COLUMN: Next year won’t be the same

By Jim Sacco

Published: May 5, 2008

In Chase Hughes’ mind, it’s already set up.

He can see a small sign on the chain-link fence near the parking lot, letting any and all who enter the Waynesboro track know whom it’s named after. Then, he says pointing to the small storage house on the far side of the straightaway, there would be a much bigger sign over there.

“The Ed Driskill Track,” he says, sweating under a baking mid-day sun at the Little Giant track facility. “And over here, we could put a plaque. ‘Ed Driskill.’ ”

He laughs at the joke. He wants to put that final plaque under the Little Giant mascot carved from a dead tree trunk that stands sentinel over the field.

“I just thought of it,” Hughes says, taking a break to look over at Driskill, his arms around runner Edward Ennis and filtering advice into his ears. “Today’s his last regular-season home track meet. Wow.”

It will be different next track season … heck, it’s going to be different when cross country rolls around in the fall, without Driskill, an easy-to-laugh coach who’s led the Little Giants track program for 27 years and the cross country team for 24. In total, he’s coached in the school system for 38 years.

That’s a lifetime when it comes to high school sports. Don’t believe it? Go ask Paul Hatcher at R.E. Lee.

Dressed in a gray U.Va. shirt and topped with a gray Penn State Cross Country hat, Driskill is a whirling dervish with a wireless microphone in his pocket. Running to and fro, barking in the mic the whole time.

“Second call for girls 100-meter hurdles,” he says, his voice ringing out over the PA system and into the Tree Street neighborhoods.
Hughes watches and smiles.

“He’s been track at Waynesboro High School,” he says.

And it’s never gotten old for Driskill. Even in his last season he’s quick to pull a runner off to the side and give them some advice. Advice taken when served. And he’s served it up as much as he can.

“He’s been here, I don’t know, forever,” said Will Walter, a jumper and sprinter for Waynesboro. “He can straighten my form down to a T. He’s gotten me better, no doubt.”

Driskill runs past the jump pits, making sure everything is moving smoothly. A Driskill-run track meet isn’t an all-night yawner. It’s a quick-twitch event that had one official joking that Fluvanna, the team the Little Giants hosted Monday, took longer to get to the River City than it would stay. At the pits stands Charlie Cox, Driskill’s jump coach for the past six years, talking advice and handing out “nice jumps” after each athlete hits the sand.

“There is no amount of money that I can get that I would trade for the amount of time spent with Eddie,” Cox says. “The Staunton River coach once said that most coaches will not learn as much track as Eddie has already forgotten.”

It’s true.

“He’s a gold mine,” he says before grabbing the measuring tape and yelling out another jump.

The wealth of knowledge Driskill passes on isn’t confined to practices. It also happens on the track.

After finishing the 1,600, the 61-year-old coach walks up to Ennis and puts his arm around the runner, talking track and ways to improve his times into the student’s ear.

“It never gets old,” Driskill says. “Setting up and getting prepared may get old, but watching them run ever gets old …” He has to stop, one of his runners passes by and he wants to know his time.

“Good form,” Driskill first yells at the passing runner before turning his attention to the time keeper. “What was that one?”

Cox watches from the pits and Hughes follows Driskill with his eyes, no doubt thinking of another way to push for the track facility to be named after the man he coached with and against for years. He tried it two years ago, bringing a petition to the Waynesboro School Board. It never came to fruition.

“I wish they’d reconsider,” he says.

Cox knows what the high school is losing, even if most people are too interested in the hot-dog sports like baseball, basketball and football to take notice.

“[The school is] really going to be surprised next year when they didn’t realize what they had,” Cox says.

Driskill, microphone in hand, barks out another call for an event.

“Next year is going to suck without him,” Cox says. “And you can print that.”