Three Sparks: A True Story
FAMILY GUY
Bob Drysdale was a manly man, for sure, but he was even more brazenly, without doubt, a family man. “He was so dedicated to his family,” Tom Lopez said. “He was just so good as a dad.” Bob Drysdale is survived by his wife Cindy, and their three children Kim, Erin, and Ben, now adults all. To this day, losing Bob has been their biggest challenge individually and as a family. Kim may not have been in the accident, but she has the unseen scars of children who lose beloved parents. Cindy and Ben were battered and bruised, traumatized and wrecked, too, in ways only they can say. Ken Taylor described the then five-year-old Ben as a happy little boy who would ask, “When is my Daddy coming back?” There remains in Wellington a monument of sorts to that cheery cherub. Cody Whitehead said interested parties need only walk behind The Pizza Palace, where they’ll find in the concrete pad where the trash receptacle sits, a small handprint. Beside it, a one-fingered signature in the concrete spells out: Ben ’96. Both mother and son fared better physically by far than Erin, who, you’ll recall, “won” the coveted seat behind her driver dad. She wonders if Ben would be here today had she lost. Erin Drysdale suffered severe facial fractures, lacerations, and lost most of her teeth. Ken said Erin has her father’s indomitable spirit, which she sorely needed to overcome so much pain and years of reconstruction procedures. That day, though, Erin said she wasn’t in pain, not really, and much of the immediate aftermath remains foggy. “I had to have been conscious but I was on tons of medications,” she said. “What I remember most was weeks later when I looked in the mirror. I fainted and knocked pictures off the wall.” Cindy had been cautiously preparing her young daughter for the shock. Erin remembered her mom telling her that she had lost some teeth and being told several times, “Don’t touch.” “I remember having terrible dreams in the hospital,” Erin said. “I kept dreaming of a teacher in the halls, running, running away from something.” While recovering in the hospital, Erin received an anonymous card. Inside it read: “When you’re afraid to look forward and it hurts to look back, look beside you and I’ll be there.” That its sender remains unknown makes it all the more profoundly personal. Not only did those seemingly heaven-sent words encourage Erin throughout her long recovery, they continue to inspire her every day, to this day. In order to literally carry them (him) with her, Erin had them tattooed on her back. Erin Marie Drysdale graduated from her papa’s alma mater on May 17, 2014 with a bachelor’s degree in Sociology. Unbeknownst to her mom or to me until during the commencement ceremony—the last of seven that weekend—Erin Rader Mross, my daughter, graduated from CSU that same day at the same time also from the College of Liberal Arts. A couple of years later on a perfectly gorgeous and gorgeously perfect early autumn afternoon, Cindy, Kim, Erin, and Ben were kind enough to relive the tragic day that changed everything. It’s like Cindy said earlier, “You know how in years there are B.C. and A.D.? Well, for us there’s life before the accident and life after.”1 1 While B.C. means exactly what most think it does, “Before Christ,” A.D. does not stand for “After Death.” Rather A.D. is actually a translation of the Latin phrase anno domini or “in the year of our Lord.” The dating system isn’t pinpoint accurate, but it nevertheless accomplishes precisely what its creators intended: it establishes the birth of Jesus Christ as the turning point in world history. Cindy brought out photos of the mangled car. Ben called them, “Terrible. The car’s destroyed.” He added that he was seeing these pictures for the first time. Ben remembers his mom telling him about the pictures, about the accident, about “everything else,” but as for memories, Ben really doesn’t have a whole lot except for being in doctors’ offices a whole lot. “What I know are stories I’ve heard,” he said. “Like Ken Taylor was my coach, but I never knew the background until reading this (book).” “We were traumatized, all of us,” Cindy said. “But because of Benny and the girls, there wasn’t another option but to carry on. I couldn’t like hide in a box.” Kim, aka Kimmy, nodded. “Dad raised us to be that way.” Cindy nodded in return. “When the kids were sick, Bob would say, ‘You might as well go ahead and go to school and learn something.’” “Dad would always ask us, ‘Are you hurt or are you injured?’ Erin said. “Unless you were injured and going to the hospital, you were going to school. We all had almost perfect attendance.” “Erinny” doesn’t quite work as well “Benny and Kimmy,” but Erin’s got her own, original nickname, one that fits right in: “Nanny.” Cindy explained that when Ben was learning to say “Erin,” it came out sounding more like “Nan.” It stuck. To this day, Kim’s two boys call Erin “Aunt Nan” or “Aunt Nanny.” “He forced us…” Kim started to say. “To want to be invincible,” Erin finished. Even after more than 18 surgeries, not including extensive dental work, Erin participated in every sport she could—and managed wrestling for Coach Taylor. A daddy’s girl and proud of it, Erin achieved her black belt in karate at the age of 11. Erin’s competitiveness came out even when she and her dad ran miles and miles together while she was conditioning for soccer and track. “I’d always try to go faster than him and stay a-half-step ahead,” she said. “We’d talk the entire time. It didn’t matter if he was out of breath.” Cindy was quick to point out that only Daytime Dad practiced what he preached about being tough stuff; Nighttime Daddy cuddled his beloved children on his lap while watching TV. As most firstborns know and delight in reminding their younger siblings, being the oldest has its advantages. For Kim, one of the biggest is being able to recall so many good memories of her dad. As for that fateful day in late August, 1999, though, Kim said she doesn’t really recall getting “The Call.” “I must’ve; I was working at the hotel that day,” she said. Kim, then 19, worked in Greeley during college. “All I remember is Uncle Rod showed up to take me to the hospital.” That would be Rod Dyer, Cindy’s brother. “It was a quiet ride. Luckily I was able to see Mom right away. She was a bit of a mess.” What Cindy was, according to Cindy, was in shock. “There are so many things I don’t remember,” Cindy said. “We were there two weeks, and to this day, I don’t know what we did all day long; where we slept.” “Or how we got clothes,” Kim pondered aloud. “Wasn’t it on a cot in a broom closet?” Erin suggested. “In the maternity ward,” Cindy finished. “I wasn’t going anywhere, not with Erin in the trauma unit. I do remember wearing scrubs, and being so grateful that Mom and Dad were taking care of Ben.” Of course, like the devoted grandparents they are, Ed and Mildred Dyer are still more than happy to spend any time they can with their daughter’s only son. Truth be told, they, too, were probably just as grateful to be able to do something, anything, and for the distractions a small child can continuously provide. Cindy’s injuries were worse than anyone knew: bruised ribs, legs, and ankles—all of which should be preceded by the word “badly”—in addition to a possible concussion from hitting her head on the window. “I didn’t let on that I was hurt,” she admitted, “because, well, I was a mom.” It’s only all these years later that Cindy owned up to how her ribs hurt so terribly, the only position in which she could find relief was sitting between two chairs with her arms extended over the chairbacks. The scar tissue on her legs bothers her to this day, and her ankles “are bad, really bad.” “I want you to know how strong Mom was,” Erin said fervently, demonstrating that she, too, was a force to be reckoned with. “Every time I woke up, she had to tell me where Dad was. She had to tell me over and over and over.” Cindy closed her eyes for a moment. “I had to be strong,” she said. “I had to go on for these guys.” She hesitated. “Now I don’t want you to think I’m crazy, but there was a strange thing that happened that day…something I can’t explain.” At the accident scene, Cindy’s first thought was concern for Ben and Erin. Cindy knew Bob was in the driver’s seat, but she doesn’t recall if she had fully grasped yet that he was dead. She remembered a lady reaching out for Ben, offering, “I’ll take him and hold him.” But Cindy told her, no, because she didn’t want a stranger comforting her son. At that point, Cindy said a man appeared, but no one knows from where. Dressed in what Cindy described as a long, medieval-looking robe, “this thick, velveteen thing,” the man exuded strength. He had a white beard and was wearing a big cross around his neck. “He asked if he could administer last rites,” Cindy said, “and then he was gone.”2 Cindy said she wasn’t the only one who saw the man, whose presence was comforting. She said at one of the trials, her dad asked the attending police officer about him. “The cop said he saw him, too.” Cindy said. “I was grateful the man was there, even if I still don’t know how or why.” At the time of this interview, Erin was working at OtterBox, makers of the No. 1 selling phone case in America. OtterBox started out in a Fort Collins garage in 1998 and credits its billions of dollars in annual sales revenue to “our commitment to innovation” and to “the fundamentals of hard work, risk taking, and listening to our customers.” That may just sound like good marketing to you, but after my daughter Molly’s iPhone went swimming in one of our outdoor ponds, my husband was able revive it, he said, because it was in such a good case. Here’s another line from OtterBox.com: “Always ready for action, OtterBox inspires people to do all that they do with a dash of daring.” The “doing with a dash of daring” kinda reminds me of a certain someone nicknamed B-O-B. It also applies to one of Erin’s coworkers, who one day approached her. “I’ve seen your nametag and wondered if you’re Coach Drysdale’s daughter?” he asked. Erin said the 30-something proceeded to tell her how her dad inspired him and “made him wrestle.” 2The Last Rites, one of the seven sacraments in the Catholic Church, are the prayers and ministrations given to the dying to prepare them for death by providing absolution for sins and relief of suffering. The other sacraments include Baptism, the Eucharist, Penance, Confirmation, Matrimony, and Holy Orders. The absence of our most beloved ones hurts like hell. I pray this is the only “real” hell any of us will ever experience, because, damn it, THIS really is hell. The death of someone so close they’re a part of you is agony, which is the whole concept behind an eternal inferno, right? You can’t eat. You can’t sleep. You can’t think. You can’t function. Everything is hard. Even breathing becomes work. All you can do is be. How any of us ever survive the death of a loved one is a miracle, a testament to the awe-inspiring power of life itself. When my dad died, who was also named Bob, I loved hearing all the stories. I still do. My cousins all thought my sisters and I were so lucky to have “Uncle Bob” for a dad, and they were right. I hated hearing, though, time after time, how it was his time, give it time, time would heal, yada, yada, yada. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss Dad—and Mom, who died just 11-months later—but the well-wishers, well, they were right. Time, lots and lots and lots of time, does help, although it doesn’t necessarily heal (as in cure) the pain of separation. Yet as time continues to have its way with us (I swear time is passing faster and faster all the time), it also has a way of softening some of the jaggedness that makes everything seem suddenly unreal and impossibly diminished when someone you truly love dies. Funerals are (almost) always sad. Bob Drysdale’s was no exception. Yet Doug Elliott’s après funeral story may make you smile. Or maybe just itch. “Cindy was so amazing that day,” Doug reminisced. “She must’ve hugged everyone there at least once. Everybody knows wrestlers are notorious for ringworm. You get it on a team, you sit out ‘cause it’s that super contagious. Well, she didn’t tell me about it until much later, but after the funeral, Cindy ended up with a case of ringworm!” That was just one example of Cindy’s patient acceptance and understanding. The gal was married to the guy who was building Alicia’s fence and painting Doug’s house while many aspects of his and hers domesticity were left undone, but she loved him nonetheless. Maybe all the more. Bob was always doing for others—that’s who Bob was—and with Cindy’s blessing. Tom Drysdale was often on the receiving end of his brother’s benevolence. In fact, Tom’s two bedroom house got built with help from Bob (Rob to him). However, when Bob saw Tom’s solo roofing job, Bob didn’t mince words, “Tear if off! It’s all wrong!” Tom countered with, “No way, man, you do it!” So Bob did. Anything for family.
WHAT DREAMS MAY COME
Dr. Toni Nagy said Bob Drysdale periodically shows up in her dreams. Not often, the scientist said, but enough for her to know that he is doing a-okay. “He’s probably having a great time playing pranks wherever he is,” Toni said. “Pranking was certainly something he took great pleasure in during his time with us.” Bill Ernest said he’s had a series of dreams he’s annotated, especially since both his parents passed away, but it’s really Bob’s “bigger than life” presence he misses most. That, and Bob’s “signature joke,” one Bill deemed too rude and crude to share here, but one I’m sure gets told at every “Bob-B-Que” held in memory of B-O-B. To this day about once a year, Alicia dreams about Bob. There he is, right where he belongs, in his classroom. “What are you doing here?” she asks but she doesn’t hear him answer. “That he’s there is all the evidence I need that he’s okay.” “I had just seen him that Wednesday…,” Tom Drysdale noted, but not really wanting to go there. “It makes you think. It changes your life. It really is ‘Here today, gone tomorrow.’ Bob was always broke, but he was always happy. It worked for him to live in the moment.” Tom admits he’s disappointed he’s seen no signs of, and had no dreams about his brother, but there was a chance connection that got his attention. Tom is a handyman who works mostly closer to home in Berthoud and Longmont. However, recently, Tom was helping a woman clear out a shop building so her grandson could enjoy it. This was up in the Owl Canyon area, just to the north and west of Wellington. The grandson and Tom got to talking, and when the former mentioned having attended Wellington Junior High, Tom exclaimed, “My brother used to teach there!” Come to find out, this guy had Bob as a science teacher. He liked Mr. Drysdale because he would give students an A+ when they did extra credit. Tom doesn’t remember this person’s name, but believes it could’ve have been Casey. What Tom does recall is spending many a weekend helping Bob grade papers. Another connection without coincidence is that Tom’s wife Julie went to high school and college with Bob.
WRESTLE MANIA
The essence of both firefighting and wrestling is training, training, and more training for the next fight vs. the next formidable foe. Behind every great fighter is another great fighter, be it a sparring partner, a coach or captain, and/or a crew and/or team, so trustworthy they feel like family. There’s no grappling for meaning when the meaning is obvious: a family is a group of people who are related, and not necessarily by blood. Common convictions and characteristics are also relative connective tissue. There it is again: for all the struggling, all the searching we do in this life, again and again what we find is that connection really is at the heart of it all. Which explains why there exists a Facebook page called “Connecting People Through Wrestling” inviting followers to share their first memory about wrestling. Fighting fires, wrestling opponents, battling cancer…all take grit. Between the three of them, Paul, Bob, and Nicolas had it—determination, perseverance, and bravery—in spades. There’s another Nicholas (but with an “h”) loaded with that same grit, who also shares a connection with firefighting and wrestling. Mark Gabbert credited GRIT Athletics for powering his Eagles teams to soar home with back-to-back tournament trophies. Nicholas Greenwood is the reason GRIT exists. Nicholas had just turned six when he died from injuries suffered in an accident on the family farm in 2008. The impact this little boy, aka Boogie, Boog, Niko, Nick, Niki, and Rapid Roy, had is immense and intense, and the driving force behind GRIT, family-run with Nicholas’s parents at the helm. Father Bill Greenwood is also a Poudre Fire Authority firefighter. Both PFA and PSD supported the family while Nicholas was at Denver Children’s Hospital being treated for severe head trauma. The Greenwood children were enrolled at Livermore Elementary School, and his fellow students filled their friend’s room with cards and well-wishes. Sadly, Nicholas didn’t make it, but his legacy lives on. If the Greenwood surname rings a bell, it’s probably because firstborn Jacob became Fort Collins’ first four-time state wrestling champion in 2018. Secondborn Job was a two-time state runner-up. Both went on to wrestle at the University of Wyoming. Nicholas is the middle child of five, with Hattie and Billy the youngest. In a Feb. 4, 2018 Coloradoan article, Jacob and Job told reporter Kevin Lytle that Nicholas was the family’s real superstar athlete. They said by age five, Nicholas was already dominant in any sport he tried and a spitfire, “full of life and laughter who brought joy to everyone. He would go and wrestle in the tournaments. He had muscles already and he would just roll kids up.” His older brothers said Nicholas didn’t like the spotlight, and was super humble. “He had this look he did,” they said. “He’d pout every time he’d win because he didn’t like all the attention.” On May 3, 2017, Kevin Lytle wrote another piece about another wrestler whose name will also sound familiar. In receiving the Lifetime Service to Wrestling Award from the Colorado Chapter of the National Wrestling Hall of Fame, Ken Taylor had this to say: “I think the family atmosphere you get in wrestling is like no other. That may be one of the most enjoyable things, dealing with the kids and also their families…To this day I have a lot of close friends whose kids wrestled for me. Seems like most of my friends are tied into wrestling in some way or shape over the years. That’s really neat.” You remember how, in the summer of 1999, Bob took three PSD wrestlers to Bruce Baumgartner’s camp in Pennsylvania only to make a second round trip to and from Colorado that same weekend to be in his buddy’s wedding? Well, after Bob died, Doug said he called Bruce Baumgartner up—“because that’s how it is in wrestling”—and Bruce responded, “Oh, yeah, I remember.” Not only did Bruce remember Bob, but he sent Doug 30 of his Unstoppable Force T-shirts. In distributing them, Doug said he cautioned his wrestlers, “This is not a T-shirt for you to change the oil in on a Saturday night.” Doug bandied about this mostly rhetorical question: “Can you say that about any other sport? I mean, it’s not like anybody can just call up LeBron James.” Then, reflecting on the PA trip, Doug added, “I still smile thinking about those four big giants eating everything on the way.” They Who Might Be Giants, not to be confused with the alternative rock band by almost the same name (TMBG), were Isaac Wich, Andy Shaw, and Eli Immasche. Another T-shirt connection to Bob’s passing is one Doug said was Ken Taylor’s idea. When Bob died, the Poudre Invitational Tourney thereafter became known as the Bob Drysdale Invitational Tourney. For that inaugural year, Ken had shirts emblazoned with Bob’s infamous “Bite off more than you can chew, then chew like hell.” Doug said he wore his until he wore it out. Then he framed it under glass. For a book all about connections, ironically Ben’s mom and I have had a heckuva time connecting, but then one of the side effects of this Information (Overload) Age is that there are so many places to check for and leave messages. A serendipitous Sept. 15, 2021 newspaper article on how Poudre School District is struggling to staff classrooms to provide teachers with support during the COVID era was just the kick-in-the-pants I needed to reach out and bring back the update an epilogue implies. Coloradoan Education Reporter Molly Bohannon celebrated the fact that PSD began the 2021-22 school year with a full teaching staff. But nearly a month in, with students and staff masked up and back in classrooms, there were 29 openings for paraprofessionals, a number PSD’s Executive Director of Human Resources Brett Larsen said normally can be counted on one hand. Molly interviewed a couple of long-time paras, including Cindy Kaufman, who, at this writing, is still at Beattie Elementary School. “We never get breaks. We really don’t,” said Cindy, an instructional para from 2000-2023. “We’re just from one class to the next, helping somebody else.” When someone’s under that kind of pressure, I’m grateful just to get a response. Neither of us are big LinkedIn users, but that was where we reconnected. Cindy’s and Bob’s kids are all doing well, she messaged, as are Cindy and husband Matt. Erin got married during COVID times; Ben’s an electrician; and Kim and her family are “great, as usual.” Two more grandkids have been welcomed into the family, which is focused on Cindy’s dad’s health. The Dyers had just celebrated their 70th anniversary. “I remember you asking me one time if I ever had any signs of Bob, and my answer at the time was not really,” Cindy wrote. “I know dragonflies are a very common remembrance thing but in a three-day span, we all experienced something to do with dragonflies. I was sitting on my patio and looked down, and there was a dragonfly by my feet. I talked to him a little, told him how pretty he was, and then he flew away. The next day I was with my son Ben out on the farm at my mom and dad's. He found a dragonfly lying on the ground by his pickup. The day after that, I went out to eat with my daughter and grandsons. We sat on a patio and a dragonfly landed on my daughter's arm. I told Erin how weird that was and she said, ‘Oh my gosh, Mom! I was working (at Orangetheory Fitness in Parker), and there was a dragonfly that got in the workout room. Everyone was afraid of it, so I caught it and turned it outside.’ After that, Matt and I took a little trip to Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs. I think every mug and purse and piece of jewelry I looked at had a dragonfly on it. Coincidence? I don't know.” This concurrence just occurred to me: a birdhouse flew out of a tree overlooking our balcony the very windy morning I wrote the above. It’s pretty; made out of blue metal, with five dragonfly cutouts, one for each of the Drysdale immediate family members. Cindy said they all still run into people who knew Bob. I just cannot leave this connection out: the previous owner of the Gauchers’ house in Wellington was Duffy Freeman. Duffy has for years worked with Cindy at Beattie, where Ms. F. is the school’s longtime secretary and health office aide. How’s that for another how’s about that head-scratcher? We live in a connected world, and if you don’t believe it, ask Kevin Bacon. The actor now embraces the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon game to the degree that he has a podcast called The Last Degree of Kevin Bacon. Apparently at first, according to Wikipedia’s account, KB wasn’t a fan since he thought he was being mocked for his 1994 comment that he’d worked with everyone in Hollywood or someone who has worked with them. The basic concept of the game is that every actor can be linked to Kevin Bacon through six or fewer “hops.” Mmm…bacon. Make mine super crispy.
STILL WINNING POSTHUMOUSLY
There’s no debating that Bob Drysdale was a winner. Even if you did try to dispute what many in these here parts consider fact, you will lose. I don’t think you’d get run outta town with a big L branded on your forehead; I just wouldn’t expect the typical warm Wellington welcome as the big man’s legacy is alive and well. The Combined Masonic Lodges of Fort Collins annually recognized Mr. Drysdale’s contributions to the community by offering the Robert J. Drysdale Memorial Program Award to a deserving Poudre School District program. In 2000, its inaugural year, the honor was bestowed upon PSD’s Early Childhood Program for their work with children, support for parents, and for providing opportunities for diverse, quality education. Every year through 2019, the lodge and superintendent of schools collaborated to recognize not only a district department for its excellence, but also two deserving male and female students from each level of middle school eighth-graders and high school seniors. Bus drivers and cafeteria workers have been among departmental honorees. Thanks to the Covid-19 pandemic, “Schools Night” and the Drysdale Award were paused in 2020, but Collins Lodge #19 is poised to get both back on track. Former Master Mason and Secretary Randy Ryden is the current building superintendent, and, man, does this man know what’s what as far as Masonic history goes. Randy also has a pretty good idea where the organization’s future is going: onward and upward. With membership on the rise and the average age declining, Randy told me local Masons are embracing this new post-pandemic era. “Membership was down to 50 members in January 2023,” Randy said. “At one time we had 700.” When we talked in February 2024, there were 135. Randy said now that the lodge is getting its you-know-what back together, they are anxious to pick up where they left off with PSD to restore “Schools Night.” Anyone even remotely associated with wrestling in Poudre School District knows the huge imprint Coach Drysdale left behind. A Jan. 26, 2002 flyer announcing the first-ever Bob Drysdale Wrestling Invitational said in part: “Coach Bob Drysdale inspired many people on and off of the wrestling mat. Our tournament today is one way we remember his contributions to Poudre High School Wrestling. For 17-years, he was an assistant coach here, and also the head coach for Wellington Junior High wrestling teams. Even though Coach Drysdale’s time here ended tragically, his legacy lives on…” Cindy Drysdale-Kaufman remembers taking hers and Bob’s kids that first time: “Ben was five-years old and got to help hand out trophies. It was dark, dark when we walked out of the Poudre gym, but there was one big star shining brightly. Ben looked up and asked, ‘Is that Daddy?’” PHS hosted the tourney through 2012, and yet the Drysdale name still has meaning. Alicia Durand said the PHS wrestling team continues to make it part of its workout routine to run past Bob’s grave, and on one of those runs, thanks to Doug Elliott’s establishing the tradition, they deliver flowers. PHS Wrestling Coach Barrett Golyer started as an assistant coach in 2000, a year after Bob died, but he knows well the impact Mr. Drysdale had on others, including then-head coach Doug Elliott. It was almost like “it” was in the air. “You do a good job, because that’s what you do,” Barrett said. For a book that’s really about connections, of course Barrett’s got one: Former RMHS principal Tom Lopez is his uncle-in-law. Barrett’s daughter Elise, who graduated from PHS in 2020, was the only girl wrestler at Poudre her freshman year. She was 83 pounds, and 106 pounds is the lightest weight class for boys. “It was tough on Dad, and on her,” Barrett said. The number of “Elises” wrestling continues to grow, demonstrating the hold girls have on making theirs the main event. There was almost a Drysdale Elementary School in Wellington. It’s a PSD tradition to name elementary and middle schools after local community members who’ve played an active role in public education. In 2006, Bob’s name was on the short list, but Wellington’s new school became known as Rice Elementary, named after WJHS’s former principal, Ed Rice. A naming committee of 13 (of which this writer was one) narrowed the 23 nominees down to three. Reid Pope, also a math teacher and coach in Laporte who later served as superintendent of schools there, was the third finalist. Pope was quoted in the local newspaper as saying, “The other two people that are up are very deserving of it, and it’s a great honor to be named.” It’s easy to imagine Bob responding similarly, maybe even word for word as humbly. Shawna Reeves, a parent who attended Wellington schools, nominated Bob. In the same Nov. 11, 2006 article, she said the choice was easy. “I had Bob Drysdale in seventh grade, and he (instilled) confidence in his students as well as brought a lot of enthusiasm into his teaching…this kind of helps keep his name among the community and is a good way to remember him.” Even his alma mater has ensured Bob Drysdale won’t be forgotten. Each year, the Colorado State University Alumni Association honors an alumnus that has brought honor to CSU. In 2000, Bob was awarded posthumously the College Honor Alumni Award. In doing so, Brett Beal, Distinguished Alumni Award program coordinator, told the local newspaper that the very strong nominations from parents, teachers, students, and administrators showed what an incredible impact Bob made in the community. “The care and compassion and wanting to make a difference came through,” she said. “He made a difference with people and brings honor to CSU.” Former WJHS principal Richard Kreutzer wrote in part: “We were stunned to hear all that he had done, but was never made public. The assistance varied widely from helping a football player’s family build an extra bedroom to personally driving three rural athletes to the east coast so that they could receive instruction from a national championship wrestler…What was the real uniqueness of Mr. Drysdale? There are hundreds of opinions, but I would venture to say it was his dedication to his students and his love of teaching. I cannot count the number of times he and I would sit after school for hours early in the evening when all had gone. He would explain to me, in his rapid fire manner, why he was exactly where he should be in life, working in a public school.” Former WJHS and WMS principal Alicia Durand penned a three-page tribute to her friend and collaborator, of which this is a small but profound sampling: “It is not because of his unexpected death that I endorse his nomination as college honor alumnus but because of his life…At a time when so many people in the world are takers, Bob was a giver…I can remember talking with him last year about his evaluation and as we came to the end of our meeting, I asked him why he chose to teach junior high school when he could really do anything. (He had looked into being a stockbroker at one time.) He smiled and laughed his contagious laugh and said, ‘Because I LOVE teaching.’…His distinguished career in public education did not get him any fancy awards or lots of money, but it got him something worth so much more: the love and respect of literally hundreds of students, parents, colleagues, athletes, community members, sons, daughters, and every single person who was lucky enough to come in contact with him.” Former Poudre High School teacher and wrestling coach Doug Elliott added: “In the classroom, Bob found a way to reach students that no one else could reach. On one occasion he provided food at lunch every day for a student that he knew did not get enough to eat at home. He went the extra mile in everything he did. He made his classroom the place to be for both low end and top students…He did many things with pure joy.” Internally from CSU’s Department of Horticulture and Landscape Architecture, Dr. Tony Koski, his wife Ronda Koski, and Chris Bartholomew, contributed a full complement of reasons why Bob, but this bit leapt off the page: “Bob Drysdale was an extremely modest man. He was not an accumulator of awards, honors, or plaques. He did not seek the accolades of others, and is probably now embarrassed that we are submitting this nomination. Bob Drysdale was not a world-renowned inventor, doctor, politician, or scholar. He was, however, an incredibly effective and innovative teacher for hundreds of students (and their parents), a man who was—and continues to be—famous in their world. Bob was not a philanthropist that might be recognized by the world’s measuring stick, but he gave freely of his time, talents, and love to hundreds of young men and women during his years as a teacher—and that made him famous in their eyes…Sadly, Bob Drysdale made headline news only in his death. He will not be remembered just because of his untimely death, but because of the positive impact he made in the lives of all of those students, parents, teachers, coaches, and friends that he left behind. The lessons learned from Bob Drysdale, by all of us who knew him, will have everlasting effects on the world, although they may never make headlines news.” A couple of years later, in making a request for the Bob Drysdale Scholarship Fund, another letter writer provided an insider look into Bob as a wrestler. Mike McNaney was another one of Ken Taylor’s assistant coaches, who wrote about viewing a random VCR tape labeled Grappling Tourney, Oct. 8, 1995. Mike wasn’t quite sure what the tape was or why it was sitting on his desk, but he knew he wasn’t in any wrestling tournament in 1995. He continued: “So after seeing it on my desk for about a week, I finally had a moment to put it in and see what it was. It happened to be a tape Bob had given me to watch a long time ago of a submission hold tournament he had entered. I sat there by myself watching this tape…remembering all the little things about Bob that I think we all loved and miss so much, but if you are like me, forget over time. Watching Bob wrestle was like old times. I saw this big man shoot in on guys and take them to the mat before they really knew what hit them, and then without missing a beat, Bob would begin to choke them or put a move on them to try to get them to submit or give up. He did this with the intensity of a person who was fighting for his life. While I was watching, I could hear people in the background referring to Bob as ‘bear.’ And as intense as Bob was while he was wrestling, when the whistle blew at the end of each match, win or lose, Bob grinned at his opponent, helped him up, and gave him a hug and a pat on the back as if to say, ‘Good job.’ Now watching with tears in my eyes, I remember those days of wrestling and working out with Bob and how if you took him down, he would kind of smile, pat you on the back, and dare you to do it again….It reminded me about how intense and passionate Bob was about everything he did. And he was either going to do something 100-percent or he wasn’t going to do it at all.” Four years of mornings passed, and the mournings continued. Then another newspaper story brought Bob back into the public eye. Coloradoan reporter Rachel Lenzi wrote that she never met Bob Drysdale; in fact, she’d never even heard of him until she covered Poudre High School’s annual Drysdale Invitational wrestling tournament in 2002. But when she was sent to out to PHS the following year on Saturday, Jan. 25 to do the 2003 story, she happened to mention Drysdale’s name to Impala wrestler Kyle LeValley. “The senior’s eyes got wide and the tone of his voice changed. I think that was all I needed to know,” Rachel wrote. Titled “Drysdale’s Memory Lives Through Poudre Wrestlers,” Rachel mused in her opening line, “Who was Bob Drysdale?” A wrestling coach, a teacher, a father figure, an institution…she discovered he was all of that and then some to Kyle LeValley and to another Kyle, Kyle McKenzie, also a senior wrestler for PHS. The former called Mr. D. “my personal coach,” while the latter was glad, “We did good today.” PHS won the championship plaque so, yes, they did. Almost exactly one year later, another Coloradoan article appeared on the local sports page, again proclaiming the good news that “Poudre Wrestlers Win Own Invitational.” Justin Goldman wove into his lead how really proud Bob Drysdale would’ve been at the dogged way in which PHS fought to win the 12-team tourney. And he ended the piece with Bob’s “chew like hell” quotation which, Justin wrote, is exactly what Poudre did. In between, the reporter interviewed Patty Thompson, whose son Sam Gorton, then a sophomore, finished third in his division after recently being called up from the junior varsity. “Bob Drysdale inspired many people on and off the wrestling mat,” she said. “Our tournament today is one way we remember his contributions to Poudre wrestling.” How can one forget the unforgettable? Isn’t that the very nature of that which or whom is impossible to forget? On May 17, 2016, the Coloradoan hosted the “Northern Colorado Sports Awards” featuring guest speaker legendary quarterback Peyton Manning, months after his Super Bowl win with the Broncos and subsequent retirement. The event was in recognition of the achievements of all involved in high school athletics, including families and coaches. In fact, Chris Jones, our Chris Jones, was named “Coach of the Year.” When the announcer read his name, Chris said he was extremely humbled at the honor about to be placed in his hands. At the podium, Chris thanked his mother and father, who were both educators, and Bob Drysdale, among others. Chris’s mom passed away in 1995, his father died in 2002, and, of course, Bob was killed in 1999. “The three of them, along with my brothers and close friends Tom Merrill and Brad Morgan, have been the main proponents of my drive,” Chris told me the day after. “Bob gave me my first opportunity to be me on his sideline. I felt he needed to be recognized.” Now that’s the kind of tribute even Bob would applaud. In reading through pages and pages of Bob stuff that Cindy shared with me, I ran across a Certificate of Appreciation that Bob obviously cherished. It reads: Certificate of Appreciation Thanks for coaching our WJHS Science Olympiad Team, Mr. Drysdale! Dated Mar. 9, 1993, two team members both expressed disappointment at finishing fourth, but as one said, “I learned so much!” Another comment following a workshop commended Mr. Drysdale for giving science “a touch of glamor.” A third was a personal letter from a former student who wrote Bob from the Marine training camp in San Francisco. “Roy” was answering Bob’s letter, in which Mr. Drysdale said “a lot of good things that really got me motivated.” Roy complimented Bob for “really having had an impact on my life. They say there’s a certain teacher in your life who leaves an impression on you. I guess that’s you. I remember back in ninth grade when I was in your science class. It was near the end of the year. I was joking around and asked you if you’d miss me when I left. You were serious when you said yes. I don’t know if you remember that time, but it made me feel real good.” Bob saved dozens of hand-written cards and letters with similar sentiments from his students. They may not have been polished and engraved, but they certainly were prized.
Video About the Drysdale Award


