It is not often in life we have a chance to celebrate collectively those who were pivotal to who we become in later life. And seldom can we do it publicly. I was given the chance when the 1982 Anderson College’s cross country was inducted into the school’s athletic hall of fame on October 11, 2025. I was a member of that ’82 team. 

 Our coach was Larry Maddox. He recruited all of us. He was the singular adult influence the first twenty-two years of my life.

 I am proud to have been able to speak on behalf of the team at the awards ceremony. Here’s what I said:

Thank you. It’s an honor to speak for the 1982 team. I’m thankful, too, to be speaking before Phil. I’ve followed Phil enough in my life already.

I was told I have five minutes. If running history is any indication, I suspect what takes me five minutes, many of the guys in front of me could do in, say, 4:50, 4:45, Shawn and Fritz, maybe 4:30.

 But you’re stuck with me…I thought it was because I’m the best looking one but I was told it’s really because I’m the oldest. 

 The 1982 team was the best team with which I’ve been associated. And while we won invitationals, our conference, the National Christian College championship, and went to the NAIA national championship, I remember little about of those races. I’m amazed how some of us can reel off race dates, race splits, and finishing order. All I can remember is that I was there.

 For me, though, being there is enough. The memory I hold closest to my heart about that team is that I was a part of it. 

 If not for Coach Maddox, I would not have been there, I would not have gone to college. I remember the day in January 1979 he visited my high school. He had me pulled out of class. He sat me down and helped me fill out the AC application and the financial aide form. Anderson was the only college I applied to. If not Anderson, I would not have gone to college. 

 Some might call Coach’s approach strong-arm recruiting; I know now it was genuine care and love because that is what he gave me for my four years here.

It's what he gave all his runners. He gelled us into the best athletes and young men and women we could be. 

 That was no small task. Before 1982, Anderson CC had some pretty good teams but not the championship team we would become. What made the ’82 team different was we had a lot of good runners—all recruited by Coach—who individually thought we were better than the next guy. And on any given day anyone of five or so runners could be the best. Collectively, though, every one of us would do anything we could to support our teammates. Egos aside, we were Coach Maddox’s runners, and we ran as a team, not as a collection of individuals.

 I wish I could tell you a story about one or another of the meets we won and capture for you the excitement of it all. I wish I could recall an eked out victory, pulled out at the last moment by our fifth man, but our meets were never that close. I can tell you a couple stories, though.

 First, in 1982 I had classes during CC practice three days a week. I didn’t practice with the team those days. For Coach Maddox it was a non-issue. He held two practices a day, one for me and one for the rest of the team. Of course, I got stuck trying to keep up with Phil, our red-shirted runner, who volunteered to practice with me. No one beat me more that year than Phil. Thank God it was all practice.

 I can’t recall there ever being any clicks or bad blood among any of us. Thrown together, we got along. While we didn’t roam campus en masse, we did choose our roommates from among us, we often ate meals together, we socialized and, dare say, enjoyed non-academic and non-running activities together. We joked freely, ribbed one another constantly, took interest in each other’s lives, and generally cared for one another. On the racecourse, we all wanted to win, individually and as a team, but we celebrated each other’s individual victories, whether those were race wins or individual best times. 

 Here's one more short story that captures what the 82 meant to me. Like most of our meets, in this one, four or five of us were among the top seven or so runners. The win was preordained. 

 We were somewhere around the four-mile mark, and I was where I expected to be. What was different was that everything was blurry. I couldn’t see clearly. Something was going on with my contact lens. 

 Shawn and I had been running within arms distance of each other the entire race. I told Shawn I couldn’t see where I was going.” 

 Shawn glanced at me and in his usual monotone, sensical way, said, “Stay with me. We’ll finish together.”

 Anyone who knows Shawn knows when it came down to it, there would be no way I could keep up with him in a close race. Shawn looks and walks slow but he runs fast. But he didn’t leave me. We didn’t finish first or second. I believe we were two of the top seven or so runners, though. He probably would have won if not for me, but it didn’t matter to him. He stayed with me, and our team won.

 What I learned being part of that 1982 cross country team about hard work, community, commitment, and care for others—for all others—has informed my professional and personal life, from this beautiful campus to my wonderful Chicago, for the last 45 years. These are the things that will stay with me forever. Thank you.