Absent friend - Dr. Wesner B. Stack, better known as Wes, or his track alter ego “Boy Baby Williams,” left the planet quietly last week. Wes was a friend of mine for 50 years since the Fred family arrived at Sesame Street by the Sea. We shared running and coaching; although, Wes was better at both. He was a minimalist who could condense his big house, disheveled world into a single room. I am seeing spinning rainbow wheels trying to load stories. There are just so many to sort out to capture his essence that I may have to reboot my hard drive and invest in more RAM memory.

Wes, a captain in Vietnam and 4:12 miler at Delaware, had a doctorate in educational psychology and taught at Delaware Tech along with Rich Welsh and Jim Lavelle. Cape hired him to run the Learning Center. I convinced him to be an assistant track coach. Wes worked with the distance guys, especially Lance White.

In later life, speaking of spinning wheels, Wes became a blacksmith then started throwing pots like an artistic Gallagher. I last saw Wes at a cross country invitational at Killens Pond. He was taking a walker on the wild side, spinning through space like a rainbow wheel on a computer. I know he saw me, but he didn’t want me to see him. Worse for a 4:12 miler on a walker is to be seen by an old friend who is likely to respond with tennis ball jokes.

Back in our fit days, Wes, Richard Tikiob and I ran from Lewes around Gills Neck Road to the Cape track. We then ran a timed mile. Richard ran a 5:05 and Wes a 5:25. They both turned checked their watches and waited for the Temple lineman for life to finish. Wes marveled, “6:05. That’s amazing. You could run with Lance.” He didn’t mean Lance White, but Lance Marvel, a local karate instructor, a Jackson Brown running-on-empty-looking somebody.

At the first Lewes Marathon in 1977, Wes came over the canal bridge at the 25-mile-plus mark heading for the finish behind the Lewes School. He was running a 3:10 pace. Surprisingly, Wes turned right on Second Street and straight toward his house on Pilottown Road. Wes said he didn’t want to aggravate his strained calf muscle. 

Wesner was a quirky, quiet, rainbow wheel spinning through the universe like the earth revolving around the sun. I could go on but my left calf is starting to quiver along with my voice. I posted this on Facebook. Mark Stack, Wes' son, responded: "Thank you, Fredman. The memory of those days in my youth are priceless. All of you semi-adults touched so many lives of us Lewes urchins and Cape alumni. It cannot be calculated. I remember when my dad would bring me along on the high school runs as a grade schooler. I am glad to have had you and my dad as coaches over the years.” 

Magic Mile - A sign taped to the back window of my 1970 khaki-colored three-door suburban parked on McFee Street circa 1977 advertised a magic mile at the new Cape track. No column, no internet and no one knew me, but people showed up anyway. Wes Stack was the male winner, cruising to a time of 5:45, with Bill Collick, my new friend, finishing second. The fastest female was Muriel Self, a local aerobics instructor and legendary and ageless fitness icon before CrossFit.   

Trophy on my table - The last three years I coached Cape track 1983-85, we went 30-0. We did not lose a dual meet and dominated the Henlopen Conference meet as well. All three years we blew up or imploded – can’t do both – in the state championship meet. I handed off coaching duties to Bill Degnan in 1986 to be defensive coordinator for head football coach Rob Schroeder. The day of the state meet, I didn’t go because I missed being Coach Fred and couldn’t transition to some guy bonging down boiled dogs. Late that afternoon, Mark Stack walked in the back door and placed the state championship trophy on the 8-foot picnic table made at vo-tech. “Coach Degnan said this trophy really belongs to you. Just bring it to school Monday unless you decide to keep it."

Snippets - I continue to local track athletes on college rosters. I’m not looking for star of the game, but more participation, which changes like the wind. Playing time becomes very subjective on college rosters where everyone can play well enough to be out there but the world turns on a dime. Focus and fortunes change suddenly with greatest precision. Go on now, git!