Tough day today.
There are some memories that just linger in your head like it was yesterday, regardless of how long ago they actually occurred. One year ago today (from tomorrow actually), I was sitting in a co-workers kitchen doing some cold calls when I got a call from the former SID of our college. Her voice was trembling, and I could tell something was wrong. "They can't find Dave" she said, and as we got farther into the conversation I began to see the writing on the wall. I left work, went home, and immediately started hitting the internet looking for updates, calling teammates, and trying to obtain more information. I was like a zombie at that computer at times, simply finding the most recent story to be published, and clicking refresh every minute.
Towards the end of the day, I began to realize I had to simply let time take its toll as the search party scoured the river, well above its normal level due to 2 weeks worth of rain, looking for any sign that perhaps he climbed out and was wandering around the area. Unfortunately, the worst-case scenario unfolded, and the next day it was confirmed that we lost him.
Coach Dave Hildebrandt changed my life in ways I probably didn't appreciate until it was too late to tell him. When he first got in contact with me, I was working while going to community college, settling for B's, not really heading in any specific direction, pretty much putting my life on cruise control and doing what was needed to get by. He said he was going to be in town to visit friends, and we ended up meeting and discussing the possibility of me transferring to Newbury to play for his team. A few months later I visited and knew that it was the place for me.
Fast forward a bit, and during my two years at Newbury with him I really developed both on and off the court. He constantly pushed his players to excel in the classroom, which was evident with the team GPA earning our team All-Academic awards. A lot of people would critique him for his lack of knowledge of the game, and I would be lying if I wasn't in that group at times. However, Dave more than made up for that with his ability to constantly challenge his players to continue raising the bar, never settling for where they were at.
I won't name the player, and for some readers I probably won't have to. A teammate of mine played for him one year, and was not a big fan of him to say the least. Dave was probably harder on him than the rest of us, sometimes to the point where the teammate felt it was unfair. However, his progression as the season went on couldn't be denied, and that was a key part in our run to the conference championship match, finishing a school-best 6th in the Nation that season. When the coaching switch happened last season, the same discipline that brought us success previously simply wasn't there (a testament to Dave moreso than a knock to the current regime), and it showed with our mid-season collapse.
When word spread that Dave applied for the Elms position, most of us were enraged. We just finished our best season ever, most of the core was returning, and he was going to leave us? There was even a meeting for the returning players discussing going to the A.D to say if he didn't get the job at Elms, we wouldn't want to play for him due to a lack of trust.
I cannot think of a time I was being more selfish.
It is no secret that Newbury does not pay well compared to other schools. The gym is rented from off-campus. Dave had to work admissions in order to obtain full-time status. That being said. Elms offered him a full-time position strictly coaching, with 2 gyms to practice in. How could he not take that job? Any of us would have done the same thing in his situation.
I stopped talking to Dave for awhile once he accepted the Elms position. However, I was in town for business later that summer, and stopped into the office to chat with him a bit, as I heard it was coincidentally his last day at Newbury. He told me about his upcoming camping trip, we talked some sports, and had a really nice conversation for an hour. At one point, he said he wished I would have told him I was coming, he had about 14 Newbury warmups that he could have gave me. I jokingly said he'd need to keep them, as he'd probably want to wear them and look at himself in the mirror when he was at home, missing being around us.
Little did I know it was going to be the other way around. One week later, he was gone.
I look back with fond memories of my time playing for him. So many different stories come to mind:
* Freshman year, Sacred Heart, I play atrociously the first set. We're walking back onto the court and I ask him if there's anything I can do differently. "You better stop playing like shit" what his response. I wasn't too pleased at the time, and although we lost in a 5-set heartbreaker, I took his advice.
* Playing at Lasell. I'm cheating out of base for defense because their middles are tipping into the seams, and I pick up 3 digs quickly. The 4th one they adjust and hit into my normal position. Dave gets off the bench and begins SCREAMING at me about it. Rather than nod my head and take it, I go over to explain why I'm doing it, and it gets ugly. I hop back on the court and proceed to play out of my mind. Dave tries to cheer me on, but I want nothing to do with him at the time.
The teammates loved this. I was given the tag of "Golden Boy" as most of them felt I could do no wrong with Dave. The irony in that is Dave and I were VERY different in our philosophies, and I would spend hours in his office doing work-study, arguing with him back and forth about volleyball, our team, and other teams. Dave and I didn't get in each other's faces at practice because we were able to agree to disagree, and therefore didn't bring any of those debates into practice. Teammates never saw these arguments. I think they got a kick out of seeing us go at it for a change.
One year later, Dave and I still would argue about that game. He's gone, but I guarantee you neither of us have changed our stances. I'd still cheat in the seam if we replayed that match, and he'd still give me hell for it.
I could go on and on. This post is getting long though, so I'll get to my last and favorite memory of Dave. We were in the second round of the NECVA tournament in 2008, 5th set against former #1 in the nation Nazareth. Down 13-10, we mount a comeback off some great serves by Jay Neveu, capped by opposite Josh Aberly HOUSING 2-time All-American Tom Maving to seal the match.
I have video of this, and the angle is perfect: You can see everyone's reaction. The teammates and I would watch it, laugh at someone's reaction, rewind and find someone else to watch. Everyone goes berserk. Coach Dave jumps off the bench, starts running towards us, and drops all his papers from his clipboard/binder. He proceeds to scrape them all up, then run back to Coach Bob with them pumping his fist.
Today, we see coaches too often focused on their self-image, reacting how they want people to see them rather than how they really feel. There was a great article on ESPN about this, and I completely agree that it takes away from the integrity of the game. Dave had many qualities, but his best was that he was the most genuine, passionate coach you'll ever meet. That moment where he ran onto the court and spilled his papers was a perfect example: He knew how coaches are supposed to act, but his excitement simply was too much to hold it in. There were coaches that were more experienced, more talented, and more successful, but Dave squeezed out every bit of his potential, building the worst team in the nation (losing 56 games in a row at one point) into a nationally-ranked contender.
He also used his passion to continually try to expand Division III Men's Volleyball, and although he may not be the main factor, he certainly did everything he could to help us get a National Championship, which will be effective in 2011.
I respected Dave as a coach and friend well before his death, but I didn't get the full picture of what he did for me until I went back to Newbury and he wasn't there. His door was ALWAYS open, and although I took advantage of it, I never realized how lucky I was to have those opportunities.
Rest in peace. Your impact on my life is not forgotten.
