By: Ottawa Hills Local Schools Superintendent Dr. Kevin S. Miller, former Paulding County resident
You didn’t know Steve Hall. Actually, he crossed some of your paths years ago, but it was a blip on the screen—you didn’t even notice. He was a member of the Wayne Trace baseball team back in 1986. That was one of the teams that Ottawa Hills ran over in regionals on your march to a state championship that year. If you’re an Ohio State fan big on trivia, his name might be familiar to you. But chances are, you don’t remember this role player from the late 80’s and early 90’s who played on two Big Ten Championship teams.
But I knew him. He was one of the eighth graders that I taught in my first year as an educator 32 years ago at Wayne Trace Junior High in Paulding County. I thought I was a pretty darn good teacher. But I found out later on how wrong I was. Looking back, I was a bumbling rookie. But I had this incredible eighth grade class that made me look far better than I was. They were patient and they were kind. And for whatever reason, they took it upon themselves to make me feel like the king of my classroom.
Not every class is like this. Teachers will tell you that an entire class develops its own personality. Some are more pleasing than others. As a new teacher, I had no point of reference, so little did I know that this class of eighth graders was something special. They were a group of high achievers. There was a certain camaraderie among the ninety or so classmates. There just seemed to be an unwritten rule with this class that you did your best, you got your work done, and you showed respect for your teachers—even the new ones.
Why? Because that’s the example that the leaders of the class provided for all the rest. And one of them leading the way was Steve Hall. He was intelligent—he graduated as valedictorian of his class. He had integrity—he served as Class President. And he was talented—the kid was amazing on the basketball court. He led Wayne Trace High School to its first appearance in the State Final Four in basketball. He would graduate from our little country high school and go on to play basketball at Ohio State University during the Jimmy Jackson era.
He became a mechanical engineer because “he was good at math and everyone told him he would make a lot of money as an engineer.” But after a few years, he realized it wasn’t his life’s calling. Not really. I think he must have had conversations with a couple dozen of us, looking for permission to stop being what he was—an engineer—and start being what he wanted to be—a teacher. And that’s what he did.
He taught high school math and coached basketball and tennis for 18 years at Grandview Heights City Schools in Columbus. Grandview Heights is a lot like Ottawa Hills—a small, tight-knit community with a high-performing school. It’s nestled just off of downtown Columbus. He was named Teacher of the Year there, I believe more than once. So it’s no surprise that when Steve was diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer in July of 2013 at the age of 43, the Grandview Heights community came together to provide support, encouragement, and loving arms for Steve, his wife Kellie, and their two children, Eli and Emma. They weren’t in it alone. They were joined by the Wayne Trace and Ohio State communities which had been equally impacted by Steve.
Steve Hall was a heck of a shot blocker on the basketball court. We even had a special cheer at Wayne Trace: “You’ve been caught, you’ve been blocked, you’re a victim of the Hallsy swat.” I think he still owns some sort of shot blocking record at UT’s Centennial Hall (now Savage Arena) when we played regional basketball there. And those of us who knew Steve worked hard to convince ourselves that he’d swat this cancer thing away just like he had swatted away dozens and dozens of opponents’ shots over the years. If love alone could save a life, Steve Hall would still be with us today. But sometimes the body doesn’t care what the heart wants, so this past Monday I joined hundreds and hundreds (and hundreds) of others and attended Steve’s funeral. They were standing three deep along the walls at Our Lady of Victory Catholic Church in Columbus.
Why do I share this with you? Well, this newsletter gives me a chance to provide information each week about everything from our school finances to our various programs to our students’ successes and more. Our weekly district newsletter provides a perfect vehicle for me to be accountable to you. But it’s also a way to share my heart. After all, education is about more than test results and five-year forecasts. It’s about people. And I find that the people who have crossed my path over my years as an educator are the treasures I value the most. And I also find that when you are surrounded by people you care about, you want to share more than just information. You want to share your heart.
And that’s why I have to tell you the story of Steve Hall.
As educators, one of the glorious parts of our job is that all students who pass through our classroom leave a bit of themselves behind to become a part of our hearts (that’s why educators have such big hearts). And in return, a piece of our heart leaves with them. That sounds incredibly corny. But it’s true. And frankly, some students impact us more than others. Steve was one of those students, and so even after he left my classroom, we remained friends.
One thing I appreciated about Steve was that he always invited others along to share in his life. His four years of high school basketball at Wayne Trace were a wonder to behold. Our high school gym was small—we called it “The Pit.” And if you wanted a seat for a Friday night game, you’d better arrive early. I’m not kidding you when I tell you that people were lined up at the school before we even dismissed our students for the day. When our students got out of school at 3:00, they would walk out one door and then go to another to get in line for that night’s basketball game. Fellow Raiders will verify this. When the doors opened at 5:45 p.m., it was like a stampede. Within minutes, The Pit was full, it was hot, it was loud, and the entire community (those that could fit in, anyway), was ready to join Steve and the rest of his teammates in winning another ball game. It was a group effort.
As I noted, Steve and his teammates took us all the way to the state semi-finals, where we lost in a heartbreaker to Bucyrus Wynford, victims of a buzzer-beating tip-in shot. Our demise was somewhat ironic because we were at the state tournament compliments of a last-second miracle shot by Steve Hall at a packed Elida Fieldhouse, giving us a victory over a vaunted Delphos St. John’s team. Despite the state semi-final loss, as you all know, the joy was in the journey. What a magical time.
When Steve went on to play at Ohio State, he made sure that I got front row seats with his mom and dad at least once each year. He did that for a lot of people. When he married his college sweetheart, Kellie, we all made the trek to Columbus to celebrate the day with them.
A life really doesn’t mean much if it doesn’t leave something behind. The value of a legacy isn’t measured by money or material things. It’s measured by the impact of the lessons that remain with us. And though I was the teacher 32 years ago, Steve’s passing has caused me to become the student. That first lesson Steve left was his willingness to unselfishly invite others to share in his journey. Steve provided a lot of joy for people in his journey as a student, an athlete, and a teacher, because he allowed all of us to share his adventures with him.
The second lesson is simple, yet not always so easy. Steve had an incredibly kind soul. As a matter of fact, he never seemed to miss the opportunity to be kinder than necessary. At the funeral, the Deacon noted, “If you couldn’t get along with Steve Hall, then there’s probably no hope for you.” Even back to his junior high days, I remember that he treated others, including his classmates, with kindness and regard. When you spent time with Steve, you left feeling better about yourself. He had a gift of doing that. He’d put everything else to the side and make sure he gave you his full attention. After those Ohio State games, he’d take the time to come out to talk with us or even take us back to the locker room. His high school coach, Al Welch, said that the worse thing you could say about Steve was that he was the same on the basketball court as he was in life—a little too kind. That might be possible on the playing field, but it’s never possible in life.
I’ve been thinking about what made Steve the kind, caring person he was. I credit his parents, John and Rose Ann. They are hard working, kind people themselves. Salt of the earth. They taught Steve and their other two children, Angie and Bill, through example. And it made me realize that as educators, we can enhance your children’s experience, and yes, we can even hinder your children’s experience, but there’s nothing we can do to replace years and years of instruction and example provided by parents. John and Rose Ann Hall had the formula for raising great kids. Structure in a caring environment. High expectations. An incredible work ethic. Unconditional love.
And the third lesson that Steve left behind was gratefulness. Steve took many opportunities to tell me the part I played in his success. That’s incredibly humbling. But that’s what he did for people. Even in his final hours, he was more concerned with thanking his family and friends for being there with him than the inevitability that was before him. At Sunday evening’s prayer service, several friends and former students were invited to share how “Mr. Hall” had impacted their lives. But only one person was asked to speak at the funeral, and that was Jim Hoersten, Steve’s junior high industrial arts teacher and eighth grade basketball coach. They remained very good friends long after Steve’s junior high years, mostly because Steve was so thankful for what Jim taught him not only as a player, but also as a person. He had coaches who took him to great heights throughout his career, but his deepest gratitude was reserved for the person who laid the foundation for all he was to become—Coach Hoersten. Steve never seemed to lose sight of what mattered in life… or the people who mattered. He lived each day with a grateful heart, even during his battle with cancer. And perhaps that’s the greatest lesson of all. Concentrating on all that is good and right with the world around us instead of complaining about life’s problems and irritations. Steve was really good at being grateful.
A year from now, in February of 2016, the Grandview Heights Bobcats are making the three-hour trip to Wayne Trace and there will be a boys’ basketball game between two storied programs. It will take place in Wayne Trace’s 2,400-seat gymnasium, opened in 1989, a year after Steve graduated. You could call it the “House that Hall Built,” because Steve, his teammates, and Coach Al Welch created so much excitement in the community that when the taxpayers were asked to fund a new gym (now called “The Palace”), they not only said, “yes,” they said “heck yes!” The game will be fun, but the night will be meaningful because Steve’s Wayne Trace jersey, #50, will be retired. That will be the first jersey to be retired in the school’s history.
The gym may be part of Steve’s legacy, but it pales in comparison to the lessons he left for those who knew and loved him. Lessons in bringing along those you care for and who cared for you. Lessons in kindness. Lessons in gratefulness.
Henry Adams said, “A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.” My world is a lot better because Steve Hall crossed my path. It’s a bit emptier because he’s gone. But I know this—his life will affect eternity because of the way he taught his students, the way he coached his athletes, and the way he treated the people who knew and loved him. And that, my friends, is called a life well-lived.
Originally printed in the weekly district newsletter for Ottawa Hills Schools in Toledo, Ohio on February 27, 2015.
