Remembering Rosie

We weren't anything like the students in this movie--we were regular kids from a village in lower Michigan--but this movie reminded me of Rosie, Mr. Rosendale, the first time I saw it and every time I hear this song it reminds me of him again. Some years back I wrote a personal memory of him and since it is over 1,000 words I won't post it here, but you can read it on my blog at

http://alasunshine.so sblog.com/

BY REQUEST:

ROSIE

The Rosendale family came to live in the brown house on Grass Lake’s main street in 1956 from Defiance, Ohio.  There were four of them.  The son was in my fourth grade class.  He seemed rather shy and quiet at first.  However, everyone, especially the teachers, soon discovered he was really quite mischievous.  Debbie, his sister, was far more open with her devil-may-care attitude.   Mrs. Rosendale I never really knew well enough to characterize, yet she seemed friendly.  Of all the family though, it was the father who made the village aware that the Rosendales had arrived.
I couldn’t even tell you his full name, but somehow after knowing him it’s unimportant.  For five years he was a high school teacher and held various positions on Grass Lakes’ coaching staff, including head football coach.  During that time he became known to almost everyone as Rosie.  As a coach, Rosie became somewhat of a legend in our village.  He continually demanded and usually received the very best each player could possibly offer.   Never letting up he drilled and cajoled them until I’m sure they must’ve felt like committing mutiny.  Yet he worked as hard, if not harder than they did.   The town’s people?  He was winning games for them so they accepted him and his sometimes unusual tactics willingly
Unfortunately, as in all love affairs, there comes the time of disillusionment and disappointment.  The time for this with Rosie, the coach, and Grass Lake, the overzealous alumni, began with a few badly played games and their ultimate losses.  Naturally, as coach, Rosie took the brunt of the blame and the accompanying jeers.  When he started working the team harder in an attempt to sharpen their game in general as well as the specific areas they’d been faulty in at those losses, Grass Lakers began complaining that Rosie was taking his own weaknesses and mistakes out on the boys.
  Still it went from bad to worse for Rosie as the bad games turned into bad seasons.  Though he was still thought highly of as a teacher, Rosie was fast losing favor with a majority of the community as their coach.  Through it all he stood tall, refusing to relinquish even a small portion of his right to train and play each game as he saw fit.  It’s never an easy task to buck the majority, but somehow Rosie managed for quite awhile.
Grass Lake was, as it still is, only a village and high school sports mean a great deal to everyone.   Thus, the rumor went out in the fall of my freshman year—five years after the Rosendales arrival—that Rosie was to be given his last chance as head coach that fall.  The football season was to tell the story despite the fact Rosie coached basketball as well.  Two or three other teacher/coaches had already been hired in preparation for what seemed inevitable.  Rosie’s whole career seemed to be on the line.
The first solid subject I had Rosie as a teacher for was biology that fateful freshman year.  That’s when I, along with many others, learned jus how much he expected from his students.  His opening speech to our class will live forever in my mind.  Because of its impact I can’t begin to enumerate the times I’ve repeated his words to others young and old.
 “It’s been proven through extensive research and various statistical data that people of average mentality will only absorb and retain 50% of what they are taught.  Therefore, in an effort to make sure you learn as much biology as possible, I will endeavor to teach you 200% so you will get 100% out of this class.”
Without further comment, Rosie’s first lecture to our class on biology began.  He reeled off “foot long” biological terms, names, classifications, and so on as if they were mere three letter words.  It was up to each of us to take the best notes we possibly could during class and fill in what we’d missed on our own time.  For six weeks he fired facts and figures at us like a dedicated soldier shelling the un-retreating enemy.  It was fascinating, frustrating, and fun.  We learned well over the 100% he anticipated I’m sure, but more than that the majority of us really respected and welcomed his genuine eagerness to teach.  A professional in any field is a joy to watch—Rosie was a professional without exception in his.
However, things were not going so good for Rosie on the grid iron.  Although our football team was playing better than they had in quite awhile, they were still losing regularly.  As each game passed, the jeers and criticism directed at Rosie from the community increased in quantity and in volume
It was our school’s annual Homecoming with all the accompanying festivities including the floats, parades, coronations, and such.  Everyone was in a holiday, optimistic mood.  Rosie was even in high spirits as everyone boldly predicted a big win that night over our biggest rival—Napoleon.  That night the team—they played as one—played its heart and soul out, as much for Rosie as the school.  Yet when the final quarter ended we’d lost again.
Have you ever read Casey at the Bat?  Well the gloom over Mudville was nothing compared to Grass Lake that fateful night.  Even the much looked forward to formal dance was subdued at first.  The students though soon put the defeat out of their minds, choosing only to remember how well the boys played, as they began to enjoy the music and the beautiful autumn evening.  Meanwhile, all alone with just his thoughts, Rosie shot himself.
The people of Grass Lake, in a state of shock, apologized for being so hard on him.  “Bravely” they said that after all he was only one man and he shouldn’t have been expected to perform miracles.  Some, possibly those who felt most responsible, escaped quietly by starting speculative rumors that his personal family and financial problems were what really drove him to suicide.  I’ve never believed that though I’ve often wondered if he had serious problems at home also how he stood tall as he did for so long.
Rosie was very intelligent and a big man in more than just physical stature.  As I sit here writing this some forty plus years later I can still see him clearly as he was back then.  Sitting on a high stool in front of a lab desk in his favorite sports coat, toasty brown corduroy with deep brown leather elbow patches.  He’d be calmly reeling off technical names and such for forty-five minutes without the use of notes.
To me he was a man to look up to, the kind of man a girl could use as a yardstick for measuring the worth of the men in her life and a guy could use as a model for his own life.  It has always seemed such a terrific waste of greatness that a small town with a seemingly smaller mentality and a huge mouth had to be the one to cut him down.