Michael loved classic rock, wore the same sunglasses all the time and knew how to enjoy a good meal. He was a father, a husband, a son, and swim coach too, but he was so much more than that.
A singularly incredible man, Michael effused character. With all his knowledge of and allegiance to swimming, no one would ever guess that he had never really competed in the sport. He was a student of sport in general, having studied physiology and physical education, and took to coaching swimming with an unmatched dedication.
But that’s how he was. German to the core, he barked into the phone when interrupted during practice, but immediately returned to coaching with a signature impish chuckle, forgetting any irritation from the disruption.
Michael had a way of making every person he talked to feel as if he or she was the most important, most capable individual in the world. He reached everyone, and did so in a thousand different ways. He coached swimmers to six Olympic Games, and while he trained those Olympians in the same pool as his high school age groupers, everyone garnered the same degree of his respect.
My sister both swam for Michael and helped him as an assistant coach. She acknowledged the same feeling. “Michael was the type of coach, and the type of man, who cared equally about his swimmers regardless of their talent for the sport. He was brutally honest but never elitist. He dedicated all of his energy to helping each swimmer realize his or her fullest potential, both in the pool and in life,” she said.
The more I think about the time I spent with Michael, the more I realize how generous he was with himself. He shared his life with his family, his wife and his children, and with his swimmers.
He shared little pieces with all of us—but not all at once. It might not make sense, but Michael had a different relationship with everyone, and still managed to make everyone feel worthwhile. He knew how to talk to people, how to say exactly what we needed to hear, however frankly or gently it had to be said. But no two people needed the same thing, and Michael knew that. He wrote three, four, as many as six different practices for one session to fit the needs of his swimmers. It seemed supernatural that Michael accomplished that feat. But he coached because he loved it, and he was and will remain an indelible part of all our lives.
Michael had a way of recognizing people’s strengths. He had his fun with doing so, however. He liked to keep secrets, let people make their own decisions, and later help fix mistakes, or (more than likely) laugh at you in that omniscient way, because he knew all along how things would turn out, but just let you learn for yourself.
There is so much of my life that is filled with Michael. He helped me learn to be truly honest with myself, to appreciate life’s surprises. He offered me opportunities, and with the support of my parents and his guidance and coaching, I learned so much, traveled all over the world, met extraordinary people and made lifelong friends. The list goes on.
I previously mentioned Michael’s influence on my first trip to Rome, but I did not do it justice. He had an incredible ability to appreciate the things around him, and that ability was heightened in Europe. He embraced being there, and wanted me to experience all that I could. When we arrived, he told me to enjoy it, and then proceeded to guide me through the magic of Europe (which, let’s face it, mostly involved food).
To this day, I don’t remember the times I swam in Rome. I remember Michael steering me into a pizza place and ordering for me, watching me eat the most delicious thing in the world and laughing his distinctive chuckle: “he he he!” before diving into his own slice. I remember him walking through St. Peter’s Basilica, pointing out each statue, painting, engraving and magically explaining what the writing around the top of the walls meant. When we traveled to Monte Carlo for a second meet, I remember him walking down to breakfast with me that first morning, and teaching me the wonders of Nutella on a freshly baked, flakey French croissant.
Michael knew how to appreciate those things in life. He knew it wasn’t about the times, or about making finals at the meets. It was about reveling in the experience.
There are so many stories of Michael. If you could, count every swimmer he ever coached, count his daughter, his son, his wife, his assistant coaches and his friends. Count the people he knew, even those he only just met, and multiply that number by 100. You still won’t be able to reach the number of stories this world could tell about Michael.
Even so, nothing anyone could ever write or say could do justice to the life Michael led or created for those around him.
Whenever I came home from school, Michael always had a comment that first day. Something along the lines of: “you’re out of shape,” or “you don’t look so bad,” which he’d say while looking knowingly over the top of his sunglasses. I couldn’t help but love his way of saying things, probably because they were said with love, and with genuine care.
Michael trusted us with his opinion. His honesty, with a dash of brutality or with a bear hug and a chortle, immediately provided a sense of security, and you knew right away you could trust him. If you looked like trash in the water, he’d say so. If you finally swam some solid times in practice, he’d laud you. He was always right. If you asked him how he was doing, he’d say, “I’m so tired…but how are you? Is there anything I can do for you?”
Nothing ever seemed to faze him. He ran practices, he researched new techniques, new methods of making us faster. He stood on deck for hours, walking back and forth with two stopwatches in hand, calling out times and corrections, along with some choice German words. He arranged Saturday practices so he could leave in time to see his son’s soccer games. And nothing made him prouder than talking about the strong will of his daughter and how well she was doing in school.
No matter in what capacity we knew Michael, he impacted all of us—as an incredible coach, mentor, father, friend, and as a truly wonderful human being.
This is such a beautiful way to honor Michael's memory. I bet he's with you in Rome, watching you swim (and eat pizza) and chuckling over your shoulder. I'm sure he's proud of you :)
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