"See You In Heaven" - In Memory of Gary Porter

I suppose you could say my dad was an eternal optimist. He was a coach to me, my brothers, my friends, and hundreds of other kids over the course of a few decades, and even in the face of insurmountable odds, he would encourage us to keep up the fight. He had the highest of hopes for my brothers and me in life and career - even suggesting I become a doctor or a pharmacist due to my care-taking qualifications this year. He would celebrate our accomplishments, our advancements, and our endeavors. Upon being diagnosed with late-stage inoperable cancer, his automatic response was to fight; even late in his treatment, with no cure in sight, he insisted on us reading books from the library on how to overcome, and he kept the hope of the day when he could go back to his hikes. Perhaps he was trying to be strong for me - some last lesson in perseverance - but really I think it was his own trademark stubborn persistence. Never give up hope. There are better days ahead.

Coach Porter was a unique individual in that he didn't just coach because his sons were on the team; he would often take on two teams in different age groups in soccer, and went across town to coach baseball in poorer areas and even reported violence having occurred at or near the practice fields. He truly enjoyed coaching kids of all backgrounds and ages. He had a love of sport that was pure, but he was never fanatical; he enjoyed baseball, football, soccer, and basketball, but I rarely (if ever) heard him speak higher of any professional or college team than of the teams we played for growing up. Not only was he a dedicated coach, but he was one of our biggest fans. He was there in the stands when I hit my first home run, and he was at nearly every Cajon soccer match - home and away - when I played. Eventually, I would coach high school soccer, and he would be there rooting for my girls with the same enthusiasm.

My dad's appetite for sports was probably only matched by his appetite for a good meal. That is not to say he was interested in unique cuisines or fine dining; his tastes were fairly simple and his list of favorite restaurants short. I suppose growing up hungry gave him the incentive to enjoy his meals with pride. He loved going out to eat, but his most famous culinary exploit was the Indian burritos that were often the talk of the classroom on Friday mornings at Assumption. Since he had few other hobbies, I made it a point these last eleven months to take him on a culinary journey around the world with our dinners at home. With little protest, I introduced Dad to foods from Italy, Peru, Mexico, Spain, Turkey, Morocco, and Greece. He loved tomatoes, but seemed to think mozzarella caprese was strange. When I could convince him not to go get biscuits and gravy from DJ's, I would make pancakes for breakfast, and we must have had a dozen or so varieties - banana, blueberry, strawberry, sweet potato...

All else aside, the main event of Dad's day for many years was his "hike." He was not so much a runner as an avid walker. He was not big on most things social, but he did enjoy his hikes up toward the university and through the foothills for several miles daily and the people he met along the way. Often he would report people taking the time to slow down and honk at him on Northpark Boulevard to say hello. He was always proud of his fitness and routinely encouraged me to get out there and walk. Supposedly, "walking cures everything." It was a good lesson.

But, who was he? My dad was a fairly private person, but made a few things known. He left the Indian reservation as a young man and was determined to make it on his own. He climbed the ranks of the US Forest Service and bought a home and made a life. He charted his own course and even changed his name. He believed in the power of the individual, yet we are nothing if we do not elevate those around us. He had no tolerance for pettiness, rudeness, disloyalty, or laziness. He was a Catholic who always sat in the back of the church and offered to help. He made his boys his priority. His granddaughters were his treasure.

Yes, Gary "Winter Bird" Porter was a fiercely dedicated father, proud example and motivator, and determined optimist. He received his final holy communion at home just last week. The eucharistic minister was a very nice lady from the church. She bid him farewell, and he answered her in the last distinct message I will remember, "see you in Heaven."

Thank you, Dad. Rest in peace.

Gary H. Porter  

September 27, 1932 - September 30, 2014 

Excellence Runs Deep

The "Let's Win" Competition

It was a calm and slightly cool afternoon today as I took great pride in returning after 14 years to a school where I had coached varsity soccer to see one of my former players coach her team in the CIF Playoffs. While I can't claim responsibility for her great knowledge of the game, I was just simply happy to see her success and hoped maybe one thing I said or did contributed to her being able to be there for her girls. At half-time, I checked my phone for any news, and there was - that my first football coach had passed away.

It has been a very fortunate blessing that San Bernardino, California has been the home of some excellent coaches in many sports. Who I am - and similarly true for countless others - is a reflection of what these good people have bestowed out of little more than the love of the game and love of other people. Gary Porter taught me discipline and dedication. John Hague taught me sportsmanship and professionalism. Robin Goodman taught me courage and toughness. Rich Imbriani taught me intensity and determination. Chuck Pettersen taught me motivation and how to be a champion.

One of our weekly "team books" given each Monday

Coach Pettersen, or "Coach P", only coached me for one season - his last at Cajon High School - during 1990, and as a kicker, the majority of practice time was spent away from the rest of the team. However, he made an impact on me as an athlete (and later as a coach) like no other. I was fifteen years-old, and for the first time in nine years playing sports, I learned how passion and excellence were two things that were uniquely integral in winning at a high level. What he delivered to his teams was not just a road map for victory or intense physical training. Coach P taught us to care for what we were doing and whom we relied upon as teammates. He created an atmosphere in which we could thrive and an expectation not only that winning was possible, but it was a necessary part of life. We did win a league championship that year, but perhaps more important to me, he taught me how to win.

The strange thing about coaching is that you never really know the impact that you make. You can count the wins and the losses. You can count the playoff appearances and league championships. However, the little things you strive to impart to the integrity of another human may always remain a mystery; one can only be proud of what we all managed to achieve together. At least, among other things, our coach can rest in peace knowing that there are scores of men who grew up knowing that "Better is Best", one should always strive to "Be Somebody", and "Excellence Runs Deep."

Oh yeah... Let's Win.

After my last game of my first season coaching - at Cajon