The Perfect Coach for a Perfect Season

What is the measure of a man? I would say that one yardstick would be the influence that person has had on the younger generation. By this standard, Coach Jack Dozier, who recently passed away, was a giant of a man. I never met this man, but I owe him a debt of gratitude. He was my husband's High School football coach and the impact that he made on him was pretty much immeasurable. Being part of Coach Dozier's undefeated 1970's Woodland Highschool football team left an indelible mark of success on his life. My guest blogger for today is my husband, Chuck, and his tribute to his high school football coach. You can read more about Coach Dozier in the online Woodland Daily Democrat:
Memories of a Coach.

Here is Chuck's tribute:

The Perfect Coach for a Perfect Season

By Chuck Masterson

Browsing the “on-line” Daily Democrat yesterday, I ran across Gary Traynham’s article honoring the memory of Jack Dozier. I was not surprised, but nonetheless saddened by the news of his passing. As I grew up in Woodland, he was one of the great pillars of influence in my life. He ranks at the top along with Armand Jaques and my Eleventh grade English teacher, the late Virginia Pohl. Coach Dozier had an inestimable effect on me. He changed the direction of my life. He inspired me to pursue college athletics which ultimately led me to a career in secondary education. He always had my respect and admiration. I want honor his memory with some stories and this former athlete’s perspective of his life.

I didn’t know him as a close personal friend or co-worker. I simply knew him as my Coach. Our player - coach relationship was unique. I always liked him. He never treated me unfairly. He never spoke a derogatory word to me nor did I hear him speak negatively to any other player. During the high school years, I did hear plenty of comments about him from other students. But, I never had a reason to dislike him. The one lesson in life I learned from Jack Dozier was to place “high expectations” on teams and individuals. He taught me to set a high standard for myself and “go for it.” He was successful as a coach because his teams rose to his “high expectations.” My quality and character improved when I figured out how to carry “high expectations” over into my own personal and professional life.

As a freshman and sophomore football player, I dreaded moving up to the varsity for fear of “Dozier.” My initial encounter with him was in the Woodland High P. E. locker room at the end of track season my sophomore year. He sat on the bench next to me, placed his huge hand on my shoulder as if he were palming a basketball, and in his low, gruff voice and in his best attempt to sound fatherly said, “Son, how much do you weigh?” As my manner was back then, a sheepish reply came out, “uh… uh… 160.” He politely laughed in disbelief, made some comment about my shoe size, playing varsity football and walked away. That was his way of recruiting me. Our conversations rarely lasted more than one sentence. Usually, what came out of his mouth could be compiled in a book of classic “one-liners” such as “Katy bar at the door” and “shooting slow Caribou”. He was mimicked by more of his players than any other coach I ever played under. Standard operating procedure for a Dozier mimicker usually required lowering their chin to their chest and saying in a gruff voice, “boys, we get the ball around the end and we’ll be choppin’ in tall cotton.”

Looking back, I was fourth string on the depth chart at just about every position as a freshman. I didn’t even have the same game jersey as the starters. I was rather proud of my eight unassisted tackles as a linebacker in a “scrub” game against one of the surrounding area small town teams. As a sophomore, special teams were about the only action I saw. Craig Sharp and I were a dangerous duo as deep backs on kickoff and punt returns. We ran a wicked reverse into Tom Perry’s sideline “wall” return play. However at the beginning of my junior year, coach threw me in with the running backs. I thought, “Oh great, another year on the bench.” I was grouped with all the players and friends that I had watched from the sidelines for two years. But, coach Dozier saw something in me and took the time to develop me as a football player. He knew my true playing position. I learned that every individual on a team can be productive when he finds his “home position.” Despite yelling at me every five minutes during practice ALL season long, he never gave up on me and worked with me through my annoying personal indecisiveness and lack of confidence. The high expectations he placed on me helped me stay focused and desire to improve. His yelling was so constant that at one point early in my junior season I expressed my concern to Craig Penrose. I shared with Craig that I didn’t think coach liked me. Craig quickly answered, “Don’t worry if he likes you or not. If he ignores you, that means he doesn’t like you, and that’s when you should start to worry.” In our last game of the season, coach closed out his halftime speech in front of the whole team with an ear splitting, “Masterson, (brief pause) Run!” I felt something come to life inside of me. That was a defining moment for me. No more indecision. No more lack of confidence. No more yelling. I got it! I ran hard in the second half and that night we beat a decent McClatchy team 26-20 with Eric Wirth leading us down the field, a tough defensive effort, and nineteen active players. We had approximately twenty-two players out due to injuries that season. We never lost another game.

Only one time did I ever think my life was in danger with “big Jack.” Any footballer who played for coach Dozier, and if they had an ounce of sense, instinctively knew Jack’s exact location on the field at all times. One wrong move and he was “in your face.” It was always in your best interest to at least appear that you were working hard. A player couldn’t get complacent even when “Doz” was having a cigarette in the bleachers.
One hot evening in August of 1969, fully padded, I stood in line with the backs and receivers for passing drills. As usual, Mr. Penrose was throwing nearly uncatchable “bullet” short passes. In the same drill, he was thoroughly enjoying making everyone run downfield for 60 yard “bombs”. In my eyesight, coach Dozier was last seen in the center of the field on the fifty yard-line trying to get a 360 degree panoramic view of practice. I came up to the line and ran a full speed ten yard post pattern toward the middle of Hyman field. Craig, making me hustle, threw the ball well out in front of me. In an attempt to catch the pass, I simultaneously increased my speed and reached for the ball. The next moment felt like a head-on collision with a brick wall. At full speed, I unknowingly blindsided coach “D.” I hit him square in the back with my left shoulder and helmet. It was perhaps the most violent “clip” ever known to man. The sudden impact knocked me off my feet and to the ground on my hands and knees. Slowly, I rose to my feet feeling disoriented but relatively unharmed. Immediately, I saw “Jack” lying flat on his back with his eyes closed. “I’m dead” was my only thought or was it “he’s dead.” I looked to my right and saw Penrose, perhaps the only witness to the collision, standing frozen and staring in disbelief at the apparently unconscious head coach. A few seconds later, coach opened his eyes but didn’t move a muscle. After realizing he was not injured, he slowly stood up and looked directly at me. NOW, I’m dead! I felt like Don Knotts squaring off in front of John Wayne. After a moment of silence and maybe some thoughts about the legality of corporal punishment, the coach just grinned and said to me, “son, if can hit that hard all the time, you will go far in this game”. Again, sheepishly I replied,
uh… uh… ok coach.

As a high school football coach, I imparted his “old school DNA” into my teams. His legacy of discipline, concentration on the fundamentals, high expectations and some yelling lives on in scores of my high school players in the Los Angeles area. In 1995, my young assistant coaches respectfully told me I was the only coach in the area still wearing football cleats during games on the sidelines. Beyond my high school years as a player and coach, I realized with every new season, how special our 1970 team was. Every football player in America dreams of an undefeated season. Only a handful of players every really get the experience. It is nearly an impossible feat.

Our once in a lifetime experience was made possible by Coach Jack Dozier. He was the perfect coach for a perfect season. How he coached our team, what he taught us, how he taught us came with perfect timing the entire season. One of his biggest rants came following the “Who’s number 1” column written by the articulate and legendary local sports editor. Following game films at his house, coach Dozier chewed us out for 10 minutes downplaying the subject of being a number one ranked team. He used the contents of the article with precision and made us feel like we had not accomplished anything to that point in the season. It was the most visibly upset I saw him all season. Compared to that incident, he was only mildly unhappy with Pauly Montoya and me after the infamous Hiram Johnson “fumbilitis” game. He was mentor and master strategist. He commanded respect and obedience. He received both without question from the 1970 team. He knew every player, juniors and seniors. He knew our abilities. We spent countless hours at his house watching game films and joking about how one person could possibly own so many cases of TAB soda. At every meeting I tried to guess how many years it would take him to drink those seemingly 50,000 cases stacked in the corner of the room near the projector screen. Also, I pondered what manner of death would become the person caught stealing any of coach’s TAB. I was sure he knew at all times the exact count of cans and cases in stock. Our team was prepared for every game. No opponent ever surprised us or physically outplayed us. “Offense wins games and defense wins championships.” That is exactly what happened in 1970. Mirroring coach’s toughness, our linemen wore down and destroyed every opponent. Our defense gang tackled and was so quick and physical that many opposing team players gave up in the first quarter and held on for dear life the remainder of the game.

The last time I saw him was a few years ago at our team reunion. I walked up to greet him. For the first time, I initiated a conversation with Coach Dozier. He smiled at me, glanced at my bald head and said, “Chuck, good to see you. You are a principal. How many students are in your school?” I got three sentences out of him. We engaged in a brief but friendly conversation. I told him about my 1993 North Hollywood High JV championship season. His face lit up when I told him I used his old Power I offensive playbook from 1970. I know it took a tremendous effort for him to travel to Woodland and be with the team. I know our team meant a lot to him. The reunion wouldn’t have been the same without him. For one last time, we enjoyed his unique mannerisms and heard what turned out to be his farewell speech to all of us.
Wherever he is, he is probably running game films of the Power I, drawing line blocking schemes on a chalkboard, shooting slow Caribou, and hoarding stockpiles of TAB.
Thanks for all of it, coach Dozier. It was a great adventure.