Rick Miller was my high school hockey coach, but over the years we ended up developing a very close relationship. I played hockey for him all four years in high school, but he's given me much more than four seasons. He taught me an awful lot over the years and, next to my dad, I consider him to be the most influential person in my life.
In 1981 we were both freshmen. It was "Mils" first year as the head coach and my first year of high school hockey as one of only two ninth graders to make the team. Mils and I used to joke about our freshmen year together even though he was 16 years older than me.
Mils was a great athlete in his day, particularly in baseball and basketball. He didn't play high school hockey. He graduated from Hancock in 1969 and the high school hockey program didn't start until 1971. Still, he became a student of the game and was a very successful high school hockey coach and tremendous role model and leader of young men. I knew Mils well before he became my coach and he was always someone I looked up to.
I remember being about 10 years old and working as a bat boy for his Twilight League baseball team sponsored by Superior National Bank. When "The Bank" was playing in the field during the fifth inning it was my job to roam the crowd and pass the hat for monetary donations. I'd grab an old, beat up batting helmet and criss cross through the crowd taking any and all donations I could get. Once collected I'd return to The Bank's dugout and wait for the money to be counted at the end of the game. Mils would count the money, take some out to pay the umpires, then offer me a post game handshake. "Thanks Gives," he'd say shaking my hand and sliding $2.00 my way. "See you next game".
As I got older my duties grew to include being the warm up catcher for The Banks' pitchers between innings. I remember the very first time Mils threw me a curveball while I was warming him up. I wasn't expecting it even though he did give me the standard "here comes a curve" sign by flipping his glove palm up prior to throwing the pitch. I hadn't seen a curve before and without thinking I yelled to him, "Hey, how did you do that?". Mils just looked at me and smiled. Later in that same game he hit a home run farther than I had ever seen one hit before. It sailed well over the left field fence and hit the roof on the Houghton County Ice Arena. A mammoth shot traveling well over 400 feet, but he may as well have hit it to the moon. I was waiting at home plate, holding his bat, when he rounded third base and trotted home. He smiled at me as we slapped hands and said, "Someday you'll hit one like that Gives." I couldn't imagine being able to do that, but I also can't tell you what it meant to have someone I really admired, and looked up to, tell me that I could.
I kept in touch with Mils after graduating from high school and the communication became more frequent once I started coaching myself. I'd call Mils for advice when my team was in a scoring slump or when we needed to shake things up with line combinations or defensive schemes. I'd tell him what had happened over the past few games and he'd give me different ideas on things to try and what to look for. It seemed as though no matter what the issue was, Mils had something to counter with. It gave me confidence going into the games no matter who we were playing. Mils often referenced "David vs Goliath" and he relished the opportunity to beat someone everyone said he couldn't.
My team has been in somewhat of a scoring slump over the past few games and I really could use Mils' advice. I'm not able to get it though because he's no longer here. Mils passed away on June 16, 2008 at his home in LaJolla, CA after a two-year bout with cancer. He was only 57 years old. Yesterday was his birthday and I spent most of the day wondering how his wife, Mary, was handling things. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how unimportant our recent scoring slump really is. Eventually, we'll snap out of it and the goals will come. But Mils still won't be here to talk about it and that is really something I wish I could change.
Happy Birthday, Coach......
In 1981 we were both freshmen. It was "Mils" first year as the head coach and my first year of high school hockey as one of only two ninth graders to make the team. Mils and I used to joke about our freshmen year together even though he was 16 years older than me.
Mils was a great athlete in his day, particularly in baseball and basketball. He didn't play high school hockey. He graduated from Hancock in 1969 and the high school hockey program didn't start until 1971. Still, he became a student of the game and was a very successful high school hockey coach and tremendous role model and leader of young men. I knew Mils well before he became my coach and he was always someone I looked up to.
I remember being about 10 years old and working as a bat boy for his Twilight League baseball team sponsored by Superior National Bank. When "The Bank" was playing in the field during the fifth inning it was my job to roam the crowd and pass the hat for monetary donations. I'd grab an old, beat up batting helmet and criss cross through the crowd taking any and all donations I could get. Once collected I'd return to The Bank's dugout and wait for the money to be counted at the end of the game. Mils would count the money, take some out to pay the umpires, then offer me a post game handshake. "Thanks Gives," he'd say shaking my hand and sliding $2.00 my way. "See you next game".
As I got older my duties grew to include being the warm up catcher for The Banks' pitchers between innings. I remember the very first time Mils threw me a curveball while I was warming him up. I wasn't expecting it even though he did give me the standard "here comes a curve" sign by flipping his glove palm up prior to throwing the pitch. I hadn't seen a curve before and without thinking I yelled to him, "Hey, how did you do that?". Mils just looked at me and smiled. Later in that same game he hit a home run farther than I had ever seen one hit before. It sailed well over the left field fence and hit the roof on the Houghton County Ice Arena. A mammoth shot traveling well over 400 feet, but he may as well have hit it to the moon. I was waiting at home plate, holding his bat, when he rounded third base and trotted home. He smiled at me as we slapped hands and said, "Someday you'll hit one like that Gives." I couldn't imagine being able to do that, but I also can't tell you what it meant to have someone I really admired, and looked up to, tell me that I could.
I kept in touch with Mils after graduating from high school and the communication became more frequent once I started coaching myself. I'd call Mils for advice when my team was in a scoring slump or when we needed to shake things up with line combinations or defensive schemes. I'd tell him what had happened over the past few games and he'd give me different ideas on things to try and what to look for. It seemed as though no matter what the issue was, Mils had something to counter with. It gave me confidence going into the games no matter who we were playing. Mils often referenced "David vs Goliath" and he relished the opportunity to beat someone everyone said he couldn't.
My team has been in somewhat of a scoring slump over the past few games and I really could use Mils' advice. I'm not able to get it though because he's no longer here. Mils passed away on June 16, 2008 at his home in LaJolla, CA after a two-year bout with cancer. He was only 57 years old. Yesterday was his birthday and I spent most of the day wondering how his wife, Mary, was handling things. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how unimportant our recent scoring slump really is. Eventually, we'll snap out of it and the goals will come. But Mils still won't be here to talk about it and that is really something I wish I could change.
Happy Birthday, Coach......
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