8CThe Statement Wednesday, Janluary 6, 2010
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PERSONALSTATEM ENT

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MY TWO ANN ARBORS
MEANS DRIVING DOWN THE
BY SIAN DOWIS

Most of you probably only have
one Ann Arbor, but for me
there are two -the Ann Arbor
of my old life, and that of my new. My
old life-Ann Arbor revolves around
my childhood home near the Huron
River, and my school, Community
High School. It's made up of nature
trails, cobblestone streets and places
like the Farmers Market, the YMCA,
the People's Food Co-op and, of course,
the Arb. My new life-Ann Arbor orbits
around my East Quad dorm room. It
contains the Diag, the fishbowl, the
'UGLI, the CCRB, a plethora of late-
night dining establishments and, well,
this one also includes the Arb.
Of course there's overlap. I walked
through the Diag and ate Backroom
pizza when I was in high school. And
I still go back to my parent's home, buy
groceries at the Co-op and work out
at the Y. In my mind, however, they
remain two separate worlds.
I had never imagined that I'd spend
my college years where I was born and
raised. In high school, I had plans of
going far away for college. I thought
Ann Arbor was boring and tiny, and
[From LEGEND, Page 5C]
Slowly, she returned to her feet, cov-
ered inblood.
Red jokes today that it was a lesson
learned in always keeping the focus on
what's in front of you - in life and track.
There's a consensus among those
who know Red well, that one of his
greatest strengths as a coach was never
making track the focus of life. Rather,
life became the focus of track. While
Kraker Goodridge did go on to become
a two-time Olympian, Red understood
that not all of his athletes would be as
successful as her.
Kraker Goodridge later became a
coach and coordinated women's athlet-
ics for 26 years, first at the University
of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, then at the
University of Michigan and Wake For-
est University, and she says Red's advice
went with her wherever she went.
"I don't know what I would have
been in my life," Kraker says. "That's
what every young woman that he's
touched over the years would say.
Whatever their level of success as a
runner was, it was that it gave them
something so special that it deter-

I constantly spoke of leaving for one
coast or the other. I figured getting out
of the Midwest was the only way col-
lege was going to be fun, an adventure.
I was 16,1 was naive and I was wrong.
I applied to the University of Michi-
gan because, really, it seemed silly not
to. Shortly after, though, I realized
Michigan was absolutely the college
I wanted to attend. The challenge
became making it feel like a normal
college experience seven minutes
away from my house. Over time, I cre-
ated invisible lines in my head, dividing
"college Ann Arbor" with "non-college
Ann Arbor." It helps me feel as if I'm
really going away somewhere, and
really coming home.
Walking around campus during
winter break, however, is disconcert-
ing. The streets and storefronts become
strikingly empty. It reminds me of
pictures of celebrities without their
makeup: familiar, bare and sometimes
depressing. It's not natural. It doesn't
feel like my "college Ann Arbor." Occa-
sionally, I find I enjoy the peacefulness,
the lack of crowds. There's a certain
harsh, barren beauty to it all. But more
mined the course of their lives."
Red grabs a small photo album off
the desk behind him. The pages are
filled with images of young female run-
ners like Kraker Goodridge, all wear-
ing Michigammes track uniforms,
their faces lit up with bright smiles.
Despite its official passage four
years earlier, the University fully
implemented Title IX in 1976. That
same year, Canham called Red into his
office and offered him the job as the
head coach of the women's track team.
Though Red had been waiting nearly
two decades for this opportunity, he
still had one demand.
"I said right away, 'Well, I would like
that but I'm not taking this job travel-
ing around the country, I'm not going
out on the road under those conditions
alone. My wife is going with me or I
don't take it,"' Red recalls telling Can-
ham. "Canham says, 'Fine. She's Mrs.
Coach."'
OIS CALLS DOWN from the
kitchen, reminding her hus-
band of their dinner date.
Red peeks at hiswatch - there's still

ference. In my eyes, the Diag wasn't
the center of a college campus; it was
just a nice big patch of green with lots
of buildings that I couldn't name. But
after a year and a half of student life,
the contrast is disquieting. Whether it
creepsmeoutorfeelslikeanicechange,
I observe the absence of students much
more keenly now than before.
What do all these observations
often it gives me the willies. amount to? Well, they go to show how
That's not to say that Ann Arbor isn't much being a student at the Universi-
lovely over break. It is. The trees are ty has changed my perceptions of my
showered in shimmering white lights. hometown. I've come to appreciate
Main Street and Liberty Street bustle Ann Arbor in ways that I never could
with shoppers buying seasonal drinks had I gone to another school. Like
at Espresso Royale and handicrafts at the Joni Mitchell song, I've looked at
Ten Thousand Villages. You can't go Ann Arbor from both sides now: as
the townie and the
"In student. I identify
In high school... I figured getting with the masses
out of the Midwest was the only of students flood-
ing the streets in-
way college was going to be fun" between classes as
much as I do with
the frustrated driv-
far without hearing the ringing of a ers held up behind them.
Salvation Army volunteer or the carol- Places like the Arb have been paint-
ing of a youth choir. Downtown Home ed with layers of memory, taking on
and Garden always burns real frank- different meanings over time. When I
incense and myrrh; little kids ogle the was really young, five or six, my mom
fairy door outside the Peaceable King- would take me to see the peony garden
dom. True, these areas of town are in full bloom. At that age, I had no idea-
alive during the holidays. But the heart the Arb was connected to the Univer-
of the Michigan campus remains, for sity, nor did I really understand what
the most part, a ghost town. the University was. All I knew was that
When I was in high school, walk- it was a big park with trees and flowers
ing along an empty winter Diag didn't - the biggest park I knew of at the time.
unsettle me. I hardly noticed the dif- I reasoned it probably went on forever.

By high school, I'd figured out that the
Arb had boundaries. It also became a
focal point of outdoor fun, from picnics
to sledding, to ill-advised swimming
trips in the river. On nice days, I'd usu-
ally see some fellow Community High
School students playingUltimate Fris-
bee or lounging in the sun.
Nowadays, I mostly go to the Arb
as part of my running route. As I jog
through the main field I can see myself
at 15, playing an epic game of capture
the flag. By the big hill I see myself at
17, jubilantly falling off my sled into
the snow. Down by the river, I can see
myself at eight, cooling my toes in the
water under the searing July heat.
Morethananything,though,staying
here has made me realize how much I
like Ann Arbor. The more time I spend
here, the more I understand what a
unique place it is. I used to think Ann
Arbor was all used up for me. Now, I'm
constantly discovering new things,
finding myself surprised by what this
town has to offer.
So when my friends come home
over winter break with stories of the
East Coast, the West Coast and all
the places in-between, I admit, I'm a
little envious. But I'm consoled by the
fact that I've gotten to know a place in
ways that they haven't. I think there's
something to be said for really getting
to know a place, really caring about it,
seeing it from so many angles that you
can't help but love it.
- Sian Dowis is an LSA sophomore
other runners.
"Thank you for the start you gave
me ... Thank you for being ahead of
your time."
To the left of the photo album sits
a large portrait of Forshee-Crane and
Red from the '70s. A wrinkled smile
stretches across his face as he looks at
the photograph. "Look at those dim-
ples," he says nostalgically.
Watching Red gaze at the photo, a
thought comes to mind. Maybe after
all these years, it turns out that Red
wasn't ahead of his time. Maybe,
instead, he was right on time. Right on
time for athletes like Kraker and For-
shee-Crane. Right on time to convince
Canham to allow him to train young
women in Yost Fieldhouse. Right on
time become the first coach of female
track and field at the University of
Michigan. Right on time.
"You know," he says, looking at his
Penn Relays watch just before he flips
off the light and starts to climb-up the
stairs to meet his wife, "I think it works
even better now than the day I got it."
Yes Coach, some things just get bet-
ter with age. -

15 more minutes, enough time for one
last story.
In October 1995, shortly after Lloyd
Carr had been named head football
coach at the University, Red knocked
on his office door. Asking only for a
minute of his time, Red gave Carr what
the former football coach considers to
be some of the greatest advice he ever
received.
Opening his hand, Red placed a
small medal on Carr's desk. "Read
what it says," Red told Carr.
"Health. Family. Friends."
"He said, 'Lloyd, when you're
through coaching, make sure that you
still have these three things. They're
the most important things in life,' "
Carr recalls during an interview in his*
office. "I will always be grateful to him
for taking the time to reach out to me."
For all the seasons Carr coached,
the medal stayed in a desk drawer in
his office.
"I think his motivation comes from
being able to take a young person and
help them gain the confidence and the
belief that they can do special things.
To me, that's what coaching is," Carr

says. "It's about teaching and motivat-
ing and being there when the down
times corte. Because for every athlete,
in any sport for any length of time, you
have to deal with injury, you have to
deal with defeat, you have to deal with
personal problems.
"Red understood the big picture.
He understood that there's more to life
than just track and field."
TEN YEARS AGO, for Red's.
90th birthday, former-Mich-
igamme Ann Forshee-Crane
presented him with a photo album.
Inside, on yellow paper, she wrote,
"Dear Coach, We met over 30 years
ago. I was a scrawny pig-tailed kid with
braces, you looked just as you do now.
"You offered me the opportunity
to be an athlete long before girls and
women were defined as such. You
taught me to set goals, work hard and
not be afraid to sweat.
"It's impossible to adequately put
into words how significantly you
impacted the course of my life. For
thirty years I've called myself a runner.
I'm married to a runner. I've coached