Dispatch
COMMENTARY
Does Woody rest in peace as Michigan week nears?
Thursday, November 09, 2006
ROB OLLER
A guy I know enjoys bursting the bubble of back-in-the-good-olddays Ohio State fans by pointing out that "Woody is dead."
Wanting to see for myself, I drive to Union Cemetery, burial place of Wayne Woodrow Hayes and his wife, Anne. He died in 1987; she in 1998.
Union Cemetery has two sections, one on the east side of Olentangy River Road, just north of the Woody Hayes Athletic Center. The other, where Hayes is buried, is located about a mile farther north, on the west side of the road.
Strangers visit Hayes? grave site at least twice a month, according to Lou Willis, who digs graves and drives a truck around both sections of the cemetery. Some friends and former players visit, too. But not Earle Bruce.
"I?ve driven by there thinking I should stop and see where it is. Every time I drive by that place, I think about that," Bruce said. "I ought to go see him."
Pause.
"He was a different Joe, buddy."
The temperature is about 55 degrees. Too warm for Woody weather. I wear a white short-sleeved shirt, for full effect. I also feel compelled to put my cell phone on vibrate.
There is no better or worse time to visit a cemetery, although it probably feels more full of life, if that makes sense, in the spring and summer when trees shine green.
Under November gray, the sun looks like a bathroom light bulb dimmed by shower steam. The only color belongs to the grass, burning bushes and the scarlet crabapples clinging to life.
Woody resides near the southwest corner of Section 12, under a black granite marker with HAYES etched in gray. Under the name, an inscription: "And in the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love hears the rustle of a wing."
A miniature American flag fastened to a brass World War II marker is to the left of the tombstone. Fourteen pennies sit on the base of the stone to the left. Two sit on the right. An overhanging pine tree limb serves as an umbrella. Pine needles cover the top of the marker.
While there, I wonder what Woody thinks of the upcoming Michigan game. I know he?ll pay no attention to the game Saturday at Northwestern. When Woody coached, the Wildcats were nothing more than an irritating screen door blocking the main entrance, which is Michigan.
"When we played Northwestern, he used to call me and say, ?Are you practicing for Michigan?? " Bruce said. "I don?t think Michigan ever left his mind."
Let?s hope that Hoy and June McIntire and Charles and Jane Ott love talking Ohio State football. The McIntires rest to the left of Woody?s grave. The Otts are to the right.
A man and his dog, a West Highland terrier, , walk up from behind.
"He?s probably coaching from there," the man said, nodding at the black stone.
Pete Wilkins, 87, lost his wife of 62 years, Phyllis, on Jan. 23, 2005. He visits her grave about twice a week, walking past Woody?s plot to get there.
"I had to cut the chrysanthemums off today," he said. "They had become frozen."
He misses his bride a ton.
Wilkins considers himself fortunate to have watched Woody coach his last game in Ohio Stadium, a 14-3 loss to Michigan in 1978. By then, he understood what that meant.
"We came from New York, the Finger Lakes region," Wilkins said. "When we first arrived here in 1962, we thought everybody in Columbus was crazy."
Some still are. On his walks, Wilkins has noticed people taking family pictures beside Hayes? grave; on some Saturdays, beer cans sit stacked on the marker.
Noon chimes begin to ring. A cemetery bell plays a hymn I can?t name.
Wilkins and his dog climb into a maroon Ford Focus and drive off. I walk 30 feet or so to Phyllis? tombstone. A cardinal sitting on a dogwood is carved into the stone. Wind chimes dangle from a tree over the grave site.
I return to my car and turn on the radio. Chris Spielman is talking about wind chimes. On my walk to the office, I notice more wind chimes tinkling an erratic tune from a house on Franklin Street. I had not heard the sound of wind chimes even once in the past three years. Strange.