Mr. Madigan

There have been a few times in my 37 years on this planet where I have met someone and immediately knew that they were special and were going to massively influence the direction of my life. It was immediately obvious that this unsolicited guidance was non-negotiable, that my path, at least for a period of time, was going to be intertwined and pulled along by the powerful wake of this other person’s influence. It was kind of like God had dropped this other person and me into the same time and place, smiled, sat back, and said to anyone who would listen, “Hey…watch this.”

Mr. Madigan was one of these people.

Disclaimer: While I don’t believe there is anything bad or offensive in this post, please keep in mind that the world was different 20+ years ago. We have all changed over the years, grown up, and moved on. Also, all of these stories are how I remember them to the best of my ability. Certainly some folks may remember things differently, and I’m fine with that.

Geometry

Mr. Madigan has been mentioned in a few previous posts, mostly in the context of getting me started on my first day in the high school weight room and making sure everyone understood that AC/DC’s “The Jack” was the ultimate lifting song. But my relationship with Mr. Madigan really started in the fall of 1998 when I walked into his geometry class for the first period of my first day of high school. My assigned seat was directly in front of Mr. Madigan’s desk in the front left corner of his classroom. If we were both at our desks, we were basically staring each other right in the face. I was intimidated as hell as I listened to Mr. Madigan go over his rules, standards, and expectations for the year. He took pride in making geometry a tough and rigorous math class where every proof had to be built from the ground up on a solid foundation of indisputable mathematical axioms. This format would serve me well when I got to college and took geometry with Dr. Bob Myers, another ass-kicker who tolerated zero bullshit and held his students to incredibly high standards.

“Statement, Reason, Given, Picture, Proof. That’s how we show our work in here,” Mr. Madigan explained to us on that first day. The fact that I remember this 23 years later shows what a masterful job he did of beating it into our heads. To this day, I am a very logical thinker whose brain shorts out when things do not seem balanced or harmonious. I partially blame Mr. Madigan’s problem-solving approach for this character trait. Mr. Madigan also took this first day to explain to us his grading system and the importance of the Christmas Test. When most teachers were winding things down as the holidays approached at the end of the calendar year, Mr. Madigan was cranking things up by giving us a long and brutal exam that was printed on festive red and green paper. It was evident that there were going to be no easy days with Mr. Madigan.

Track

Spring of my freshman year rolled around, and that meant track season. Mr. Madigan was the boys track coach which offered me the opportunity to get to know him in a totally different role than in geometry class. For the most part, Mr. Madigan made track really fun. My friends and I didn’t feel the same pressure from track that we felt during football and basketball season. Everyone in town wasn’t invested in wins and losses and wasn’t constantly offering advice or pointing out mistakes from previous games. During track, we just showed up, ran our events, and shared a whole bunch of laughs during all the downtime in between events and on the bus rides. Mr. Madigan was my track coach all four years of high school, and I can’t pass up sharing a few stories. I’m aware that these might be “you had to be there” moments, but whatever.

The Grill

Like many high school track teams, we had some really big strong kids who threw the shotput and discus but didn’t participate in any running events. These kids were typically stout linemen or linebackers during football season who were built for short explosive power but weren’t really going to be competitive in sprint races. Since the throwing events were usually held off to the side away from the actual track, they would start right away and then the throwers would have several hours to just hang out until the meet was over and everybody could go home. Some of our throwers got the idea to start bringing a grill to the meets so they could cook up some burgers and steaks in the parking lot while the rest of the meet was happening. One time, a coach from another school who treated track like a life or death scenario had seen some of our guys grilling in the parking lot from a distance but couldn’t identify they were from our school. The way Mr. Madigan told it, the conversation went something like this…

Other Coach (extremely aggravated): Can you believe some school brought a grill and there are guys out in the parking lot like it’s some kind of tailgate party or something?

Mr. Madigan (playing dumb): Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed.

Other Coach (growing furious): Yeah. It’s ridiculous. It’s like they’re not even taking the meet seriously. Why even show up?

Mr. Madigan (looking for a way to get out of the conversation): Yeah, I can’t imagine.

Derek (one of our throwers/grillmasters who walked up on the conversation): Hey Mr. Madigan, do you want cheese on your burger?

Mr. Madigan (covering his face and trying not to burst into laughter): Oh my God.

The Band

We had a few guys on the track team that also played in the school band, and sometimes our track meets would conflict with various band concerts, competitions, and events. The old school “Band Geek” colloquialism sure didn’t fit some of our track guys. I remember one guy in particular being an extremely tough competitor who had absolutely no quit in him. If memory serves me correctly, a typical meet day for him consisted of running the 800, 1600, 3200 and 4x800 relay. He always went balls to the wall and we had all the faith in the world in him for getting us valuable team points when we needed them. One season we got burned several times because some of our good athletes kept having to miss track meets for band commitments. Band was an extracurricular activity, but it was also a class, and the teacher threatened to start doling out bad grades to kids if they missed any of the spring band events. I have no problem with the band, and I wish I had learned to play an instrument when I was in high school, but the fact that we were losing track meets that we could have won because of this situation was frustrating to everyone on the team.

One day at practice, one of the band kids told Mr. Madigan that he would have to miss the next meet, and Mr. Madigan finally said what we were all thinking. “Why don’t we say, ‘Screw the band for once, huh?’ We’re trying to win a U.P. track title here.”

Of course we all burst into laughter and immediately adopted this phrase into our daily life. Every time something about the band would come up, my friends and I would say to each other, “Why don’t we say, ‘Screw the band for once, huh?’”

Running Through Snowflakes

One time we were scheduled to go to a three-team meet in Munising, Mr. Madigan’s alma mater and beautiful hometown that sits right on the shore of Lake Superior. The other traveling team, Ishpeming, canceled because of cold weather and snow in the forecast. Keep in mind this is during track season in mid-April. Also, as a general rule, if Ishpeming is canceling due to inclement weather, you know the weather is going to be pretty radically bad. Well, never one to miss a chance to travel to his hometown, Mr. Madigan and his valiant Knights of Norway braved the two-hour bus ride to Munising. The meet itself was complete misery. It was windy and freezing cold as we all laid on the track infield/football field trying to stay warm. I distinctly remember running the 300-meter intermediate hurdles as snowflakes came down, pelting my face and making Munising’s cement track extra slippery. At least I had an excuse for my insanely slow time that day. Years later, when I was teaching in Arizona, I volunteered to help out at a track meet that our school was hosting. I remember trying not to laugh as I heard one coach explain to another that it was completely unsafe for kids to run in temperatures less than 70 degrees. I guess he had never been to Munising.

Random Events

I have no idea what it’s like now, but when I was in high school, a kid could participate in four events at a track meet. My three regular events were the high jump, 110-meter high hurdles, and 300-meter intermediate hurdles. Sometime during my sophomore year, Mr. Madigan started this thing where he would identify random events that still had an opening and just put my name down. We’d be on the bus going to the meet and Mr. Madigan would come back with his clipboard and go through each event, reading off participant names.

“Henrion, you’re running the two mile today.”

“What?!” I would reply. “I’ve never practiced or run the two mile.”

Mr. Madigan would smile and do his sadistic laugh. “You’ll be fine.”

All my friends, never quick to offer any sympathy, would of course laugh too.

So this was how track went for me. I was extremely average at the high jump and hurdles races and God-awful at the other random races I had to run. I’m pretty sure I ran every event in track at least once by the time my career was over. Looking back, it was a great, and hilarious, experience, but at the time it was annoying and I got my ass handed to me most of the time.

My World Record Relay

One time we had a meet in Stephenson (ugh, I hated going to Stephenson) and one of the guys on our 4x100 relay team got hurt or didn’t feel like running that day or whatever. So, doing his usual thing on the bus ride on the way to the meet, Mr. Madigan told me that I was running the first leg of the 4x100 race. My pleading that I had never run this race or practiced passing a baton didn’t change Mr. Madigan’s mind, so I accepted my fate. When the time for the 4x100 came, I took my starting blocks and started following the official to the starting line for my primo lane four assignment. Remember, the 4x100 has each team staying in their lane the entire race, so there is a staggered start to compensate for the longer and shorter running distances that result from the two turns on the track. Well, as I followed the official, I noticed that he goofed up and walked right past my lane’s 4x100 start line and all the way to the start line for the 300-meter intermediate hurdles race. I looked to my right and the guy in lane five was setting up his blocks right next to me when really I should have been several meters back since I had the lane inside of him. You might be thinking that an honest person with some integrity would have notified the official of his error and moved back to the appropriate starting line, but I was a little bitter about having to run this race and decided I was going to take every advantage I could get. It turns out there was one other person in the stadium who noticed what happened. I slowly looked around to see if anyone was going to catch the official’s mistake, and when I did, the dad of someone on the girls track team was standing along the fence pretty much right even with my starting position. In that moment, he and I shared an unspoken understanding as he simply gave me a wink, smile, and nod. So we finally got set and the starting gun went off and I exploded out of the blocks, giving it my all. Because of my advantageous start position, it looked like I had made up the entire stagger about a step and a half into the race. I could hear the crowd screaming as I pumped my arms and legs, hoping to not drop the baton and seeing my teammate standing down the track waiting for the handoff. Fortunately, I only had to take about ten steps before I was on him and could give the baton to an actual fast person. The other three guys on the team were strong runners so we completely dominated the race. Mr. Madigan ran up to us afterwards all excited and screaming, “Henrion! That was amazing! You’re the new opening leg on that race!” After explaining to Mr. Madigan what had happened, he laughed and said, “Oh, well, good job anyway!”

The Henrion Award

A few weeks into my junior year track season, I broke up with my girlfriend. We had been together awhile, and I was only 16 so this was kind of a tough thing for me. One afternoon, word got out that instead of heading down to the track for practice after school, we were all to report to Mr. Madigan’s classroom for an emergency meeting. When everyone was gathered in Mr. Madigan’s classroom, he started speaking in a real somber and serious tone, something I had never previously seen from Mr. Madigan. He was going on about ups and downs in life and how it was important to stay positive even when experiencing loss. Most of us, myself included, had no idea what was going on. I noticed a few of the guys start to smirk when Mr. Madigan went behind his desk and reached down for something on the floor. He came out with a huge old track trophy that had been, well, let’s say repurposed, just for me. The masking tape placard on the bottom read HENRION AWARD and the metal runner striving for the finish line on top was sporting a t-shirt that read FREE and a broken chain around the neck that was now blowing in the runner’s tailwind. Everyone in the room burst into laughter as I sat there with my jaw on the floor. I truly did not know what to say. I was so grateful for Mr. Madigan and that group of guys. It was impossible to feel bad around them. They were my tribe.

After everyone else had cleared out of the room to head down to the track, Mr. Madigan said something to me privately that really made me evaluate how I thought about myself and my relationships. He probably doesn’t even remember saying it, but I took it to heart and it changed my outlook on a little of things going forward.

I wonder if that trophy is still in my parents’ basement. I’ll have to take a look the next time I’m home.

Norway High School Boys Track, 2002. Mr. Madigan is in the top row on the far left.

Physics

So I got my annual dose of Mr. Madigan during spring track season, but my senior year finally came around and I got to have him as a teacher again, this time for physics. Just like in geometry, Mr. Madigan had rigorous standards for how we had to solve problems and show our work in physics class. Again, this approach served me well as I ended up going on to study physics in college and currently make a living because of the problem-solving base Mr. Madigan helped me develop. I’ve drawn a lot of free-body diagrams in my lifetime.

I had always really liked social studies and English class, but it seemed like my whole senior year all Mr. Madigan, Mr. Pollard, and Mr. Leiker talked about was studying physics, engineering, and/or computer science at Michigan Tech. I didn’t end up going to Michigan Tech (sorry, gentlemen), but the fact that those guys steered me in the direction of hard science and math really changed the course of my whole life. My current job and all the opportunities and cool things I’ve done would never have happened if not for Mr. Madigan, his physics class, and the influence of Mr. Pollard and Mr. Leiker.

Risk-o

Some time around 8th or 9th grade, my buddy Poike got the board game Risk (“Risk-o” in Mr. Madigan’s parlance). My friends and I were all super competitive with each other, so we would have these massive games with 4-6 people that would last all day and night. Fights would break out and people would accuse each other of cheating and call each other names. It was great.

One day Mr. Madigan overheard us talking about Risk and got all fired up because he used to play in college with a bunch of friends.

“This one guy thought he had me beat because I had a final exam starting in ten minutes and my back was against the wall. I said, ‘GIMME THE DICE.’”

We all loved Mr. Madigan and knew a game of Risk with him would be a riot, so we set it up and rode our bicycles out to his house one Saturday afternoon. We played out on the back deck of his house and had a blast. We quickly learned that Mr. Madigan always had to have possession of Madagascar, and if anyone took it from him he would become livid. There was the predictable screaming and finger pointing, and at one point, Mr. Madigan took things up a notch by grabbing some of Poike’s army game pieces and throwing them off the back deck into his chicken coop. Mr. Madigan called Poike, “The Dealer,” that whole afternoon as he accused Poike of being in cahoots with our friend Tony and making deals rather than strategically attacking. We played Risk over at Mr. Madigan’s house a handful of times and it was always incredibly fun with lots of quotable moments that we would repeat for weeks afterwards.

Mr. Madigan actually got me a Risk game and gave it to me at my graduation party. I still have it, but I’m missing five rowdy and passionate friends to play against.

Like Men

If it wasn’t already obvious, my friends and I loved Mr. Madigan. He was kind of crazy and would occasionally scream at the top of his lungs, so there was never a dull moment. My friends and I would be having a normal day or hanging out chatting and Mr. Madigan would come rampaging onto the scene, making jokes and good-naturedly teasing us about girlfriends, sports, classes, whatever. The thing with Mr. Madigan was that even though we were just a group of goofy high school boys, he treated us like men. Mr. Madigan never treated us like fragile little kids who couldn’t handle some criticism. He was hard on us and had high expectations for our academic and athletic performance. Mr. Madigan would get in our faces and be a jerk when we needed it, but it was all in an effort to make sure we knew where we stood, who was in charge, and where we needed to get better. We didn’t always like it, but it was usually exactly what we needed to hear and we learned to deal with it.

Last summer, I was back in my small hometown of Norway, Michigan, to celebrate the 4th of July weekend with my family. One sunny afternoon, I was out cruising around in my rental car when I happened to catch Mr. Madigan about to start walking up his driveway. I briefly debated whether or not I should turn my car around and go back to say hello. You know how it is. Sometimes you haven’t seen someone in ages (in this case about 11 years) or really kept in touch, so you don’t know if it will be awkward or if the person will even care to see you. It happens to everyone. I get it. But I had also made it a point on this trip to not shy away from these types of encounters, so I whipped a U-turn and caught Mr. Madigan before he could head into his house. It took him a second to recognize me, but once he did he gave me the same emphatic recognition, handshake, and manly slap on the back that I always cherished from Mr. Madigan. We chatted for about half an hour and it was wonderful. We laughed about old times, talked about family, and shared some career highlights and changes. I tried to explain to Mr. Madigan how much of an influence he had on my life, but it was hard to get the words out. Maybe this will help.

Thanks, Mr. Madigan.