, Casey.

The next three games of the set went by just as quickly. The sixth and final game of the set was underway. Casey led Dave five games to zero. Casey hammered Dave’s first serve down the far sideline.

Dave shouted, Love—fifteen!

His second serve saw Casey hit a drop shot with tons of backspin and a tennis ball that barely cleared the net.

This time, Dave said, Love—30.

Dave’s third shot took Casey by surprise and Dave confidently stated, Fifteen—30! I’m coming back Mr. Camden!

Dave’s fourth serve was an ace down the middle of the court. I do believe that we have a game going Casey—thirty all, little deuce!

Dave was feeling good about himself because his next serve was an ace. It was a wicked slice which caught Casey completely off-guard. Gloating, Dave shouted, Forty—30; my advantage!

Dave’s serve to win the game was a deep one that Casey successfully returned, but Dave hit a great return shot that caught the far baseline stripe. Casey hit a defensive lob high into the air. The backspin caused the ball to hang in the air as a gust of wind caught the green tennis ball and blew it back toward the net.

Dave wildly charged the net shouting, You die, Camden. You’re going down this time!

Dave took a mighty swing at the dying quail with Wilson 3 printed on it. To Dave’s dismay, he missed the ball entirely, spun around 360 degrees, lost his balance, and tumbled to the asphalt court. Needless to say, Dave’s string of expletives turned the air quite blue as Richard and Casey fell to the court simultaneously laughing hysterically at their comrade’s misfortune. Dave went on to lose the sixth and final game of the set. At the conclusion of the game, Dave calmly walked toward the huge elm tree with his head down. He took a deep breath and then proceeded to splinter his wooden racket against the trunk of the tree. Bark, wooden tennis parts and nylon strings flew wildly into the air as Casey and Richard once again collapsed in a heap on the court as their laughter echoed throughout that small northeastern Kansas community called Russel Springs.

The three teachers, friends, and fellow tennis players walked together from the Methodist Church tennis courts which also doubled as a parking lot for the church on Wednesdays and Sundays. Their conversation shifted from tennis to the upcoming basketball season and the players on that 1977 team.

Richard remarked, These kids could be darn good this year if they will come together as a team!

Our second five might be better or at least as good as the other league schools first five, stated Casey Camden with his coaching voice in full throttle!

They are gonna be a fun group to watch! exclaimed Dave.

The 1976-1977 basketball season was indeed a fun one for the players, the coaches, the school, and the community. In particular, one of the senior citizens of Russel Springs cherished that special season. Bummy, whose real name was Ray Baumgartner, loved good basketball especially when a team exhibited strong fundamentals and was disciplined. Bummy respected the game! When it was played right, played with passion, and played with a sense of purpose, good things happened! The Russel Springs basketball team fell just short of a state championship that season, but they proudly brought home the runner-up trophy to their small hometown as their fans shouted congratulatory remarks, clapped and roared their appreciation while yelling in unison, We are proud of you! WE ARE PROUD OF YOU!!! over and over again. The old man grinned from ear to ear. The young coach smiled broadly and shook hands with all who extended their hand towards him.

Suddenly, the coach stirred, rubbed his eyes and stretched as the noises outside of his bedroom window served as nature’s alarm clock. His dream abruptly ended. Casey Camden was one who normally rose early, stayed awake late, and worked hard each and every day. With another day dawning, the coach quickly got dressed and prepared to head to the Russel Spring’s cafe for breakfast

CHAPTER 2

BUMMY AND THE COACH

A friend is a gift you give yourself!

Robert Louis Stevenson

Who looks outside dreams; who looks inside wakes!

C. G. Jung

There is no I in the word TEAM!

Ray Bummy Baumgartner

The old man snored ever so softly as the sounds of early morning drowned the noise inside the house—birds singing, squirrels chattering, and in the distance one could hear the honking geese high overhead.

The sun, a bright orange ball, arose slowly nudging the darkness of the night out of the way while replacing the black of the night with beautiful slivers of orange and yellow.

The old man was still asleep. Occasionally he would rustle the covers. His thoughts drifted towards basketball—it was always basketball! The old man’s breathing quickened and became very shallow. It always did when his dreams were about that special season—the season of 1923—the season that Ray was a senior—the season that the county championship was won! Ray was the captain of that very special team. It was so, so many years ago.

His breathing slowed as he rolled over in the bed. Once again, the soft snoring filled the old man’s room. Once again, the old man’s breathing quickened and became even more shallow. Once again, his thoughts drifted towards basketball. This time was different—this dream was a dream that was over fifty years later—fifty-four years later as a matter of fact. The basketball team of 1976-77 was a good one—no, it was a great team! Like a finely tuned machine, the ‘76-’77 bunch bulldozed their way through their way through their competition. The league championship, the regional championship, the sub-state championship, and then there was the trip to the state tourney. Ray worked that day, but that evening he listened to the games on his Philco radio—the same Philco radio that had carried his 1923 games.

A shiny sliver of yellow sunlight shot through the bedroom window. The dust in the air was suddenly visible to the naked eye. There were two squirrels chasing each other playfully across Ray’s roof—those squirrels had spirit. Another flock of geese flew overhead, honking their language of congratulations to one another.

Ray stirred and sat up slowly in the bed. The noises outside had awakened the old man. He rose even more slowly as he put first one sock on, then the other. He slipped into a shirt and buttoned each button on the shirt accurately, with precision, but slowly because of the arthritis that had curled his fingers and hands making it difficult to hold the buttons. Ray remembered that today was a special day! He hurriedly pulled on his pants. Ray sat down in his favorite chair and began to put on his shoes. Yep, today was going to be a special one. The old man had a breakfast date at 6:30 a.m. this morning. His old friend from twenty-four years ago was meeting him for breakfast. The coach was back in town.

Ray’ friends were basically every person he had ever known. Those friends called him Bummy. Bummy had recently retired. For over fifty years, Bummy had operated heavy equipment for the local township. Bummy retired at ninety-seven years of age. The bulldozer and the road maintainer had taken their toll on the old man over the past fifty years. His hands were swollen and arthritic. His legs had also suffered from having to use the clutch and the brake on the heavy machinery day after day for the 16,800 days that he had operated the heavy equipment. Holidays and birthdays came and went—Bummy worked nearly every day.

The Methodist minister’s wife looked out for Bummy. But so did everyone else who lived in the small community with the population of 198 people counting the cats and the dogs. When Bummy, whose sight was beginning to fail, drove the three blocks from his home to the local café for breakfast every day, the people, the drivers of other vehicles, and the cats and the dogs parted much like the Red Sea to allow Bummy safe passage on his daily trek to the land of two eggs over easy, bacon, and toast and oh, yes, that wonderful cup of coffee with cream and sugar prepared in a way that only Bummy could do.

Bummy recalled Coach Camden’s first years in Russel Springs; it was 1974. Bummy was a healthy seventy-one years old and Casey Camden was a youthful twenty-three years old. As only Bummy could say, Yep, that there young coach is just a pup. That young fella’ is still mighty wet behind them ears of his!

Bummy normally arrived at the café promptly at 6:30 a.m. You could set your clock to it—if Bummy was even a few minutes late, someone would go check to make sure that he was all right. That was the way it was—that was life in a small town in northeast Kansas.

The coach was there already sitting at the head of the table by himself. Every customer had his or her certain seat, every day of the year because things didn’t change much in this small town.

It was no surprise to Bummy that the coach was sitting there waiting patiently for his seventy-one year old friend’s arrival. That was the coach. The coach cherished those 45-60 minutes with Bummy. He knew, like it or not, that he would always walk out of the café after breakfast carrying a bit of Bummy with him—a funny story, a remark laced with the wisdom that only a seventy-one year-old man could deliver, or a sense of direction, a renewed belief that all was right with the world! That, my friends, was Bummy’s daily gift to the coach. In return, the coach always bought Bummy’s breakfast anytime the two of them dined together. The coach figured it was a small price to pay for the privilege to mine a golden mind of experience, common sense, and wisdom—a small price, indeed!

Invariably, while the two men ate their breakfast, the coach would chuckle about something that Bummy would say, and he would remark, Bummy, you make me laugh! After being around you, I always feel better about myself. You somehow manage to give me a whole new perspective on the situations I am dealing with; I always learn something new from you!

Bummy would smile that broad, somewhat ornery grin which would soon turn into a laugh of joy that came from deep within the old man’s heart. Nearly fifty years separated the two men. Yet that age difference could not separate the similarities that the two shared—both were stubborn at times. Perhaps strong-willed was a better description than stubborn. Both men had a strong sense of loyalty, not only to each other, but also to their beliefs, their families, their jobs, and their community. Neither was fearful when it came to speaking his mind—especially if he believed in his heart that he was right and particularly if it was the right thing to do. Some people who knew Bummy and Coach called them stubbornly independent. And, at times, both men were stubbornly independent to a fault.

Another day dawned in Russel Springs and a beautiful Kansas sunrise sprinkled golden beams of light down the streets of Russel Springs. It was difficult for Casey Camden to believe that over twenty years had passed; it was the beginning of a new century—the year 2000 had arrived. Casey had left Russel Springs in 1978, but now he had returned to the small northeast Kansas community once again. The talk going around town was that Bummy had turned ninety-seven and he had gone shopping for a truck. Folks were saying that shortly before Bummy’s 97th birthday, old Bummy bought a bright red, new Chevy pick-up. Bummy, always the eternal optimist, told the salesman as he drove off of the car lot that he would be back in a few years to purchase a blue truck the next time he went vehicle shopping. Bummy was truly ninety-seven years young. He was certainly the eternal optimist. It was almost like time stood still. Both men had aged, but it was another chance for two friends to enjoy each other’s company at the local café.

Bummy had once remarked that, Old friends, antiques and wine grow more precious as time goes by. I’m mighty happy that we’ve got the best darned coach that Russel Springs has ever seen back in town.

It was mid-August of 2000 and it was time for the two long-time friends to sit down and enjoy the most important meal of the day—breakfast! The waitress sat two steaming plates overflowing with a combination of golden yellow and snow white scrambled eggs, sausage browned to a crisp, and golden brown toast with the purple grape jelly spread over the two slices of bread. Bummy seized his fork and aggressively attacked the heaping mound of scrambled eggs before him. Casey Camden followed the old man’s lead and just as aggressively the coach ate a mouthful of hot scrambled eggs.

Coach Camden thought to himself, If it’s good enough for Bummy, then it’s good enough for me! Without exchanging a word, Bummy and the coach nodded favorably at each other as yet another forkful of the golden and white scrambled eggs disappeared from sight.

Finally, the silence was broken when the coach paused and inquired, Good food, huh, Bummy?

Still chewing but now attacking the sausage, the old fellow smiled and nodded his head in agreement. The two friends didn’t have to say much to one another, but it was evident that their closeness, their purpose, their identities were linked together as one.

Mister, don’tcha know that the food in this old Russel Spring’s cafe is always good eatin’! exclaimed Bummy. It’s been too many years since you and me visited, Mister. It don’t seem possible that you were last coachin’ here in Russel Springs twenty-two years ago. You and me got some catchin’ up to do, Mister. Let’s talk some basketball, Coach, stated the old man whose appetite for the game he loved was as hearty as the love he had for a good morning meal.

How about you telling me about your basketball experiences, Bummy? questioned the coach.

The old man beamed at the opportunity to talk about his playing days and his early adult years. Well, let me see know, just where should I start? Bummy cleared his throat, removed his cap, and scratched the top of his bald head. Well, Mister, I can tell you straight up that I was considered a defensive specialist. Yesiree, I took a whole lotta pride in shuttin’ down our opponent’s best player. Some of my teammates started callin’ me Elmer cuz I’d stick to their best player just like Elmer’s glue, by golly! Bummy paused for a moment and then went on to say, I was the captain of the team and in them days the captain was the only player or person who could talk while the game was in progress. Not even the coach could talk when that there clock was a runnin’. Bummy’s eyes danced as he recalled memories from his past, We only had nine players on that 1923 championship team so we had to pick up a recent graduate so we could practice five on five! Ol’ Joe Roath was our center. Joe was 6'4. In them days, that was considered a mighty big man cuz the center had to jump after every made basket. Sometimes we would practice against the local town team from Russel Springs. Them boys were older, taller, and more physical but that just served to make us that much better and more prepared than our opponents. Me, I liked to mix it up some out there on that court, yesiree! I remember that county championship tourney just like it was yesterday. My dad said the tournament was stacked against us Russel Spring’s boys. We had to play five games in two days! The old fella puffed out his chest and wryly grinned while proudly stating, Me, I played every second of every game. There was no sittin’ on the pine for me. I was a young pup full of piss and vinegar! He went on to say, Only two people from Russel Springs made their way to the county championship game cuz of the blizzard. We had nearly twenty inches of snow dumped on top of us all at once. We ended up playin’ Whitting in the state tourney in Lapeka, Kansas, for the state championship. Lotsa’ folks said that they’d never seen a team as good as us!"

What did you do after graduation from high school? inquired Casey Camden who had been sitting silently enamored by the old man’s reminiscing.

Well, lemme’ think here a minute, Mister. I do remember that in ’26 I bought my first car—a 1926 roadster Model A Ford. I believe I paid $375.00 for that there automobile. When I was thirty-three, I was the milkman for Russel Springs. That was, as I recall, in 1937. I did that for ten years ’till 1943. Deliverin’ them milk bottles kept me outta’ the war; I guess them Russel Springs folks liked drinkin’ their milk better than the taste of war! Then in ’43 I started runnin’ the dozer and I’m still doin’ that and I look forward to goin’ to work each and every day. Hard work keeps a fella young, Mister! I suspect they will probably make me retire on of these days, but if I have my way, I ain’t retirin’ till I hit 100!

You are quite a guy Mr. Bummy! exclaimed the coach.

Ain’t nuthin special ’bout me Coach—nuthin’ ’bout me is all that special, the old man humbly replied.

Casey Camden shook his head in disagreement and replied, I will respectfully disagree with you on that point Mr. Baumgartner!

The two men laughed, shook hands, and patted each other on the back before departing the confines of the Russel Springs cafe.

Bummy and the coach were a team. Actually, they were a team within a team. Coach Camden would often tell his basketball players that as players they had a choice. His basketball teams could be four fingers and a thumb headed in five different directions or they could be like the fist which represented a sense of oneness, of unity, of purpose. With all five independent digits working together as one single unit, so much more could be accomplished on the court and in the game of life. The coach would show the following signal to his teams. Every team member understood the team signal. Coach Camden would stand before the group and show the open hand. He would then show the team the closed hand. Finally, the coach would use his closed fist to touch his chest three times. The team understood; Bummy understood; the coach made sure that all who were close to him understood the secret signal as well! An independent group must become one and they must exhibit heart. If that group is totally committed and only if that group is highly motivated and purpose driven, then that group or team will become highly successful! Casey Camden loved literary quotes. He was especially fond of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s statement—Hitch your wagon to a star. One can see in those six little words the summary of all human achievement and an everlasting inspiration to the future races of mankind.

Casey loved that quote from Emerson. He treasured almost as dearly a quotation from Henry David Thoreau—If you have built castles in the air, that is where they should be. Now, all that’s left is to put foundations under them!

For Coach Casey Camden the castles were already in the air, and he and Bummy diligently worked each and every day to establish solid foundations under those castles both for himself and for those around him. Bummy knew! Coach knew! It was time now to hitch that wagon to a star and to begin putting foundations under those castles in the air. With Bummy and Coach Casey Camden teamed together, Russel Springs was about to be rocked once again!

CHAPTER 3

P-O-L-I-T-I-C-S

THE PICKADOO YEARS

The only difference between stumbling blocks and stepping stones is how you use them!

Ray Bummy Baumgartner

No race can be lifted until its mind is awakened and strengthened!

Booker T. Washington

The person who cuts his wood, carries it in to his home, and burns it in his fireplace is warmed three times! I’ve packed my share of wood!

Margaret Roudybush

Pickadoo Nation was a hard place to work, particularly for administrators. The school had gone through numerous principals and superintendents throughout its existence. Casey Camden was one of those administrators that the Pickadoos would cast aside. But wait, we are getting ahead of the story. Because Casey had lost his job, like so many administrators before and after him at Pickadoo Nation School, he was unsure of his future. With time on his hands, he continued to work on the leadership organization that he and a friend, Mel, had organized the year before. The organization, Dream Weavers, was designed to help young people become leaders and make good decisions. Besides that, Casey Camden felt that he needed a dose of his own medicine; the months of January through May would provide the coach plenty of reflection time. The school board had offered Casey a lucrative financial severance package. Consequently, he had time and money!

The personal development portion of the leadership retreats was outstanding! When the ropes or COPE (Challenging Outdoor Personal Experience) course was used along with the numerous motivational speakers with whom the young participants could identify, the leadership retreats were truly life changing events!

The physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual sides of every individual were explored, analyzed, and, most important of all, improved. Casey and Mel knew that they had a good thing going because the retreats helped many young people become better individuals.

The events surrounding Moskie and Pickadoo were difficult for Casey to understand. He had resigned from Moskie and took the position at Pickadoo, but he missed his close friend and fellow principal at the Moskie High School, Pat Mackern. Pat was one of those loyal friends who would remain loyal for a lifetime. However, the coach realized a long time ago that when a door shuts that meant that there was a window of opportunity that was certain to be open. Every job that the coach had left behind ended up opening up an opportunity that was better than the one before. After all, if Casey Camden had not accepted the Pickadoo principal’s position, he never would have had the opportunity to coach again at Russel Springs.

Casey knew, after a while anyway, that it appeared that The Big Guy must have a plan for him even though the Big Guy upstairs didn’t always clue the coach in right away! Casey often remarked, I was born when it was nearly midnight, but it wasn’t completely dark that night! There was more truth to the coach’s statement than even he realized. Others would say that the stars were burning very bright that night—the night the coach was born. At every job he had ever accepted, Casey had his wagon hitched to a star! This situation would be no different. Once again, the principal/coach would land on his feet, and this time he landed at Pickadoo Nation School after he resigned at Moskie!

Napoleon Crusey an imposing physical specimen standing at 6' 5" and a muscular 250 pounds served as the superintendent of schools at Pickadoo Nation School. He was physically lean and mentally sharp. Mr. Crusey thumbed slowly through Casey Camden’s resume, letters of recommendation, transcripts, and his own personal notes pertaining to the background search he had done on Casey. As Casey and Cici entered the door to the superintendent’s office, Napoleon Crusey rose from his chair, shook Casey’s hand, and then shook