Lessons from dad: a visit to the Schwartz home

“Don and Travis are out back playing catch,” said Pat, pointing out the sliding glass door. “Don’ll be glad to see you.”

I was back home for the first time in several years visiting the home of Don Schwartz, my junior high and high school coach who had had a huge impact on me during a tough time. I had stopped by to say hello and catch up. I opened the door and stepped into the yard expecting a traditional catch between a father and his son.

Nothing with Schwartz is normal.

He wound up and flung the baseball as high in the air as he could. Travis, a nine-year-old, was expected to catch the pop fly. He misjudged it and it fell to the ground beside him.

“No!” shouted Schwartz. “Throw it back, we’ll do it again.”

Travis didn’t say a word as he threw the ball to his Dad. I noticed that he didn’t look rattled. Instead, he seemed eager for another try. Again, Schwartz heaved the ball up until it looked like a white speck in the sky.

“Get it, this time!” he encouraged.

Travis, a lefty, danced around under it trying to get a bead on it. Again, he misjudged it but made a last second adjustment and made a sweet diving catch. I was highly impressed.

“Throw it home!” Schwartz shouted. “He’s tagging at third!”

Travis popped up and gunned down the imaginary base runner with a perfect throw. Again, I was impressed.

“Good!” encouraged his Dad. “That’s how you do it!”

I could see that Travis was thriving, like I had, under his Dad’s coaching. Schwartz approached me.

“So how you doin’?” he asked in his Pittsburgh accent and extended his hand for a handshake. “Good to see you!”

“I’m doing well,” I said shaking his hand. “It’s good to see you, too. Looks like Travis is coming along.”

“Yeah,” said Schwartz excited as usual. “And now we’re not afraid of the ball anymore!”

“Oh?” I asked.

“Yeah, I took him to the side of the house and threw tennis balls at him for about an hour. We’ve got a few bumps and bruises, but we’re not afraid of the ball!”

I looked at Travis and sure enough, there were a few marks, which he showed me proudly. He was going to be an animal.

A former tight end at Villanova and gung-ho Marine, Schwartz was able to mesh the hard work, enthusiasm, motivation, and camaraderie of athletics and the military in a way like no other. It was through sports that he taught his sons and those he coached, like me, valuable life lessons we would never forget. It is his gift.

I kept in touch over the years and each time I visited, Schwartz was working with Travis and his younger brother, John. Their garage looked like an aisle in a sporting goods store with equipment for every season: football, hockey, basketball, and baseball.

By the time Travis was a senior in high school he was 6’2” and weighed 220 pounds. His dad had supervised his nutrition and conditioning over the years. He anchored the defense as a middle linebacker and was a pretty salty fullback on offense, running over anyone who got in his way. That year Pratt High School won the first football state championship in the school’s history. Schwartz even gave me a state championship t-shirt.

Travis played two years at Garden City Community College and then transferred to play linebacker at the University of Louisiana-Lafayette, where he was a standout.

Upon graduation he surprised his parents – he had decided to be a Marine like his Dad. He excelled at boot camp and every stage of his training partly because his father had instilled in him, as a nine-year-old, the discipline, integrity, and courage he would need. He was deployed to Iraq in 2002 and served there for three tours over six years with valor and distinction. 

Following his honorable discharge, he is now working on his teaching credentials so that he, too, can impact young men and women through sports as a coach.

No dad is prouder than Schwartz.

“He’s a good kid with a good head on his shoulders,” he said with a smile. “We did alright with that one. It’s tough to find guys that you’d want with you in a foxhole. Some guys will run and some will fight. Travis would be my first pick. You know why?”

“Why?” I bit.

“Because that kid will fight no matter what,” he said. “He’ll not only fight, he’ll fight to the death. That’s who I want on my team.”

I think it all started when Travis was nine with some tennis balls by the side of their house. That’s when he learned to not be afraid from his Dad.