Coupeville Sports

Charles Clark, AKA Uncle Chuck, a legend in Wolf Nation and far beyond. (Jane Dent photo)

This is a love letter, not an obituary.

One of the best men to ever be a part of Wolf Nation left us today, but his spirit will never fade.

Charles Clark was a football lifer, a player, a coach, a fan, a man who could smack talk with the best of them, only to let loose with a warm laugh which made his target laugh even louder.

He was a genuinely nice man, a strong dude not afraid to show his love for others, and he always made you feel as if you mattered.

Uncle Chuck knew the gridiron game inside out, but he never lorded his knowledge over others.

He shared it freely, whether he was working with you on the field, whether he was camped in the stands casting an eagle eye at what was playing out down below, or sitting in a car bumping down the backroads on a rainy night.

If you’re like me — a sports writer bumbling your way through, telling the legend while always knowing you don’t really comprehend the game the way an insider does — there could be no better traveling companion than Uncle Chuck.

We hit the road multiple times, with Jonathan Martin, dad to Jacob and Andy, driving, and that velvety voice flowing from the back seat.

He’d tell tales, of his own gridiron days, and those of his family members — and he regarded every guy in a uniform to be his family.

Games won and lost, legends who never made it, underdogs who did, plays long past which still lived large in his mind.

With other football lifers, Uncle Chuck could break down X’s and O’s to the smallest detail.

With me, he was patient, leading me to a deeper knowledge of the game while keeping it simple, a gentle laugh punctuating his stories.

When we stopped for ice cream in a distant town, he had a smile and a nod and some friendly words for everyone we met.

Did he know these passing folks? Didn’t matter.

If we had left Uncle Chuck in a different town, be it Port Townsend or Forks, the man would have been that town’s favorite son in a matter of hours.

People warmed to him in .00002 of a second. Being an introvert myself, it always sort of amazed me how smoothly he rolled through life.

You can’t fake the warmth and love that man had for people. And that people had back for him.

His fellow coaches loved him.

His players loved him.

Every lady in the stands, whether on Whidbey or in some far-flung place he was visiting for the first time, loved him, and every guy was fine with that, cause, darn it, they loved him too.

His impact is immeasurable, in Coupeville and beyond.

We only had Uncle Chuck as a Wolf coach for a bit, but every day he spent here he made us better.

He taught football, but he also taught life.

Play hard, play your best, always, but show respect to those you encounter, on and off the field.

Through action, through word, through a smile and a heart which were world-class, Uncle Chuck was a mentor, a role model, and, most of all, a friend.

I can’t pretend to know his whole life, of what he faced as a young Black man growing up. Or as an adult, for that matter.

But the glimpse I had of Uncle Chuck in the years I knew him was of a man who chose happiness over hate, a man who deserved our respect, our admiration, and our love.

With Covid throwing the world asunder, and him dealing with his own health issues, it has been a bit since I last shared a car with him, bumping through the night after a dose of Friday Night Lights (and a hamburger or two).

I hope he knew how much he meant to all of us.

And I hope his family knows how grateful we are for them sharing Uncle Chuck with us.

I know, going forward, he will remain with me.

Every time a linebacker busts through the defense and chases down a quarterback, I’ll hear Uncle Chuck let loose with a holler.

Every time a running back slams into the line and gets crushed, yet somehow ekes out a yard or two, I’ll hear his chuckle.

When the players and coaches gather on the field afterwards, win or loss, I’ll see Uncle Chuck down there, offering a bear hug, a back slap, a quiet word or a big whoop, depending on the need of all involved.

He loved the game, but he loved everyone involved more.

And we will love him for that, forever.