In the Clearing (Tracy Crosswhite #3)(43)

“I understand it wiped out all the back copies of your newspaper at the library.”

“Burned the copies and melted the microfiche,” Goldman said. “They were in the process of raising funds to scan and convert the microfiche to discs, but their dreams went up in smoke faster than the Pony Express.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tracy said.

“Old news,” Goldman said, grinning. “I have everything stored up here.” He tapped his temple. “Best computer north of the Columbia. Are you a reporter, hero?”

“I’m a police officer.”

Goldman’s eyes widened, along with his smile. He turned to his wife. “The plot thickens, Adele.” He pushed the screen door fully open. “Come on in so we’re not heating the neighborhood.”

The home was modest but tasteful, with well-used but clean furniture. Tracy noted that Goldman had been watching ESPN on a flat-screen TV. He reached for the remote control on the coffee table and shut it off.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Tracy said.

“The only thing you’re interrupting is our forced retirement,” Goldman said. “We can rest at the funeral home. Have a seat.”

Tracy sat on the couch. Goldman sat in a cloth chair that swiveled to face her. Two folded TV dinner trays leaned against a brick fireplace beneath a painting of a coastline. “Can I get you some coffee or tea?” Adele asked.

Sensing that Adele wasn’t sure what to do with herself, Tracy said, “Tea would be wonderful, thank you.”

Adele stepped from the room, and Tracy heard her opening and closing cabinets and filling a kettle at the sink.

“Where do you want to start?” Goldman asked.

“How about the state championship game,” Tracy said, wanting to give his memory a point of reference, which turned out to not be needed, before diving immediately into Kimi Kanasket.

“Saturday, November 6, 1976.”

“What was it like around town back then?”

“Like Christmas and the Fourth of July rolled into one,” he said, animated. Tracy had clearly picked a topic that excited him. “The town was so puffed up it was bursting at the seams. Up until then, Stoneridge couldn’t have won a one-legged race with two legs. That was the start of it.”

“The start of it?”

“The championships. Football mainly, but also swimming, basketball, baseball, soccer.”

“So what happened? What changed?”

“Ron Reynolds rode into town like John Wayne in Rio Bravo. He changed the culture. The kids were used to losing, and content to do so. Reynolds put an end to that.”

“How’d he do that?”

“You paid in sweat to play sports for Ron Reynolds. If the kids weren’t playing games, they were practicing or conditioning. Initially, some parents moaned about the time commitment interfering with schoolwork, but Ron just charged ahead like Teddy Roosevelt up San Juan Hill. He didn’t care what people thought of him. The complaints stopped when the banners started flying in the gym and people started reading their kids’ names in my paper. Then a few started getting scholarships. Money talks, friend. The complainers got quieter than a nun in the confessional.”

“He was the football coach?”

“They hired him as the football coach. They made him the athletic director, and he stayed on thirty-five years. They had a big retirement party for him in the school gym a few years back.”

“He’s still alive?”

“Lives in the same house he bought when he moved here.”

“I read in the paper they’re naming a stadium after him.”

“That’s the son’s doing. His company’s providing the material and labor. The town isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Tracy wasn’t much of a football fan. She’d grown up listening to Mariners baseball games with her father, but sensing Goldman’s excitement for the topic and hoping to establish a rapport, she asked, “You covered the championship?”

“They would have lynched me and burned the Sentinel building if I hadn’t. The town was all caught up that year in the Four Ironmen.”

“The Four Ironmen?”

“Eric Reynolds, Hastey Devoe, Archie Coe, and Darren Gallentine.”

Tracy recognized the names Devoe and Reynolds from the recent articles in the newspaper. “Why were they called ‘the Four Ironmen’?”

“Never missed a down in three years of varsity football, and they played both ways.”

“Played both ways?” Tracy asked.

“Offense and defense,” Adele said. She’d entered the room carrying a tray with a teapot and ceramic mugs. She made a face that conveyed, You’d be surprised what you learn after fifty years.

“Reynolds was the all-American,” Goldman said as Adele handed Tracy a cup of tea. “He was the straw that stirred the drink. Without him, they don’t win. Devoe opened the holes on the offensive line, and Coe and Gallentine ran through them. Coe was fast and shifty. Gallentine was the hammer. On defense Devoe played nose tackle, Gallentine played linebacker, Coe was the cornerback, and Reynolds was the free safety. He had five interceptions his senior year.”

Tracy took a sip of her tea, which had a mint flavor. She set the cup on a coaster and retrieved the file from her briefcase. “I saw a photograph in the paper.” She showed Goldman the picture of the four young men hoisting the trophy into the stadium lights, and this time noted the names in the caption.