Canzano: Sports is Krazy Glue, isn't it?

Three fans... three stories... one thing in common.

The Big Ten Championship game was held in Indianapolis. (Photo: Darby Winter)

Walt Smith died last Friday.

The long-time high school teacher passed in the early morning hours at a veteran’s care center facility in The Dalles. His wife, Beth, told me: “Walt wasn’t himself anymore. He was suffering. He got old, and his body shut down.”

Walt was 95.

Beth is 93.

I wrote a column about the Smiths a couple of years ago in the run-up to the college football season. They’ve been die-hard Oregon fans since their time as students on campus in Eugene. They watched every Ducks football game on television at their senior living center.

The Smiths celebrated a wedding anniversary last month. Beth said: “They told us it would never last.” The happy couple made 73 years and 12 days, she reported.

“I never regretted one day of it,” she said.

Walt was moved to the veteran’s medical facility as his health deteriorated. Beth stayed behind at the senior living facility. Every morning, Beth would wake, get dressed, eat a bowl of cereal, and drive their silver Honda Accord two miles “up the hill” to visit Walt.

Before she’d leave, Beth would print out my sports column, tuck it in her bag, and bring it along. She’d sit with Walt and read it to him. On Wednesday, she told me: “It has meant a whole lot.”

I told her: “That means so much to me.”

Twice a day, Beth made the trip up the hill. She’d visit her husband for meals and talk, and they’d go on what she calls “our drive.” That amounted to Beth pushing Walt’s wheelchair around the care facility, visiting with people.

Walt taught English at The Dalles High School for 36 years. When he retired, they named him “Teacher of the Year” — an award they created just for him. And Beth said: “He really had an impact on his students, and there wasn’t anywhere we could go around town where we wouldn’t run into them.”

Walt and Beth Smith.

Today’s column isn’t just a celebration of Walt’s wonderful life. I mean, he lived a great one, for sure. He lived, loved, and left the world better than he found it. He had children, then grandchildren, and then great-grandchildren. This column is also a celebration of Beth’s love, the power of the human spirit, and a tribute to the everyman out there. Also, this piece is about sports.

It’s like Krazy Glue, isn’t it?

I look down from the press box at football games at a sea of 50,000 fans. Often — wearing the same team color. Always — rooting together. And I’m struck by the fact that I could throw a dart and find a compelling story. Because the ultimate impact of college athletics isn’t a national championship game, rather, it’s the fans of regular teams everywhere who immerse themselves in the experience of a season together.

I boarded a plane on Friday to Indianapolis for the Big Ten title game and talked a bit with an Oregon fan who was sitting not far from me in the cabin. Nathan Reid is a UO season ticket holder. He’s on a mission to attend every game — home and away — this season.

“I’m doing it to honor my father,” he told me.

Richard Reid died in March. He was 63. He spent his career working for the Greater Albany Public Schools, delivering meals to elementary schools. Nathan told me the family didn’t have the resources to go to a bunch of UO football games while he was growing up, but his father took him to see the Ducks play Arizona State once.

“Core memory,” he said.

When Nathan and his wife bought UO season tickets a few years ago, they sprung for a third seat. They brought Richard along to games. It became their ritual. Dad died in the spring, but Nathan and his wife decided to keep that third ticket.

“In honor of him,” Nathan said.

Now, they always bring a friend. And Nathan hatched another idea before this season — why not honor Dad throughout the year? So he booked flights and bought a ticket to Oregon’s road games — every one of them — including places such as Purdue, Michigan, and Wisconsin. He hasn’t missed a single snap this season. That includes the Big Ten Championship on Saturday, where he carried his father’s memory into the stadium.

“Do things while you can,” Nathan said. “We don’t know how long things will last.”

Nathan Reid at Michigan and Wisconsin.

Nathan Reid sat in Lucas Oil Stadium on Saturday and watched Oregon beat Penn State, 45-37. He was surrounded by 67,468 other fans who shared the experience with him. His wife was watching at home. Also, Beth Smith was watching at the senior living center, thinking of her husband, Walt.

Said Beth: “Walt was quite excited about this football season. And I really like that Dan Lanning, too. There’s something about him, isn’t there?”

Charles Jones was also watching the same football game. He’s the grocery store checker I wrote about last August. Jones is 69 now. A few months ago he started showing up to work with an oxygen tank. Jones brightens up the store by greeting customers with his trademark phrase: “Happy, happy…” because, as he says, “How else can you live your life?!?!”

Jones is a recovering alcoholic — 35 years sober. “Skid-row drunk,” he’d tell you. He boxed when he was younger, too, and played some football. Life came fast after that. But Jones picked himself up more than three decades ago and been sober ever since. He’s a true American comeback story, and likes to tell people about it. He’s become a source of encouragement and inspiration for his customers, particularly ones who are going through trials.

College football is one of his favorite diversions. When I see Charles Jones, he’s always eager to tell me who is going to win that week’s football game and why. And he has strong thoughts about the impact of conference realignment.

We’ve had some great talks over the years.

After I wrote the column about him last summer, Jones sent me an email. He read the comment section and absorbed the outpouring of support from fellow sports fans, who told him they were moved by his story. Everyone knows a bank teller, a gym front-desk worker, a postal carrier, a hairdresser, or a store clerk that relates in the same way.

Jones wrote: “I knew the locals loved me. I had no idea how many people that was. This is the biggest thing that has ever happened to me. Sort of life-changing.”

He added: “I’m not in a hurry to get to the other side, but I will be fine in case you wondered.”

Lung failure, doctors say.

Jones decided to work through the end of this year. On Monday, the grocery store honored his 25 years of employment by suggesting that his eight-hour work shift turn into an informal retirement party.

He loved the idea.

Customers did, too.

They showed up in droves, hugged him, shook his hand, and posed for photos. People who had bought things such as detergent, lettuce, milk, eggs, and sliced deli meat from him over the years went through his checkout line one last time. They wished Jones well and slipped him envelopes filled with gift cards, checks, and cash to help cover his insurance co-payments.

I’ll miss the guy.

But as Jones reminded me: “I’ll be out there, reading.”

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