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“Prairie Roots” column for The Earlville Post
January 31, 2003

Cheng Hang (part2)

The next game was at Riverside-Brookfield, a big suburban school next to the Brookfield Zoo. They played their games on Saturday afternoons since they didn’t have lights, whereas we were used to Friday games under the lights. This meant that we had an extra practice Friday after school. That Friday Cheng Hang wasn’t in school. In trying to establish some discipline into that team, I had laid down a few rules on attendance. If you missed a practice during the week, you couldn’t start in the game. If the absence were unexcused and not approved by a coach, you didn’t play at all. So here Cheng Hang was AWOL from school and practice without reporting to a coach or the attendance secretary and wouldn’t be able to play. Our best football player!

That Saturday morning as the team was packing up their equipment, I wasn’t a very nice human being to be around. The whole staff was going out of their way to avoid me. I growled at
one of the assistant coaches, “If Cheng Hang shows up, send his butt into this office immediately. I want to talk to that young man!”

A few minutes later there stood Cheng in front of my desk in dress shirt and slacks. (Since the temperature was 199 degrees that day I didn’t require the sport coats which were another attempt to class up the football program.) “You want to see me, Mr. Myers?” he questioned nervously. Word had spread of my gnarly mood.

“Cheng,” I snapped. “You missed school and practice yesterday without reporting in to Mrs. Dimmick or me or any on the other coaches.”

“I know, Mr. Myers. I apologize. I let you down. I let the team down. It is my responsibility,” he stated, glancing down at the floor.

“Cheng, you know the rules,” I continued, my voice rising in anger and frustration.

“Yes sir, Mr. Myers,” Cheng said. “I cannot play today. I am truly sorry that I disappoint
you and I let down my teammates.” His voice quivered with emotion.

“Golblankit, Cheng!” I yelled, hitting the desktop with my fist. “You’re our best football player! The whole team is depending on you! I demand an explanation. What the hell is going
on?” My treatment of this young man is not one of my prouder moments. Cheng stiffened to attention, lifted his head and looked me directly in the eye. “Yesterday, Mr. Myers, my mother wake me up and my brothers and sisters up at four o’clock in the morning. She told us to get dressed up in our best clothes. Suit and tie. It too early in the morning to call
you or Mrs. Dimmick. We get in the van and drive to Chicago.

Yesterday, Mr. Myers, my father and mother and sisters and brothers and I were sworn in as American citizens at the court house in Chicago.” Cheng’s dark eyes didn’t break contact with mine.

If you’ve ever felt small as a human being, believe me, I did then. In my anger I had just verbally and emotionally ripped that young man apart–almost physically. I was truly sorry. I stood up and walked around to the front of the desk and stuck my hand out to Cheng, saying, “Congratulations, young man. I am so proud to have you as a fellow American citizen.”

Cheng smiled, looking me right in the eye, gripped my hand firmly, and said, “Thank you, Mr. Myers.” Then, spontaneously we threw our arms around each other and hugged—hard.
Finally I stepped away and grabbed Cheng by the chin and lifted his head up and said, “Now you get your butt into that locker room and get your equipment ready. We have a football
game to play today and you’re playing in that game. You’re starting at running back. Do you have any problem with that, young man?”

“No, sir, Mr. Myers,” Cheng said as he flew out the door to get his stuff. When Cheng Hang and I reached the bus, we were running fifteen minutes behind schedule. Fred Ingold, an assistant coach who had been a drill instructor in the Marine Corps and kept us “time-on-task,” ordered the bus driver to get going so we could make up some time.

“Just a minute,” I countered. “Take this bus out of gear. We have some business to talk over as a team first.” Everyone was staring at Cheng and me standing at the front of the bus.
“Yesterday, gentlemen, Cheng Hang missed school and practice without notifying a coach or Mrs.Dimmick. What does that mean?”

Richie Gama, a fifth generation Mexican-American and the quarterback of the team, held up his hands over his head and smiled, “He don’t play, Coach; he don’t play.” Richie knew the
punishment for breaking any rule in the books, because he broke just about every rule there was and he always knew ahead of time what his punishment would be. ( I dearly love Richie to this day, but I tell him he is half criminal and always will be. He laughs and says, “That’s okay, Coach. I get part of your royalties if you use me in any of your stories. The Gama-ray has a heart of gold.)

“That’s right, Gama-ray,” I stated. “That’s the rule.” Then I went on to tell the team the news that Cheng Hang had told in the coaches’ office about him and his entire family being sworn
in as American citizens. “Gentlemen, Cheng Hang is going to play in this game today. He’s starting at running back. Is there any problem with that?” I was looking directly into the eyes of Vince Stone, a small second string running back who would have been getting his first start in a varsity game in Cheng’s place.”

Then Vince Stone stood up, never breaking eye contact with me, and slowly but loudly started to clap his hands together. In just a few seconds all those young men, plus coaches and equipment managers, were on their feet, clapping in unison with Vince Stone, tears in their eyes and smiles on their faces and in their hearts.

That, folks, is my proudest moment as a football coach. We lost that game– 24-22 –in a hard fought contest played in conditions where the temperature on the field was something like 120 degrees. I admire the officials for stopping the game and sending both sides over to the water spigots to cool down and keep fluids in their systems. One of our short, stumpy tackles did suffer heat-exhaustion and had to be taken to the hospital by ambulance. We went on to a 3-6 season, but played some tough football against some tough teams. I still remember that team as one on the best I ever coached.
Over the years all the games–the wins, the losses, the glorious plays, the bonehead plays–they all melt together in memory.

But moments like that standing ovation for Cheng Hang–
Vince Stone’s generosity of heart and Cheng Hang’s purity of spirit–will never be forgotten. That is heart and soul stuff...the stuff that makes all the hours and all the headaches worth it. I wanted to share with you folks this story of two of my all-time heroes— Vince Stone and Cheng Hang.