The Good Sport

As a young boy within a classic Irish Catholic family, when the pastor comes to your home and tells both your parents and immigrant grandparents that he thinks you have a holy vocation, you are not a part of the decision-making process. Once Father Fuchs made that proclamation, it was a foregone conclusion.

Within our home, as well as in all the homes of my extended family, there were many portraits depicting the honorable and beloved Monsignor Hugh O’Donnell, my mother’s cousin. This provided serious implied pressure, to be sure. Given that, before I could renegotiate my fate, I found myself on a bus to upstate New York with forty-five other pre-seminarian prospects.

Instantly, upon being treated to an overdose of tranquility and prayer, I recognized that I was squarely out of my element. Most days, we would be in Chapel, while I was totally consumed with the great outdoors, peering at the ball fields, hoping to be allowed to escape a prayer session.

Near the end of the summer, just before the group was going to be sent home prior to commencing seminary high school in a few short weeks, we were all gathered in the cafeteria. A resident Friar conveyed the details of our break, highlighting the start of high school matriculation, and then transitioned to “If any of you are not sure that you want this life, I’ll be in my office after dinner.” Immediately, I dropped my fork to ensure that I would be first in line, which I was, whereby I most respectfully delivered the “I am out of here” message. The priest indicated that he understood and offered to drive me back downstate the next day.

About three hours or so into our drive, the priest asked if I was hungry. Of course, I jumped at that invitation. He then asked if a Howard Johnson’s might be appealing, and I quickly let him know that any food was appealing to me. As we pulled off the interstate, it was clear that this Ho Jo was jam-packed – customers were standing in line out the door. The priest pressed forward to speak with the hostess, and my impression was that he was most confident that he would be provided a table in short order. No sooner than the hostess suggested that it might be a 45-minute wait, a handsome man in a gray flannel suit stood up and waved us over to his table.

The man kindly invited the good father and the kid (me) to join him for lunch. With little delay, the gentleman asked about the nature of our travel. The priest, who had been trying to re-recruit me all morning, indicated that I had been attending the Graymoor Friar pre-seminary program; he had to explain that this young man (me) thought he wanted to become a priest but had now pivoted.

The gentleman jumped in and said something like, “Perhaps God has yet another plan for this young man. Not to worry, these things tend to work out for the best.” Then, in a heroic effort to stop my berating, he shared that he was a product of parochial education and that he attended the University of Notre Dame. His name was none other than Jim Crowley, one of the legendary “Four Horsemen.” The priest, not unlike me, almost ate his fork.

In 2000, when I was introduced as the Director of Athletics at Notre Dame, I seriously wondered if Jim Crowley was looking down and whether he’d remember our prophetic meeting. ♦                    

Note: Kevin White started as a track and field coach before beginning his journey in athletic administration. Eventually, he served as the athletic director at Notre Dame from 2000-2008. He then became the Vice President and Director of athletics at Duke, where he led the athletics program to success and implemented diversity and inclusion efforts from 2008 to 2021. White currently teaches a sports business course at Duke’s Fuqua School of Business. In 2017 Kevin was inducted into the Irish America Hall of Fame.

The Good Sport is available on Amazon. For more information visit: Meetkevinwhite.com