Hardesty: Across the track and onto the field to ‘find Don Faix’

I never knew the ride I was about to take when I received my first high school track and field coverage assignment at the Record-Courier.

It was early April 1994, and I had been at the paper barely a month. My boss, R-C Sports Editor Tim Houser, had me covering the Mogadore at Crestwood dual meet at Jack Lambert Stadium. Even though I had already logged nearly six years of sports journalism by that point of my young career, it would be the first time I had ever seen, let alone covered, a high school track meet — a point I made sure Tim knew.

“I don’t even know where to start,” I told Tim.

“Just find Don Faix. He’s the Crestwood coach,” Tim replied.

“And then what?” I asked.

“That’s all you need to do,” Tim responded. “Just find Don Faix.”

I wondered how “just finding Don Faix” was going to help a track and field newbie like myself learn how to cover a high school track meet.

I didn’t have to wonder for long.

The meet had just gotten underway by the time I arrived at the stadium. (I will point out here that unlike most other sports, it’s not necessary for a reporter to see every second of a track meet. The key is to make sure you bear witness to the events that are relevant to the story). It looked like chaos had broken out inside the stadium: Athletes seemed to be everywhere at once. There were so many people milling around on the field that I had no idea if they were coaches, fans, officials or individuals just going for a stroll. And I didn’t know where I was even permitted to go.

“Just find Don Faix.” I could hear Tim’s voice echoing in my head as I stared blankly at the confusing scene in front of me. “Just find Don Faix.” I assumed Don Faix must be somewhere in that mass of humanity on the field, so off I went, once more unto the breach.

Unsure if I was even allowed on the field — which, of course, meant walking across the track where most of the action was taking place — I casually sauntered across the cinders and onto the grass, fully expecting an official-looking person to grab my arm from behind and bellow: “SIR, WE’RE GOING TO NEED YOU TO STEP OFF THE GRASS. COME WITH US, SIR.” And then be unceremoniously escorted from the premises.

But … nothing. I made a clear break onto the field, trying my best to look like I knew what I was doing, even though it felt like I had a Goodyear blimp-style sign scrolling across my forehead that read, in big, bright lights: “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Safely on the field, my next mission was “Just find Don Faix.” I had heard of Don Faix, but not from track. He had coached the Crestwood football team in the mid-1980s. But I had no idea what he looked like. So I found someone wearing a red jacket, introduced myself and said, “Where can I find Coach Faix?”

The person pointed down the field to an older gentleman scurrying about like he was trying to stay one step ahead of a moving grass fire. “Is it OK if I talk with him now? It looks like he’s kind of busy,” I said. “Sure — if you can keep up with him,” came the friendly response.

My primary mission of “just finding Don Faix” was accomplished. Keeping up with him was another matter. That turned out to be a ride all its own — a ride that kicked off nearly a decade of covering high school track in Portage County, forging new friendships and leaving indelible images forever etched in my mind.

Some of my favorites:

– Talking with Kent Roosevelt coaches Brian Botzman and Aaron Carlton as they put away equipment at Roosevelt Stadium after hosting a meet in April 1997, the ghostly image of Comet Hale-Bopp stamped dramatically above us in the night sky as we spoke. It still gives me goosebumps.

– Interviewing Garfield’s John Oliver in the media pen adjacent to the track at Ohio Stadium during the state track and field meet. We were discussing his performance in the field events, which he wasn’t at all happy about. While we talked, the competitors for the 110-meter hurdle finals — of which John was one — were called to begin assembling for the event. “Excuse me, Mr. Hardesty. I have to go,” he said. “But I’ll be right back after I win state in this.” And win state he did — so decisively, in fact, that by the time he crossed in front of my position in the media pen, John was nearly a full set of hurdles in front of the rest of the field. In the state championship meet. Incredible.

– Interviewing Garfield coach John Bennett at the state meet about the performance of several of the G-Men’s qualifiers that day. When he got to one in particular, John said, “It wasn’t his best day. He hasn’t been feeling well.” “Yeah, what happened?” I asked. “Well,” John said, “we went out to eat before we came to the stadium, and the kids were supposed to be eating something light but he ordered the ‘Gravy Boat.’ And he’s been sick ever since.” The Gravy Boat; even the image made me queasy. I made a mental note right then and there to never order anything called the “Gravy Boat” if I ever saw it on a restaurant menu. So far I haven’t, but I’m keeping my eyes peeled.

– Covering a Mogadore at Woodridge meet and sitting in the stands talking to some coaches. Suddenly, I heard some commotion in the stands coming from Mogadore athletes, who were pointing excitedly at the track and saying, “Look! Look!” I looked up, and there was a Wildcat runner in the 3,200 meters who was running the event backwards. Yes, backwards. And running was a stretch; it was actually a slow jog. I didn’t even know you could do that without getting disqualified. I said to a coach, “Why is he running backwards?” To which the coach said: “He normally doesn’t run the 2-mile, but he needs to get in shape so I put him in it at the last minute and he’s not happy about it.” If he had run it normally, I never would have remembered it. But he ran it backwards, and now I’ll never forget it.

Just like I’ll never forget so many other stories and people from a decade of track and field in Portage County. Stay tuned for Part 2 next week.