Letter by Kevin Marshall '82

Dear Coach,

"Excuse me gentlemen, I must get a typewriter
And hammer out the story of an atheist
Who believes in God." -- E.K. Hornbeck, Inherit the Wind  (Summer. Not too long ago)

As I reflect on our conversations over the years, I cannot help but recall Hornbeck's frustration with Drummond in the final scene of Inherit the Wind. Like the Walrus and the Carpenter, we have walked miles together and have talked of many things, some silly, some solemn, and "whether pigs have wings." We've challenged each other with such philosophical riddles as to whether there was ever a "good lie?" Or whether lies can be ranked according to whether they are lies of omission or commission? Whether Dagny Taggart really loved Hank Reardon or Francisco d'Anconia? And who the hell was John Galt? And why did Atlas Shrug? Was Cool Hand Luke a savior? And was Dragline a devout apostle whose gospel fueled hope for the prison faithful? And let us not forget Leo Buscaglia, Hawkeye or Trapper John and their doctrines of love and whether everything is fair in love and war?

Yes, my friend, we have spoken of many things, as you have with so many of us who were fortunate to pass through your heart. And we are all better for having humored your Socratic inquiries, for having engaged in the banter-for you demonstrated that the question is as important as the answer, and that the next question is even more important to the reformulation of a better answer. You coached us as to Monmouth's weaknesses, as to our weaknesses, as to the weaknesses of the human condition, at all times demanding that we exercise courage and wisdom as we judge others who similarly are in a struggle with their destinies. But, I must confess, there was one recurring conversation in which we engaged that will forever temper my view of Grace: 1) whether there was a proactive god to whom one might actually pray; and 2) if so, to whom was God to respond upon the mustering of a "Hail Mary" pass with mutually exclusive outcomes?

It was during these conversations that you confided in me that the birth of each of your children brought you the closest to the face of a god, and yet it was also during these conversations that you often re-enacted, relentlessly, Henry Drummond's cross-examination of Mathew Brady during which he rhetorically questioned whether "God 'spake' to Charles Darwin or just the men who wrote the bible." And now on the eve of your final scene, you and I both know that the truth lies somewhere within the briefcase of Henry Drummond where he placed Darwin's Origin of the Species and the Bible, side by side.

You guided us toward light, and yet warned us of bigotry and ignorance. You directed us to seek truth and justice, and yet reminded us that no one had the right to spit upon another's religion (or their lack of it.) And Coach, it has been through your grace and inspiration that many of us are vigorous, healthy, and happy. It is in this vein that you advanced a Siwashian species of sorts, for as Darwin observed, "[t]he vigorous, the healthy, and the happy survive and multiply." And yet, it is also in this vain that you nurtured a light that was and remains constant. And somewhere between the constancy of your light and the Darwinian law of variation and natural selection lies a truth. A truth that manifests itself through all the hearts and souls you touched over the years both on and off the hardwood floor: a truth that has been, and will continue to be passed onto our children, and onto their children for generations to come.

The constancy of light has blessed you, your family, and all of us who have been granted a place in your extended family, and what an extended family and legacy you leave behind. My heart will always be at the "K" where there is light, and where I know I will always be able to find you, perhaps with Henry Drummond or any number of other characters with whom we have walked as we "talked of many things."

* * *

The curtain falls.

Kevin S. Marshall
Class of 1982