Michael Crimmins:
CLASS OF 1967
Central Catholic High SchoolClass of 1967
Lafayette, IN
Ohio UniversityClass of 1972
Athens, OH
Michael's Story
"Warmest regards - Dallas, Texas. Childhood - I loved being a Hoosier! January 1949: My arrival in South Bend, Indiana was at 4 pm, feet first, one month early on a cold, snowy morning. The first of six children born to a strict, All-American college football coach and a loving, hard-working Kentucky farm girl, I was baptized at The University of Notre Dame Basilica. It was my good fortune to be immersed in a rough and tumble Irish-Catholic family.
World War II +: My mother, a HS graduate at 16, moved from Cain Run Road, Valley Station, KY to NYC to pursue better pay (VP of Seagram’s secretary). My father, a product of Louisville's rough, Irish, west end was a Notre Dame All-American football player, 4.0 in Business, WWII PT Boat Commander; Silver Star recipient; a Green Bay Packer; and coached football at ND, Purdue and IU. Both sent money to their families.
Depression Lessons: were passed to: Michael, Patrick, Bernie, Marilyn, Maureen and Colleen. In 4th grade, riding up Grant Street hill, I asked for an allowance. My father stated bluntly he would “cloth me, feed me and put a roof over my head”. The “extras” would come from work. With rare exceptions, I have held a daily paying job since that day.
South Bend & West Lafayette: Memories include: South Bend Sunday Catholic League Football (a 2nd grader in a 7th grade game - St. Anthony’s vs St. Monica's); 5:45 AM Indianapolis Star papers; shoveling snow, cutting lawns; unloading 100 pound potato sacks (gritty boxcars at Minardo's Market); football programs sales (the Black & Gold Grill); ND sidelines (still shivering); Quality Beer's beer truck deliveries; rock quarry diving; breaking the speed limit (John McCaw's Corvair) and an 8th grade coach (“you will never play in HS). Lafayette Central Catholic HS: Despite a first day fight, I met motivated students and teachers. As a mouthy 5’2”, 116# freshman munchkin, Coach LaRocca allowed me to call the plays (even those not in the playbook). Highlights included: a TD pass at South Bend's School Field; sinking an off-balance (Indiana HS basketball tournament); dancing with a wonderful 1965 "West Side date" (Righteous Brothers); and "parking" at the Purdue stadium (not the same girl). 90+ % of the 1967 CC seniors matriculated to college.
Years later, a beautiful, CC cheerleader described me as the "awnriest" boy to ever graduate CC". I would disagree. My brother, Bernie, holds the title.
The Naval Academy: "The thing I wanted most in life, was the thing I couldn't win" - "The Name of the Rose". June 1967 was my HS graduation date. Plebe year began abruptly three weeks later. Plebe summer was brutal. 35th company hazing flushed 50% of my classmates by Christmas. Plebe football: 27 QBs arrived fall practice day #1. Although recruited, I lined up "last in a very long line". After four position changes, there was no opportunity to play. (Coach Belichek – New England Patriots coach’s father).
Academics, except for Calculus, were solid, and as starting freshman basketball point guard, life should have been happier. However, as plebe "Cooler King", marching innumerable restricted weekend tours became a full-time job. Spring 1968:
Coach Lee Corso (now ESPN) convinced me to return to football. After 2nd week scrimmage scoring runs (7, 23 and 63 yards), my name vanished from Monday's offensive depth chart. Visions of "you are cut" ran through my head. Tapping my shoulder, a teammate stated – “dumbass you are now on defense”. With no experience, the change was scary.
Fall 1968: My high school’s average football attendance + 1,000 people. The “sell out” at Penn State and “running out the tunnel” at Michigan were overwhelming. At Michigan, my friend stated, “this is like the Christians and the Lions”. I replied, “we are the Christians”.
Starting ahead of an All-East linebacker at Penn State and BC, a "blown out" knee at Michigan, botched operation and 2-1/2 month Academy hospital atay contributed to a USNA departure. From there, I matriculated to unloading Sears trucks in West Lafayette to Ohio University (Midwest equivalent of Cal Berkley).
My mother suspected “another reason” (a 1968 summer Tippecanoe County Fair Ferris wheel ride). Navy sophomore life was upside down and my heart in Lafayette. "Leaving on a Jet Plane", was a midshipmen anthem, but "Dear John" letters were a reality of life. I did not marry that lady. God has his reasons. Life is loss and gain. My world view changed dramatically.
In between: My father wanted me to quit football, attend Notre Dame and major in business. He was right, but I said “no”. Ohio University:
The 5-year college game plan (career plan?) “progressed” as a "a walk-on, red shirt" turned English major, Tulane, Kentucky, Miami of Ohio (twice) were highlights. Tough losses to Virginia Tech and Toledo underscored “what might have been”. Playing time was interrupted by 11 shoulder dislocations and an operated knee. Golfing with Joe McDonald (Boston Irish); speeding a 1968 Olds 442 to Columbus (Mrs. Piolatta's awesome Italian food); studying 6:30 till 9 PM (before waiter’s duties, The Lantern tavern); 50 yard line expletives (Toledo midfield huddle); Miami Migration (toga maker); “Ohio University Inn” (fine dining and bedrooms); "The Rotation" (3 to 1 odds); Halloween Yeoman parties (paper thin apartment walls) still bring a smile.
“Enlightenment” and the "Renaissance Man" were introduced by Three Comparative Arts courses. West Virginia student teaching taught me there are individuals do not desire education. Teaching would not be my life's ambition. My student newspaper hockey articles upset the editor, athletic department and university administration. Finally, lack of adult supervision contributed to two years of student riots, Ohio National Guard mobilization and University shutdowns. Today, Ohio wonders why there are no donations!
The 1970’s…."I have so many questions to answer...so many places to go." Alice in Wonderland.
My father, who respected authority, told me to ignore the phrase “you can’t do something”. Very Irish. “Can’t” never existed in his lexicon. Traversing the U.S., Caribbean and Europe tested the limits. Juxtapose rifting from the Academy vs an OU liberal arts degree and Loyola MBA; U.S. Air Force Academy/Cornell college coaching positions vs. working graveyard shifts in U.S./European steel mills; hitch hiking through the wild Irish countryside vs. mingling with the rich in San Moritz. Life is rarely linear.
Coaching rarely paid all the bills. Second jobs included: bartender; construction worker (105 degree heat), rough out carpenter; Ivy League fraternity academic liaison (probation aka Animal House); Disco bouncer (NY with privileges); painting contractor (higher salary than the manager); restaurant waiter (Houston - Greek owned); oil field shop hand (downhole tools - Louisiana bayou); and ticket scalper (New Orleans Saints games). Life showed my slowly it is a gift, adventure and miracle. Paradoxically, it is full of pain.
Adulthood - "You can't choose what is over, only where you go". Enya.
For 38 years, friends have asked, “how did you meet your wife”? At age 30, on a Friday afternoon, out of luck, my friend and I began the trek back to the Cornell University Football Office. The weekend date search at the student union was fruitless. New York state’s early spring weather morphed from tolerable to windy cold. We ducked into Barton Hall and passed a beautiful girl sitting on the stairs, copying class notes. Two minutes later, I turned back. My buddy opined, “you’re crazy”. I stated matter of factly, “what’s new”? Circling back, I clumsily attempted to check for a wedding ring. Annoyed, looking over, she questioned, “what are you doing”. Hastily I managed, “trying to find out if you are married”. Bluntly, she said “No, I’m not”. Attempting to remain poised, I asked, “Where are you from”. She said “Greece”. I said knowingly, “Greece (New York), that’s about 2-1/2 hours down the pike”. As only a Cornell girl could, she coolly asked, “Athens, Greece, ever heard of it”? If success is based on obtaining a phone number, rather than style points, then I succeeded. Our first date - hockey bar and beer. Our second date - she picked the venue and the wine. We dated, she graduated and returned to Greece. Like prior, long distance relationships, it ended. Well, almost….
At 31, with adulthood "somewhat delayed", the conclusion that "Animal House" was not a training film for life dawned on me. I left coaching for the business world. First job? Pouring steel to learn the business from the ground up and become a manager. A Granite City Steel a blast furnace incident terminated the night shift. At 4:30 AM, my former (underline former), Greek girl-friend, unexpectedly called to inform me she wished to fly to the U.S. to marry me. ("Where is St. Louis"?) Face down, spread eagle at the I-70 Holiday Inn, I fielded the transatlantic call and agreed.
"Eleni", Annmarie Helen Boyaci, began immigration from Greece as her mother, Nana, her threw shoes from the balcony at the taxi below. She arrived in St. Louis tired, on a one-way ticket, with three suitcases and the hope she had not made the wrong decision. She departed Athens, friends, relatives and family to marry me. Family, country and religion are everything to Greeks. I have never forgotten that fact. Yes, God provides second chances and guardian angels. It was time to "grow up".
Four months later, we married (a blue-eyed female Cook County judge), mended fences with my parents (two weeks later) and departed Chicago (U-Haul truck headed for the Texas oilfield). As transplants say, "We weren't born here, but we moved to Texas as fast as we could". Anyway, the weather was warmer, jobs plentiful, taxes lower and the people friendly. Southern hospitality is not a ...Expand for more
myth.
Texas: Texans "live big and dream bigger". Oilfield service companies have provided a “boom and bust”, 38 year economic backdrop. In “good times and bad”, my forte has been downhole process and “landing on my feet”. Outside the Oilpatch, I helped raise two sons, coached HS lacrosse and served as the Texas HS Lacrosse League Commissioner. Family:
“The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.” Mark Twain. Eleni, the "little Greek girl", my wife with the big smile and bigger heart, is 9+ years my junior, an Ivy League graduate (Cornell), speaks 3 languages and “may be” more intelligent than her husband. She has saved my life; shown me the balcony view of the "thalassa" from 17 Varis St, Vouliagmenoi; helped me listen to Greek music - "Να παίζει το τρανζίστορ τ' αμερικάνικα....and " taught me Greek - one word at a time… even though, "there are some words that don't translate!" As the only Greek woman on the planet with no accent, I occasionally forget she is not an American. Then, Greek via Skype or a French movie translation (“et vois tout”) bring me back to reality.
My sons are "politically incorrect", Irish flawed, hard-working, street smart and stand on their own two feet. They have learned the basics. "Family comes first"; "Life isn't fair"; "If you are knocked down, get up"; "Do the best with what God gave you"; "Learn and respect everyone"; “The Ten Commandments are not the ten suggestions"; "The world is loud, but God whispers". The family question, "What did I do to improve myself today?"
Michael, my oldest, captained his Pittsburgh, PA HS and Bridgeton Academy (PG) football teams; started at linebacker on 3 NCAA Div-1A championship teams and majored in engineering. When he ran onto the freshman HS practice field his coach stated, “He will never play a down of high school football". So much for “never” and “can’t”. Michael is a director for a US electronics company, lives in Lake Forest, Illinois and is married to Donielle (beautiful, red headed, Chicago girl). Erin, 9, (my large-tempered granddaughter), Michael, 4, and Thomas, 1, (red headed grandsons) beg the question “Is red hair a warning label?”
Anthony, my youngest, speaks 3 languages, lives in Dallas and married the lovely Jin Hewit in Greece. Jin is now expecting Dorothy Alexandra Crimmins (Δοροθεα in Greek means (“Gift of God”). Congrats to all. “Antoni” was: a Coppell HS lacrosse captain (All State Attack), Avon Old Farms Prep (2nd leading scorer) and captain at Butler University (NCAA Div-I). His best college games were vs. Maryland (2 G’s - 1 A); Notre Dame (1 G – 1 A) and Sacred Heart (2 G’s - 2 A’s). He majored in finance. President of StickStar Lacrosse, He is non-stop Texas lacrosse. His company includes 25 summer select lacrosse teams; Texas, Oklahoma and Louisiana affiliate programs; video and announcing for college games. His select winning percentage is +73% since 2003.
Home is Castle Hills- a north Dallas suburb. Except for summer's fire cracker 100+ degree heat, the weather is therapeutic for my 8 joint operations. My golf game struggles from the low 80's – 90’s. White tees. I enjoy wine, beer, chess, quant investing, Greek language studies and coaching select lacrosse.
Old Family Stories - "Don't forget where you came from". Bernie Crimmins Collisions, Tough Times, Failures & Near Misses. "Moira" - Greek for "Fate".
1930’s. Dorothy Linnig (later Crimmins) was raised on an Ohio River farm west of Louisville, Ky. Her father was nicknamed “The Irishman”. One of nine children, her nearby uncle was murdered after a dance for five dollars. They later found, convicted and hung the murderer. Ironically, my dad’s father, Steve, was the Louisville city police investigator who investigated the murder.
1938. The Christmas Fumble. The depression. With 7 boys, Dad’s family was short on money and food. Christmas was cold and rainy. The neighbors pitched in with a roast, potatoes and carrots. In the dark, icy downpour, Dad (the 5th son) attempted to carry the pot between the wood houses. Halfway, he slipped and the warm food spilled into the mud. My grandmother raced outside to retrieve every morsel. The food was washed and the family thanked God for dinner. Bobby, my Dad's younger brother, needled him for years, “You could carry the ball for ND, but you couldn’t hold onto the food for five yards.”
1939-40: Friends and Acquaintances. Undefeated ND. Post-game, each game, multitudes gathered outside the locker room to greet the team. Eventually, ND lost to Iowa by a slim margin. Post-game, 5 people waited outside. My father never forgot the lesson. “You will be lucky if you can count your true friends on 10 fingers”. Definition “true friends”: “people that will come in your time of need - when no one else will.”
1944 Pacific theater: A Japanese plane dropped a 500-pound bomb next to my father's PT boat. It did not explode.
1950’s: Sporting News article: My father scouted and designed the defensive package whereby Notre Dame ended the 49 game Oklahoma winning streak.
1955. Little Grandma. 1950s interstate highways were terrible. Twice a year, my parents packed the family station wagon to “meet the relatives”. Bad roads, bad directions, wrong turns to Louisvile and six kids tested everyone’s patience. Comfort zone frazzled, “gatherings” could be difficult. Upon arrival, relatives stopped briefly, to say "hello" to the frail, old lady in the corner, but did not linger. Grabbing my hand, mom directed, “I want you to meet….” The words, “Oh mom” did little to help. Post uncomfortable meeting, my mother explained the old woman as a young girl, danced in vaudeville, worked the carnivals. A Louisville Courier Journal writer interviewed the carny workers regarding “the plight of the horses”. He asked, “we hear the horses are starving”. Her response, “Hell, we’re all starving!” Tough times contributed to blindness. At the next gathering, I sat with my great-grandmother, to explain - my life, sports and our family’s first black and white television. She held my hand, smiled and listened to an unseen 6-year old boy. Nine months ago, James Hewitt, Jin’s father, found a photo of "little grandma" on Anscestory.com.
1965. Rummaging through Old Boxes…. and Elegant Ladies. In 2013, I stumbled across my CC Christmas dance picture. Lord knows I was a gawky, socially awkward, red headed, 16 year-old kid with partial caps on my front teeth and few date prospects. On my Saturday paper route collections (Huffy bike), I arrived at my last stop. An older, beautiful, dark haired West Side girl (Irish name) answered the door bell. We had been friends from 5th grade, but she dated college guys driving Corvettes. “The question” stumbled from my mouth. To my astonishment, she said "yes". Irish luck exists!
With no driver’s license, my mother chauffeured the vintage green & white Pontiac station wagon. My father's dress shoes did not fit as I nervously attempted to pin her corsage (puberty was kind). She patiently stated, “let me help”. My date (and the flowers) were beautiful. She overlooked my innumerable flaws. No one from CC knew her. Perfect evening!
My life includes numerous missed opportunities. Some time ago, her brother provided an email address. A scanned photo (and a Thank You) was emailed to a person unseen in 45 years. The next day, the lady who befriended me so long ago, emailed - "you really were a good kid."
1968: Shore leave, San Juan Puerto Rico: Riding a motorcycle alongside 3 marines, we passed a downtown department store. Two blocks later, stopped at a light, we looked back to see a FALN bomb rip out the store front we previously passed.
1969: 4F for Vietnam: My draft number was 52. Upon my return from USNA, I went to Indianapolis two weeks later for an Army physical. Washout.
1978: My car was T boned in upstate NY on an icy winter's morning. I walked away.
1980. Coffee Cups, Fortune Telling and Old Greek Ladies. After I met Helen, she returned to live in Greece. Quite by chance, I traveled to Cleveland and met another Greek friend for a Saturday church festival. Introduced to the parishioners, by midnight the Greek women were teaching me the language, customs, dances etc. Consequently, I was invited to a Sunday afternoon garden party. The next day, lamb on the spit, wine flowing, a most interesting, older Greek lady offered to read my fortune. Per custom, we drank Greek coffee, turned my demitasse cup upside down – then up. She peered into the cup, looked me in the eye and in thick, halting English proceeded... “You will travel to Greece and marry a Greek girl. Under no circumstances, live in Greece.” The people were total strangers. No one knew of my girlfriend in Greece.
1988: Our family evacuated Corpus Christi to avoid a Gulf Coast hurricane. That night, a tornado demolished a complex 300 yards from our San Antonio hotel. We witnessed the news of deaths the next morning.
2017: My 50th reunion at CC brought me full circle to old friends. Golf with Wayne Dienhart (a great athlete), a long conversation with Sharon Hentschel Bahler (a class mate from the West Side since 5th grade) made my weekend. When I returned, Helen stated, “your trip changed you”.
2018: Upcoming: Purdue – Ohio State game - October 20th with my brother, Pat, and my oldest son, Michael. Last, but not least: Life is a process and journey. Sometimes it takes hard-headed, Irish-Catholics that lack a career plan longer. "The paradox of life", "moira", the law of unintended consequences, guardian angels appear in God’s plan. Near term failure can leave the door open for future success. As an elegant lady once said, Given the opportunity, "time can be a great equalizer". Then, perseverance, "contrary determination” and "Irish luck” can eventually pay off.
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