Princeton University Athletics
Sitting On The Steps, And So Much More: Memories Of My Friend Bob Callahan
January 28, 2015 | Men's Squash
I love Bob Callahan.
I refuse to write that in the past tense, even if he passed away yesterday at the age of 59. I still love the man, who stood for the right thing and cared immensely for anybody associated with the Orange and Black. He was the personification of class in collegiate sports, where class can often take a back seat towards gaining the smallest of edges towards victory.
Callahan didn't cut corners to gain edges. He sent his best against your best, and his best won 314 times, including 11 Ivy League titles and three national championships. And if his best wasn't good enough, then so be it; he shook your hand and talked about the beautiful play of both teams.
He loved squash. There was no reason to make a mockery of the sport by cutting a corner; that just took away from the journey.
Off the court, he was kind, caring and funny. When you stepped into his office on 'C' level of Jadwin, you became his single focus. He never checked his phone or sent an email while you talked; instead, he asked you questions about your life, family or work, and he was interested in your answers. He cared.
He genuinely cared.
I popped in a lot over the last 12 years. At first, I was looking for some basic information — like what was squash exactly? It took me a while to start figuring it out. Then I started playing it around lunch — it's the best workout in the world — and I absolutely fell in love with the sport.
By then, my conversations with Bob turned to upcoming matchups, strategies and recruiting updates. His conversations with me were about my wife, kids and how the 37 other teams at the University were doing. I eventually figured out that I better not have any pressing deadlines when I went to see him, because he would ask me about every single upcoming event of the weekend. How good was the opposing football team this coming weekend? How does the hockey team look? How about that big weekend for the softball team?
I'll miss those conversations.
I'll miss his presence at matches too. Over 17 years in this profession, I've seen a lot of games. Most of them have now run together, though a few will always stand out. Two of those were squash national championship matches that loaded as much drama — and people — in Jadwin as I can remember.
The 2009 Trinity-Princeton final was Ali-Frazier, Celtics-Lakers, pick-your-favorite-game all rolled into one, short of the dream outcome. For six hours, Jadwin was packed — PACKED — with fans watching arguably the best that college squash has ever offered. Tied 3-3 in the final shift, two matches took dramatic turns from 2-0 up, with both teams taking one.
Callahan was in the stands between those two courts, doing all he could to encourage both of his players to victory. When they finished, all that was left was a final game on the main court to determine a champion. By then, the standing-room-only crowd was five deep, and there was no way to break through.
Trust me, I tried.
In the labyrinth that is Jadwin Gym, there is a small staircase that leads from the Caldwell Field House to the squash courts, and it's just outside Callahan's office (which was also packed with people watching through his window). At this point, there was no coaching left to do and nowhere to watch.
So Callahan sat silently on the steps and waited.
We were streaming the matches in another room as well, but the technology down there wasn't quite as reliable as it is now, and the feed kept going out. When I saw Callahan sitting alone on those steps, I knew where I wanted to be. We sat together quietly, judging the state of the match by the level of the applause.
The raucous stuff led early, but the lesser cheers won out in the end. When it was clear that Trinity won, Bob got up quietly and walked downstairs to console a group that poured its heart out and fell just short.
It was never about him. It was always about them.
It was always about his guys.
Three years later, Trinity, now with a 13-year championship streak, returned to Jadwin for the 2012 final. The fans packed the building once again, and for three hours, it looked like it was another heartbreak was on the horizon. Princeton trailed 4-2 and needed a perfect final shift to stun the sport.
Dylan Ward won 3-1 on Court 4. Trinity led 4-3. It got loud.
Todd Harrity won 3-0 on Court 1. Princeton pulled even. It got louder.
At that point, I was lucky. I had picked a spot between Courts 3 and 4, and I didn't move for about four and a half hours. Now, it was all coming down to Court 3, where Kelly Shannon led 2-0 and was closing in on history.
We were somewhat new to Twitter at that point, and I was trying to update the scores as the finish got closer. I could barely do it, though, because I was just too nervous, and those iPhone letters seemed like they wouldn't stay still. Perhaps it was my shaking hand, but I prefer to blame the keys.
Bob wanted it for the guys. I wanted it for them, and for me, but mostly for Bob.
I think I tweeted when we were one point away, and then nothing for a while. Belated apologies for that, by the way. When we won, my sole focus was to find Bob. I didn't need an interview or a picture; that could all wait. I just had to find him.
As the team and masses of fans made their way off Court 3, I finally saw him. He was in his glory. I just grabbed him, hugged him and told him how thrilled I was for him.
He had a championship smile on his face.
And he had a tumor in his brain.
I can't understand why the latter had to be there. I guess nobody ever does.
He would find out a week later; his life expectancy may have changed, but his spirit and outlook never did. He coached one more season, and he never allowed his condition to be the story. He did so by inspiring a team that stunned a heavily favored Harvard squad en route to his 11th Ivy League title.
Even upon retirement, and the long battle that finally ended yesterday, he still never let cancer be the focus. When anybody asked for updates, he talked of the wonderful doctors who were caring for him, and the support of his family and friends. He still asked about my wife, kids and the other 37 teams, and he told me what a great coach Gail Ramsay was, and what Sean Wilkinson would mean for Princeton Squash.
Just watch, he said. Sean does things the right way. He's going to get it done.
It wasn't Callahan's time to leave. He should have coached until he decided it was time to retire. Yet, there was never an ounce of bitterness or anger anytime we spoke.
I don't know how that's possible. It inspires me, maybe more so than anything else he has ever done. His spirit was unbreakable. Cancer may have finally overtaken his body, but it lost 3-0 to his spirit.
So today I mourn, but I will do so with a smile about those — and so many other — memories that I cherish. For me, anything less would tarnish the way he lived — both before and after the cancer.
Thanks, Bob. You were a Hall of Famer to the squash world, but you were a better friend to us. You will be missed, but never forgotten. You made us better.
by Craig Sachson