I was only allowed one exclamation point in those days, so I went really BIG with the main headline. I know how to play this game. (David Svien photo)
Wildcat grapplers (l to r) Sam Zook, Nick Dugin and Garrett Stahl help Myrna Linsenmayer honor her husband, Rich, Thursday. (John Fisken photo)
Rich Linsenmayer scared me, at least a bit.
Back in the olden days, when I was Sports Editor at the Whidbey News-Times from 1992-1994, Linsenmayer was in the latter stages of an epic career as head wrestling coach at Oak Harbor High School.
He guided the Wildcats from 1969 until his retirement in 1998, and, during my time, coached OHHS to a second-place showing in 3A at the ’93 state tourney.
That stood as the biggest team accomplishment in school history until Oak Harbor shocked the world and won a 4A state football title in 2006.
I remember Linsenmayer, who passed away at age 78 Dec. 26 and was honored before Thursday’s home match with Arlington, as a giant of a man.
Honestly, we might have been the same height. I might have been taller. Memories get hazy.
But I always remember (metaphorically, at least) looking up at him when he spoke.
A true old school coach, he was a man of few words in interviews, though he always came through with any and all info I needed.
He wasn’t chatty like fellow ‘Cat coaches Jeff Stone or John Matzen, or the man who (against his will) became my mentor — OHHS journalism teacher/state baseball Hall of Fame guru Jim Waller.
I’m sure Linsenmayer looked at me, a 21-year-old idiot who completely skipped college and would have been dropping exclamation points in my headlines (if only the WNT would have let me!!) and sighed deeply from time to time.
But he never dodged a question. Always explained even the simplest wrestling thing to me, even if it was for the seventy-second time.
And remember, this was before email and cell phones took off, so he could have dodged me far, far easier back when phone calls from the office and in-person badgering was the currency of the day.
But he didn’t, even faithfully calling me late on a Saturday night (from a pay phone), as the world hung on whether the Wildcats would hold off Mead for a team title.
In true Linsenmayer fashion, his tone betrayed nothing.
I know, deep inside, he took great pride in his wrestlers and their accomplishments.
But when he spoke to the ink-stained wretches, he presented wins and losses in virtually the same light — as an occasion for his guys to learn valuable life lessons.
He never got overly giddy when his squad was flying high (at least in public) and never dipped too far into despair when they were struggling.
Linsenmayer had seen it all on the mat, both as a wrestler and a coach, and he exuded a quiet confidence, a sereneness and calmness that even, for a bit, got me to simmer down.
For a moment or two, at least.
Over the last 25 years, I’ve written a lot of words (some better than others) about high school sports on Whidbey Island, and dealt with a lot of coaches.
Rich Linsenmayer is up there on my personal Mount Rushmore.
