Manistee News Advocate
Article by Dylan Savela, October 14, 2009
Photos by Matt Wenzel, October 20, 2009
Through a Sea of Pink, Life Grows
by Dylan Savela
How do you measure a life?
We’re quick to count by years, in which case Doug Schlaff passed far before his time.
But years become meaningless increments when you live 35 of them the way he did.
And at a speed seemingly stitched into the
nature of the measurement, another year has flown by for Manistee High School – which, for the first time in a long time, has opened its doors to welcome in a fresh wave of students without Doug.
He lost his 2 1/2-year battle with cancer in December, but his life’s irreplaceable imprint can still be felt and continues to serve as his greatest victory. And while his passing will always be a significant event for those he touched — it is no doubt a testament to the significance of the life preceding it.
And perhaps as a loving gesture of gratitude, or maybe even a divine-felt responsibility, Doug continues to live through the efforts of those he was closest to.
He had many – but it extends beyond friends and family for Doug. As a husband, father, teacher, counselor, and coach in the Manistee Area Public School system, he touched a whole community. And prior to that, as a son, a brother, and a star athlete, he was the prized product of his home town.
It comes as no surprise then, that when the call to bear his memory rang, an army of carriers answered.
In fitting fashion, a scholarship in his name will be given annually to a graduating student at Manistee High School, who, over the course of four years, discovered and applied their once-unseen potential — the kind Doug had a knack for finding.
He may no longer grace the office in which he gave counsel to so many, but on Friday night, his endless impact will be apparent, as the Manistee High School football team takes the field without their customary blue and gold jerseys.
For one night, the Chippewas will wear pink — the color which in recent years has represented cancer awareness. With each jersey individually sponsored and purchased, proceeds will be split between the Doug Schlaff Memorial Scholarship and the Manistee Relay for Life.
With the scholarship’s concept spearheaded by his wife Polly, and the funds raised by friends and family, the inaugural Doug Schlaff Memorial Scholarship was awarded at the end of the same school year in which he passed.
It was the first of many to come.
We’re quick to count by years, in which case Doug Schlaff passed far before his time.
But years become meaningless increments when you live 35 of them the way he did.
And at a speed seemingly stitched into the
nature of the measurement, another year has flown by for Manistee High School – which, for the first time in a long time, has opened its doors to welcome in a fresh wave of students without Doug.
He lost his 2 1/2-year battle with cancer in December, but his life’s irreplaceable imprint can still be felt and continues to serve as his greatest victory. And while his passing will always be a significant event for those he touched — it is no doubt a testament to the significance of the life preceding it.
And perhaps as a loving gesture of gratitude, or maybe even a divine-felt responsibility, Doug continues to live through the efforts of those he was closest to.
He had many – but it extends beyond friends and family for Doug. As a husband, father, teacher, counselor, and coach in the Manistee Area Public School system, he touched a whole community. And prior to that, as a son, a brother, and a star athlete, he was the prized product of his home town.
It comes as no surprise then, that when the call to bear his memory rang, an army of carriers answered.
In fitting fashion, a scholarship in his name will be given annually to a graduating student at Manistee High School, who, over the course of four years, discovered and applied their once-unseen potential — the kind Doug had a knack for finding.
He may no longer grace the office in which he gave counsel to so many, but on Friday night, his endless impact will be apparent, as the Manistee High School football team takes the field without their customary blue and gold jerseys.
For one night, the Chippewas will wear pink — the color which in recent years has represented cancer awareness. With each jersey individually sponsored and purchased, proceeds will be split between the Doug Schlaff Memorial Scholarship and the Manistee Relay for Life.
With the scholarship’s concept spearheaded by his wife Polly, and the funds raised by friends and family, the inaugural Doug Schlaff Memorial Scholarship was awarded at the end of the same school year in which he passed.
It was the first of many to come.
On the Course for a Cause
While the football game will play a major role in providing higher education to deserving students, the wheels were already in motion this summer.
On a gorgeous July afternoon, members of the two communities Doug called home gathered together and stepped up to the plate — or, tee box rather — with two goals in mind: simply enjoy the day in his memory – like he would want — and raise money for this year’s scholarship.
Ninety-eight golfers from both Manistee and the Montague area filled the Manistee Golf & Country Club course for the pay-to-play two-man scramble fundraiser — the brainchild of Doug’s dad Ray and former coworkers and friends, Manistee High School principal Andy Huber and teacher/varsity basketball coach Gregg Bennett.
“What I love about it is it’s a two-man scramble,” Huber said of the event. “That’s how we used to play as friends, so it really is what Doug enjoyed, and it’s just about having fun.
“Doug was a person who touched everybody he ever met,” Huber continued. “The scholarship goes to a student who really showed a lot of personal growth, either academically or in a variety of ways.
“That’s the type of kid that Mr. Schlaff would have wanted. He always loved to see people get a lot out of their potential and push through. He would be really happy to see kids like that with the scholarship.”
Ray agreed.
“It’s the kind of kid that Doug really felt close to and wanted to really help,” he said. “Polly did a nice job of determining how that scholarship should be dealt with ... it’s going to be very meaningful in many different ways. It’ll show them that other people have recognized their improvement. And, maybe they didn’t even realize it, but other people had faith in them.”
Having faith in others — a simple concept, a difficult task, a gesture Doug made look effortless.
I know this, because I’m one of the many he showed faith in, and for that, I’m forever grateful.
On a gorgeous July afternoon, members of the two communities Doug called home gathered together and stepped up to the plate — or, tee box rather — with two goals in mind: simply enjoy the day in his memory – like he would want — and raise money for this year’s scholarship.
Ninety-eight golfers from both Manistee and the Montague area filled the Manistee Golf & Country Club course for the pay-to-play two-man scramble fundraiser — the brainchild of Doug’s dad Ray and former coworkers and friends, Manistee High School principal Andy Huber and teacher/varsity basketball coach Gregg Bennett.
“What I love about it is it’s a two-man scramble,” Huber said of the event. “That’s how we used to play as friends, so it really is what Doug enjoyed, and it’s just about having fun.
“Doug was a person who touched everybody he ever met,” Huber continued. “The scholarship goes to a student who really showed a lot of personal growth, either academically or in a variety of ways.
“That’s the type of kid that Mr. Schlaff would have wanted. He always loved to see people get a lot out of their potential and push through. He would be really happy to see kids like that with the scholarship.”
Ray agreed.
“It’s the kind of kid that Doug really felt close to and wanted to really help,” he said. “Polly did a nice job of determining how that scholarship should be dealt with ... it’s going to be very meaningful in many different ways. It’ll show them that other people have recognized their improvement. And, maybe they didn’t even realize it, but other people had faith in them.”
Having faith in others — a simple concept, a difficult task, a gesture Doug made look effortless.
I know this, because I’m one of the many he showed faith in, and for that, I’m forever grateful.
Remembering My Coach
Doug, or Mr. Schlaff, as I called him at the time, was my high school basketball coach.
And in talking with former teammates and other past players, we agree, he was a friend.
For me, my relationship with Mr. Schlaff began before even he knew.
As a bright-eyed middle school boy with big dreams and an even bigger detachment from reality, basketball was my world, my future.But, before I earned my role as an acute angle in Phil Jackson’s triangle offense, local varsity basketball coach Doug Schlaff was the man to impress.
I was aware Mr. Schlaff lived a block and a half away from my house, and of course my driveway hoop.
Countless summer hours were spent playing pick-up games with friends, but there were only a handful of moments that counted — the ones when coach Schlaff was walking or driving by.
Those were the brief spans of time I ran a little harder, shot a little better, sweated a little more profusely, and in an attempt to get his attention — dribbled a little louder.
Did it work? I’m not quite sure. Out of the corner of my seemingly nonchalant eye, I was never able to tell if he was watching or not. Regardless, he gave me a shot. I found myself on his team come my junior year of high school.
And that team could play. Destined for both the conference and district titles we eventually won.
But really, we were a group of, at times, cocky teenagers, who were led by a kind, soft-spoken man who knew what he was doing – not only with the X’s and O’s on the court, but rather with the responsibility he put upon himself to help mold mere boys into young men – a remarkable feat at just 30 years young, himself.
Through his calm demeanor he managed to keep our emotions in check.
And in talking with former teammates and other past players, we agree, he was a friend.
For me, my relationship with Mr. Schlaff began before even he knew.
As a bright-eyed middle school boy with big dreams and an even bigger detachment from reality, basketball was my world, my future.But, before I earned my role as an acute angle in Phil Jackson’s triangle offense, local varsity basketball coach Doug Schlaff was the man to impress.
I was aware Mr. Schlaff lived a block and a half away from my house, and of course my driveway hoop.
Countless summer hours were spent playing pick-up games with friends, but there were only a handful of moments that counted — the ones when coach Schlaff was walking or driving by.
Those were the brief spans of time I ran a little harder, shot a little better, sweated a little more profusely, and in an attempt to get his attention — dribbled a little louder.
Did it work? I’m not quite sure. Out of the corner of my seemingly nonchalant eye, I was never able to tell if he was watching or not. Regardless, he gave me a shot. I found myself on his team come my junior year of high school.
And that team could play. Destined for both the conference and district titles we eventually won.
But really, we were a group of, at times, cocky teenagers, who were led by a kind, soft-spoken man who knew what he was doing – not only with the X’s and O’s on the court, but rather with the responsibility he put upon himself to help mold mere boys into young men – a remarkable feat at just 30 years young, himself.
Through his calm demeanor he managed to keep our emotions in check.
“Show emotion, but never be emotional,” he’d say. It was a rule he followed himself. Out of all of us, Mr. Schlaff was the best ballplayer.
When we needed an even number for in-team scrimmages, he’d suit up.
Not too far removed from his college basketball days at Hope, he was smooth.
He could dunk on a whim, but seldom did.
The rare occurrence was inevitably followed by a slow jog back on defense, accompanied by a bashful smile – as if he had done too much – as we playfully made a big deal about our coach showing us up. Since I lived so close to both the school and him, Mr. Schlaff wouldn’t hesitate to give me a lift after practice if the skies were too rainy or the sidewalks were too snowy.
And for whatever reason, I remember this:
On team picture day, Mr. Schlaff noticed most of us were presenting the photographer with our toughest faces – attempting to make our mark as the team to fear perhaps.
He had to interject.
“We’re not a football team,” he said. “We’re a basketball team. We smile.”
Some of us tried, but it was an easy demand coming from a man who could showcase a grin with an immense degree of warmth.
Despite the fond memories, I didn’t see much of the court that year, but all the while I knew my role.
I was paying my dues as the youngest on the team.
Nonetheless, Mr. Schlaff asked me to meet with him after a mid-season practice.
As if he felt he had to, he apologized for my lack of playing time, and thanked me for not complaining – all of which was followed by a promise, ensuring I’d see the court the next game.
It was a promise he kept, and I tried my best not to disappoint — even though my peformance wasn’t necessarily the most important to him.
That was Mr. Schlaff’s last season as coach for the Manistee Chippewas, and by being cut from the team my senior year, it was my last season as a player.
I’m still proud to say I played my last game under him.
The after-practice meeting, the rides home through inclement weather, the hand-written congratulatory note he sent upon my high school graduation, were all made more meaningful by the fact that he didn’t have to do any of it.
But, that was who he was — a thoughtful coach, a friend.
He was the first educator I e-mailed from college to give an update on how I was doing.
He was the subject of the depressing news that informed me of the illness.
His death was the heart-wrenching topic of a phone conversation with a friend, another grateful former player.
The best I can do from here, is remember. For however long I’m given, I’ll remember the man who was, and always will be my coach.
When we needed an even number for in-team scrimmages, he’d suit up.
Not too far removed from his college basketball days at Hope, he was smooth.
He could dunk on a whim, but seldom did.
The rare occurrence was inevitably followed by a slow jog back on defense, accompanied by a bashful smile – as if he had done too much – as we playfully made a big deal about our coach showing us up. Since I lived so close to both the school and him, Mr. Schlaff wouldn’t hesitate to give me a lift after practice if the skies were too rainy or the sidewalks were too snowy.
And for whatever reason, I remember this:
On team picture day, Mr. Schlaff noticed most of us were presenting the photographer with our toughest faces – attempting to make our mark as the team to fear perhaps.
He had to interject.
“We’re not a football team,” he said. “We’re a basketball team. We smile.”
Some of us tried, but it was an easy demand coming from a man who could showcase a grin with an immense degree of warmth.
Despite the fond memories, I didn’t see much of the court that year, but all the while I knew my role.
I was paying my dues as the youngest on the team.
Nonetheless, Mr. Schlaff asked me to meet with him after a mid-season practice.
As if he felt he had to, he apologized for my lack of playing time, and thanked me for not complaining – all of which was followed by a promise, ensuring I’d see the court the next game.
It was a promise he kept, and I tried my best not to disappoint — even though my peformance wasn’t necessarily the most important to him.
That was Mr. Schlaff’s last season as coach for the Manistee Chippewas, and by being cut from the team my senior year, it was my last season as a player.
I’m still proud to say I played my last game under him.
The after-practice meeting, the rides home through inclement weather, the hand-written congratulatory note he sent upon my high school graduation, were all made more meaningful by the fact that he didn’t have to do any of it.
But, that was who he was — a thoughtful coach, a friend.
He was the first educator I e-mailed from college to give an update on how I was doing.
He was the subject of the depressing news that informed me of the illness.
His death was the heart-wrenching topic of a phone conversation with a friend, another grateful former player.
The best I can do from here, is remember. For however long I’m given, I’ll remember the man who was, and always will be my coach.
Recalculating
So again — I ask — how do you measure a life?
We’re accustomed to measurements we can quickly understand. I get that. Counting our revolutions around the sun as we ride the Earth is easy, and probably, for convenience’s sake, the way to go. But for Doug, and countless others, the final number doesn’t make sense — rendering a calendar a useless tool.
One must measure first, and most obviously, family. For Doug, it’s his wife Polly, his sons Drew, Grant and Ben who hopefully, as they grow older, will trust others when they hear of how special their dad was.
His life grows through them.
Lovingly crafted and carried out by those who knew Doug best, his life grows through the scholarship — as he continues to help others take advantage of their potential.
His life is measured by the packed gymnasium at his memorial service – the same gym he christened as a coach when it was brand new.
In that very building, his life grows through the basketball plaques displayed in the trophy case donning his name, and more
importantly, it grows through all the names of the young boys he meant so much to.
His life grows with every stroke his friends and family take through 18 holes of golf, and with every dollar raised because of it.
His life grows through the sea of pink jerseys and shirts that will flood the high school football field and stands alike, both as a dedication to him and as an opposition to the disease that ended the yearly tally of his life.
And, perhaps more significantly, but on a smaller scale, the depth and longevity of his life can be truly measured with every memory cherished by those lucky enough to have known him – whether it’s by the volume of a loud dribble, the sincerity of a playing-time promise, the comfort of a dry ride home, or by the inclination to smile when having your picture taken.
We’re accustomed to measurements we can quickly understand. I get that. Counting our revolutions around the sun as we ride the Earth is easy, and probably, for convenience’s sake, the way to go. But for Doug, and countless others, the final number doesn’t make sense — rendering a calendar a useless tool.
One must measure first, and most obviously, family. For Doug, it’s his wife Polly, his sons Drew, Grant and Ben who hopefully, as they grow older, will trust others when they hear of how special their dad was.
His life grows through them.
Lovingly crafted and carried out by those who knew Doug best, his life grows through the scholarship — as he continues to help others take advantage of their potential.
His life is measured by the packed gymnasium at his memorial service – the same gym he christened as a coach when it was brand new.
In that very building, his life grows through the basketball plaques displayed in the trophy case donning his name, and more
importantly, it grows through all the names of the young boys he meant so much to.
His life grows with every stroke his friends and family take through 18 holes of golf, and with every dollar raised because of it.
His life grows through the sea of pink jerseys and shirts that will flood the high school football field and stands alike, both as a dedication to him and as an opposition to the disease that ended the yearly tally of his life.
And, perhaps more significantly, but on a smaller scale, the depth and longevity of his life can be truly measured with every memory cherished by those lucky enough to have known him – whether it’s by the volume of a loud dribble, the sincerity of a playing-time promise, the comfort of a dry ride home, or by the inclination to smile when having your picture taken.
*The Manistee football player who wore the "Schlaff 34" jersey during the game, sophomore linebacker Jesse Kelley, is shown in the above photos presenting the jersey to the Schlaff family.
