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The story, as it was told to me, went like this.
Reporters were gathered outside Berwick’s locker room many, many years ago waiting to interview George Curry after a Friday night game.
Then the door swung open and Curry emerged.
“Where’s the guy from the Times Leader?” Curry asked.
Our reporter acknowledged Curry.
“You tell Erzar he’s a ….”
Let’s just say he didn’t call me a really nice guy.
But that was George. If you said or wrote something negative about his team — in this case that perhaps he didn’t call off the assault soon enough on the opponent a week earlier — he wasn’t going to sit back and take it. Like the Bulldog he was, he was going to bite back.
I was sitting in the waiting room at Wilkes-Barre General Hospital on Friday morning waiting for my wife to come out a surgery when I noticed two missed calls on my cell phone. Recognizing the numbers were from two of Curry’s close friends, I pretty much knew what to expect.
George Curry had died that morning at 71, losing his battle with ALS.
I thought back to that nasty name he called me and smiled. George was probably right. Then I thought about the last time I spoke with him — one-on-one in the coach’s office at Crispin Field in February. ALS had taken its toll on the once-powerful man whose name was synonymous with success in high school football.
Just eight months earlier, Curry was feisty enough to confront another reporter after an eligibility hearing at Dallas High School. A few months later, as we sat in his Crispin Field office on a hot August morning, I could sense something was wrong. He confided in me all the test doctors were running. For the first time ever, I saw worry in his eyes.
Curry was then diagnosed with ALS about midway through the 2015 season. Rumors were rampant, but he didn’t go public until our meeting in February.
Even during that interview, Curry talked more about his players than his illness. He would point to many of the numerous pictures of former Bulldogs hanging on the office wall. He was more proud about his past players’ achievements off the field than on it. How many of them grew from boys he coached to successful men. If a recruiter came to Berwick to discuss a player, chance were Curry would point out other players in the area who should be checked out. He helped kids from other schools as well as from Berwick.
That’s a side of Curry many on the perimeter never saw. They saw a pompous, egotistical football coach. Yeah, George had an ego. When you win more games than any other coach in the state, it’s difficult to be humble 100 percent of the time.
George, though, was truly a good man. Football was a big part of his life, but not the only part. He was an extremely dedicated family man and deeply religious. Our conversations over the last few years would start out about football and often veer to other subjects. Thirty minutes later, I’d barely have enough information on the next Berwick opponent.
If there is a Heaven, I’d like to get there someday. And as I stand at the pearly gates, it would be great to hear a familiar voice shout to St. Peter from a distance.
“You tell Erzar he’s a ….”
And I’d shout back, “You’re damn right, George.”
Rest in peace, Coach. I’ll miss ya.