It was an 83-degree spring day recently and Ezra Heard drove the two of us from Middletown to Oxford. We were on our way to see our dear friend — Robert “Bob” Mucha, hall of fame coach; a former high school choir director; and a barbershop quartet devotee.
Upon entering a state-of-the-art rehab center, we were greeted by a host of nurses, nurse assistants, doctors and patients. Finally Ezra and I were directed to the room of “The Old General,” “Genghis Khan” and “Bobby Knight.” (Those were just a few names of affection Coach Mucha had back in the day.)
No visit to Bob Mucha was official unless we hugged and kissed the angel of his life, Wilma. With a gleam in her eyes and a million-dollar smile, she greeted us.
God created Wilma Mucha as one who was more than a wife to her husband. She is a mother for all seasons and a friend who loved all of us in the Middletown community and Middletown School District.
Then we spoke to the figure in the hospital bed. “Coach! Coach Mucha,” we almost spoke in unison.
In all the years we’ve known him, we had never seen Mucha down, wounded, battered and not in total command. We were his Pips and he was our Gladys Knight.
What Ezra and I got to see was a living miracle. The big gash in his head had been stapled together, with a plastic surgeon completing the job. Ribs were still broken and a shattered leg now had a rod inside it.
“I don’t remember what happened before the accident,” Mucha said.
“God just wants you to think about now and the days ahead while he heals you,” Ezra said.
And then I might have said something like, “We’re just glad you’re here and alive.”
You see, we had this plan where Coach Mucha, Ezra and myself were going to reunite. We were all going to meet in Middletown, get in a van, drive to the annual Todd Bell Institute luncheon in Columbus.
Mucha would drive his Prius from Oxford. Ezra waited and called but Mucha couldn’t be located. He drove on to Columbus. Somewhere out there, a truck hit Mucha and he was pinned in his car for 45 minutes.
Thank God for all of the people who rescued him and got him to the hospital.
Mucha wasn’t in any noticeable pain. We reminisced about how we ate, slept and drank track and field.
Long before diversity reared its head, Mucha would drive through the South End, picking up runners to train.
If Bob Mucha’s name had a synonym, it would be “discipline.” If a student athlete had talent and did what Coach said, he would one day become a champion.
Students such as Marlon Gates, Darin Hill, Todd Bell, Larry James, Barry James and Keith Grace were champions under Mucha and his assistant’s watch.
We talked about how Mucha took a can of spray paint to mark off exchange zone lanes long before the Middies had a track. He’d load us up and we’d drive to Carlisle or Edgewood High School’s all-weather tracks. Whatever it took to get his team ready to compete, he’d do it.
Mucha smiled when we told him he was a legend and a genius. He can easily flow from dissecting a relay team to writing a musical score by adding the notes for a brass section which was not in the original score. I never understood how Coach Mucha had time for quality barbershop quartet singing ... but he did it somehow. He was a master multi-tasker and the original maverick.
For all his great work in track and field, Mucha was around to smell the coffee. I was privileged to read his introduction as he was enshrined into Ohio High School Athletic Association track and field hall of fame. Ezra Heard was there, too.
Now that we had a chance to speak words of encouragement, deliverance and healing — and prayers of Thanksgiving — it was time to go. We had faith that one day Mucha would wear that old green Army jacket with the “hoodie” and the bullhorn. And we looked real close before we left and we saw that Bob Mucha still had the “eyes of a tiger.”
Elmon W. Prier is a veteran educator and minister. His e-mail address is eprier@cinci.rr.com.