Jeff Schaly's Eulogy

Good morning.

On behalf of Mom and the rest of the family, I would like to thank everyone for coming this morning. Please know that your heartfelt cards, e-mails, phone calls and Internet postings have been a true comfort to our family.

A little over a year ago I had the honor to present dad for induction into the Marietta College Athletic Hall of Fame. Writing that speech was one of the most difficult tasks I have ever done. To summarize his forty years of accomplishments into a few minutes was literally impossible.

But it was amazing how easy it was to write this.

For the Hall of Fame, I chose to speak about dad's achievements on the baseball field. His 1,400 plus victories, three national championships and his numerous coach of the year awards. And as great as those accolades are, they pale in comparison to the effect that Dad had on the lives of the thousands of people who were a part of his life. I hope you agree with me that today we should concentrate on that.

It is only fair that I tell you a lot of what follows are not my words, but rather the words written by several of you.

Sheer will and determination forged the program that stands as a legacy to Dad. Failure to perform your best was unacceptable. He demanded equally the best of himself and of others. We were respectful of his program, in awe of his preparedness, and fearful of failing him. It was the realized effort of his belief in us that turned ball players into champions and boys into men.

When our days at MC were done, and as the years passed, we glimpsed back and realized the imperceptible transformation that had taken place. We were taught simple lessons, not always easily accepted. The lessons were veiled in a game we all loved, and offered at a critical point in our lives. Dad will be missed, but he will live long in our memories, and in each of the lives he touched.

Dad had this effect on everyone around him, not just the lucky few who have worn the pinstripes. It was almost magical the way he could pull people into the program and once you became a part of the program you immediately knew you were part of something special. A family. It doesn't matter if you joined the family in 1964 or 2004, because of Dad, the experiences had and the lessons learned were always the same. And, as every family has its own idiosyncrasies (like pink jockstraps and SEE ME's), trying to explain the MC baseball family to an outsider is next to impossible. The only way you can truly understand and appreciate what dad was all about was to experience it firsthand. Only he could use the word "dumbass" as a term of endearment.

During his life, Dad seldom used the word love. As we all know, he rarely chose the soft, touchy-feely approach when trying to get his point across. But he truly loved the city of Marietta, Marietta College and every member of his extended family.

If you played for Dad, you know how he felt about ballplayers and girlfriends and because of this many people thought that he just didn’t like women. But in reality, he probably loved his girls more than anyone. From Mom to his daughters and granddaughters, from his sister to his nieces, from his secretaries to his favorite softball coach, if you were one of "Donnie’s Girls," you are a part of an extra-special sorority.

While it would be easy for me to tell countless stories that demonstrate everything I have just said about the Ol' Man, I would like to share one that I just learned about this week from former player Abbey Gladstone.

On September 11th, Abbey was working in New York City and was caught in the middle of the attack on the World Trade Center. Luckily, he was evacuated to New Jersey and was able to get home several hours after the attack. Since Abbey’s wife was out of town at the time, he returned to an empty home trying to make sense out of what had just happened. One of the first things he did when he got home was to play the messages on his answering machine. The first message was from Dad telling Abbey that he wanted to make sure he was all right and that he was praying for him. Abbey told me that hearing Dad's voice and knowing that the Ol' Man had taken the time to check on him was one of the most comforting feelings he has ever felt.

In closing, I offer this: If you are looking for a way to pay tribute to the Ol' Man, do whatever is in your power to support the 2005 Etta Express and keep the program alive for generations to come so that future members of the family benefit as greatly as we have.

And if that's not enough, go home tonight, gather your family around the television, find an old black-and-white Western movie to watch, drink a Pepsi, eat a Mr. Goodbar and give your loved ones a kiss.