Woster: Dale Waysman was strong in so many ways

I can’t count how often over the years people who learned I graduated from Chamberlain immediately asked, “Did you know Dale Waysman?’’

Mark Meierhenry was among those. We were killing time once, waiting for a hearing or meeting to start. Mark, a Gregory native, asked if I was in school around the time Dale Waysman played football for the Cubs. I told him Dale and I graduated together, class of 1962.

“He was maybe the toughest kid I ever played against,’’ Meierhenry said. I took that as high praise. Mark was no slouch when it came to toughness.

I recalled that conversation the other day as I read through Dale’s obituary. He died the day after Christmas, only a few weeks after his 81st birthday. After serving in the military, including a tour in Vietnam, he spent the rest of his life in South Dakota. He taught school, coached young people and moved through the world of school administration. He helped shape lives, made friends everywhere and, from many stories I have heard from those who worked with him in schools, made a positive impact on the state’s education system.

Back in high school, I hadn’t a clue his life would go that direction. You know teen-aged guys. We didn’t talk a lot about hopes or dreams or the future. We talked about sports, books, girls and cars. We talked about who was strongest among us, too. When we did that, Dale’s name was always right up there.

It's funny. If you look at yearbook pictures of the football team our senior year, Dale doesn’t stand out as bigger or more muscled than the other guys. But on the field, he was incredibly strong. Some of it was physical, sure. Much of it was mental. He simply refused to be stopped, whether carrying the ball as fullback or blocking for the halfback. My little brother has a memory of Dale on a sweep, taking out two guys with one block, clearing the way for a long gain. I don’t remember that, but it’s the way he played. He made all-state and got a scholarship to Wyoming.

We were track co-captains our senior year. He threw weights and ran sprints. We ran on some medley relays together over the years. Dale had decent sprinter’s speed, but his real gift was quickness. From a standing start to top speed was, like, three steps. The first time I passed the baton to him, I approached thinking, “I’m going to overrun the pass.’’ Then he took off, and I panicked, thinking, “I won’t catch him.’’

We argued baseball sometimes as we walked to school. I crowed mightily in 1957 when my Braves beat his Yankees in the Series. He got me back, and then some, the next year.

In about fifth grade, some teachers began seating us alphabetically. It was “Waysman, (Damon) Wenzel, Woster.’’ Damon had a terrific collection of Hardy Boys books. The three Ws shared the books, talking and laughing over Frank and Joe, the teen-aged detectives.

In one class — Nell Labidee’s, I think — we received a list of 44 or 49 prepositions. She divided us into teams of two and said the team that could write the most prepositions on paper got a month of free passes to the State Theater. Dale and I teamed up. I had memorized the list, so I started writing furiously. Dale watched quietly and then said, “You left out ‘below.’’’ We won the movie passes.

In eighth grade, maybe, a gym teacher demonstrated some boxing moves and paired us off to spar a round. Nobody wanted to be Dale’s opponent. I had never seen him box. I just knew he could. We all did.

The kid paired with Dale decided to attack, arms windmilling crazily. Dale patiently fended off a few wild swings, stepped forward and jabbed the kid in the nose. The punch wasn’t hard enough to really hurt, just enough to show he wasn’t disrespecting a less-skilled opponent. They sparred out the rest of the round with few punches landed.

I remember that, I guess, because it showed a tough guy who could be gentle, too. He was just a good guy.