White Fang and the Golden Bear

by Joe Wessel

  Dad’s influence of music and theater had been so ingrained in me that even my proposal had his fingerprints all over it. After my clinic, I had hotel reservations to stay at the Ritz Carlton in Marina Del Rey, which Artie Gigantino, the defensive coordinator at USC, helped me arrange. I rented a limousine with a dozen roses and champagne to take us to the site where many Academy Awards had taken place, the Music Center of Los Angeles County. I’d thought of everything—a play, dinner, and a drive on Malibu Beach. What more could you ask for? My favorite play and soundtrack, Phantom of the Opera, played at the music center that weekend. But like many plans that are made, you sometimes have to call an audible. Turned out the limousine went to the wrong Ritz. The hotel told us to use their limo and I would just meet the other limo at the theater at the end of the play. Eventually, we made it to the play with little time to spare.

  Just before intermission, there is a point where the boyfriend, Raoul, is singing a song to Christine titled “All I Ask of You.” I had heard and sung this song hundreds of times, many of them with Dad. I even sang it at the wedding of Todd Caplin, my best man, several years prior. Raoul sings to Christine, asking her to share one lifetime. He will lead her away from her loneliness and will never leave her side. Wherever she travels, he will always be with her, and above all, he wants her to just “love him!”

  That served as my cue to take Mary Gayle’s hand. I slipped the ring on her finger and asked, “Will you?”

  Thank God through her tears she smiled and said yes.

  Shortly after getting the desired response, I left her before the intermission concluded so I could find out where our limo driver had parked. When I returned, I couldn’t find her, and the bell to alert everyone to get back to their seats had begun to ring. Still, no Mary Gayle.

  Finally, a little Spanish-speaking woman walked up to me and asked in broken English, “You looking for pretty blonde lady?”

  I told her yes.

  She escorted me to a closet door. My future bride sat in a broom closet with several teary-eyed women doting over her and helping her put scotch tape around the ring to make it tighter. The ring was to big and had not been correctly sized yet.

  After the show, we found our limo driver with the dozen roses and champagne on ice. I don’t think I could have planned any better on how it all came together. Yes, sometimes audibles do score touchdowns!

  After a sixteen-month courtship, Mary Gayle and I were married.

  Funny thing about the wedding planning is that it wasn’t just as simple as abiding by our two schedules. As it turned out, during my first season at Notre Dame, I had become good friends with Coach Holtz’s son, Skip, and our lives would be forever intertwined. We played a lot of golf together, worked out together, and one thing we both enjoyed was our late afternoon or evening spins around the Notre Dame campus on our rollerblades. Even our dating lives were in tandem. We both had been dating girls who lived hundreds of miles away, and, ultimately, we had to plan our weddings around each other’s.

  After spring recruiting and summer camps, the coaching staff only got three weeks of vacation in July. Thus, I took the first week for our wedding, July 3, and Skip took the second week, July 11. We were groomsmen for each other, so that led to a lot of planning. The third week would be our honeymoon time. Mary Gayle and I were off to Barbados, and Skip and Jennifer were off to the Cayman Islands, until one day in April, Skip walked into my office and asked me, “Do you mind if we go to Barbados with you all?” His trip had been canceled, so I said, “Sure, but we have to agree that we won’t see each other for at least three of the days. You know what I mean?” (Wink-wink) I’ll always remember that summer for being a magical time in my life. Sharing that time with lifelong friends only enhanced the experience.

  Everything in my life seemed to be clicking into place, on the personal front as well as the professional one.

  The 1992 season proved to be a success even though we fell short of our ultimate goal to win a National Championship. We survived the Michigan game in South Bend the second week of the season, and our only loss that year came to Stanford, 33–16, in the first week of October.

  It was certainly a plus that that 1992 team had so many seniors and future NFL players, like Rick Mirer, Jerome Bettis, Demetrius Dubose, Tom Carter, Craig Hentrich, Irv Smith, and Devon McDonald. Ultimately, we played Texas A&M in the 1993 Cotton Bowl and beat them handily, 28–3, to finish strong and earn a No. 4 ranking in the UPI and AP polls at the end of the year.

  I sent Dad a card in November to thank him for all he had done to help me find my way:

  Dear Dad,

  I have been going through a lot of soul-searching the past few months. Looking back at my past, how I have attained the present and where I will be in the future. God has watched over me but mostly, my father has watched over me. He kept the firm hand on me when I needed it and he gave me more rope when he thought I could use it. I know I could not be where I am today without your help and support, and it is only right that my business cards say “Joe Wessel” because part of you is up here with me. Every time I walk out on the field, part of Joe Sr. is walking out there with Joe Jr. I hope I have made you proud and I hope you strut your feathers a little bit because there are very few fathers that can say, “My boy coaches at Notre Dame.” … I love you Dad, and in all the business and running around I do, if I haven’t told you that, thanks and remember that you are appreciated more than one can say!

  All my love, Tiger

  CHAPTER 17

  Coping and Overcoming

  MARY GAYLE GAVE ME A small, wrapped package on Christmas Day, 1992. When I unwrapped the box, I experienced one of the most euphoric feelings of my life. Inside, I found an antique silver baby rattle wrapped in a blue ribbon. She was pregnant, and with a boy. There were twenty-one grandchildren from Esther and Louis, yet this baby would be the first to carry the Wessel name! The pregnancy brought an exciting time. My body wasn’t transforming like my wife’s, but I stood by her side cheering her every move and coaching her on during a bitter cold winter in South Bend complete with plenty of snow.

  I’d long heard that women get cravings during the pregnancy. True to form, the craving in our household was watermelon. I did my best to help her satisfy that craving, but watermelon wasn’t exactly the easiest item to find in South Bend grocery stores (remember, South Bend is the snow belt of the Midwest). Nevertheless, we got through that winter and spring, and all was well when we reached the summer months.

  Despite the fact that I was about to be a parent myself, I still took quite seriously the advice and support offered by Dad and, of course, Mom, too. I wrote the following to my mother in a letter dated August 3, 1993:

  Dear Mom,

  … Things are just fine up here. Mary Gayle is doing super, but she is getting very uncomfortable at night. I hope you can work out your schedule to be with her when she has the baby. I want you to know that she wants so much for you to be there for her. She is very apprehensive and all she has is you as a mother-in-law, Margie and Ann Marie [my sisters]. She wants to be able to share this experience with “family.” Unfortunately, “we” are her only family.

  She depends on me and all of you for that support. You and Dad have been super keeping in contact with us…. The past few months have really shown me how important life is. My marriage and this baby are almost larger than life itself.

  No “job” or “win” can make me feel more content than the way I feel for my wife and soon-to-be child. There are many ingredients to make a “happy and healthy relationship.” I feel that the love and closeness of Mary Gayle and my family must be the most important thing there is right now. She wants it, I want it, I hope everyone down there wants it. I also hope that everyone will be conscious of the fact that she needs you all!

  To be honest, I also need you all!

  All my love

  Mom and Dad reacted like they always did, with 100 percent support, and they planned to be in South Bend the day we cam
e home from the hospital.

  In the meantime, fall practice was approaching, and based on all the quality seniors we’d lost from the previous season, expectations were not so lofty entering the 1993 season. Still, at Notre Dame, you were always expected to be challenging for the National Championship. That year, I coached the defensive backs, and they were arguably one of the best group of defensive backs to play at Notre Dame.

  Luck was on my side that season. I had a veteran group returning that consisted of three starters and three others who contributed greatly to our success. All of them were later drafted and made NFL teams—Jeff Burris, Bobby Taylor, John Covington, Sean Wooden, Willie Clark, and Greg Lane.

  We beat Northwestern at home in the opener, and in week two, we traveled to the “Big House” ranked No. 11 in the polls to play No. 3 Michigan. We beat the Wolverines, 27–23, on September 11, which happened to be the 400th game played at the University of Michigan. Following that win, we bused back to South Bend and began preparation for Michigan State.

  The week after the Michigan game coincided with an important event. On Monday, September 13, 1993, we went to the hospital, where the doctor was scheduled to induce labor. We were so excited. The long-awaited time had arrived. We would soon be meeting our son. Running down the stairs that morning, I remember pausing and saying to myself, Ugh, today is the 13th; I’m just glad it’s not a Friday.

  When we arrived at the hospital, we were escorted into the last room down the hall in the maternity ward, and the process began. By midday, the excitement started to build. I had played and coached in huge stadiums in front of large crowds, yet I’d never been as nervous as I found myself that afternoon. Around 2 o’clock, the doctor entered the room to check one of the monitors. They had lost the baby’s heartbeat, which happens from time to time. The next thing I knew, three other people were in the room desperately racing around in chaos. If that weren’t enough, the doctor’s face showed shock and disbelief. They kept trying to find a heartbeat with internal monitors, but to no avail. After fifteen or twenty minutes, the attending doctor said, “We lost him!”

  I’m thinking, What do you mean we lost him? How could this be? We trusted you to deliver our baby! God wouldn’t let this happen! I was a coach and husband. Protecting my family and solving problems and issues were a part of what I did. I felt helpless. I had no idea what to say or do. My emotional high earlier had turned into the worst day of my life. The hurt and loss from that day has remained with me since.

  Despite all of the emotions running through me, I had no time for self-pity. Helping Mary Gayle deal with the emotional and physical pain she felt became my priority. I needed and wanted to comfort her. She had carried this baby for nine months. And now we wouldn’t be bringing him home. All I could do was to lie next to her, cry with her, and hold her. Our lives were forever changed. The pain of 1979, losing my best friend, was resurrected within me. Only this felt ten times worse, and so much more personal.

  The doctors came back in and told us what they thought happened. They thought vasa praevia had caused the unthinkable outcome. They said they would not know for sure until after the baby was delivered. They recommended that we continue the process naturally so there would not be unnecessary surgery. So early the next morning, we gave birth to “Baby Wessel” knowing we would not hear the cry that we longed for over the past nine months. We went home empty-handed, full of sorrow, anger, disbelief, and doubt whether we would ever have this chance again. In times like these, you don’t know what to say to others, and they certainly don’t know what to say to you. I called the football office that afternoon and told my secretary what had happened. Father Paul Doyle, who married us and was a Notre Dame alum and rector of Corby Hall at the time, came to the hospital. He prayed with me and tried to give me comfort, but he could not give words to explain why this had happened.

  Mary Gayle remained in the hospital for a couple days, and my parents flew up to help in the interim. One night when my father and I came back from the hospital, we sat in the car in the garage listening to a song from the play Les Misérables, “Bring him Home.” We had listened to this song hundreds of times in the past. Now the lyrics had a whole different meaning for us. Valjean in the play is praying to God to protect Marius, his soon-to-be son-in-law. He asks God to protect him and bring him home safely. While sitting there with tears flowing from my eyes, I knew that God now had another angel with him in heaven. I told Dad I wanted to sing this song at his funeral. I still don’t know why I told Dad that. Probably because I knew he’d understand without pushing for further explanation.

  When tragedies affect our lives, we tend to feel isolated and despondent. In the days following our loss, we had many people share their stories and their pain, including several colleagues at Notre Dame. I found everyone’s stories comforting. One particular colleague whose support I valued was basketball coach John MacLeod. His office was two doors down, and he made it a point to pop into my office daily. His words of encouragement were exactly what Dad would have told me had I been in Florida.

  Throughout the following weeks, Dad was not physically with me, but his phone calls and letters kept encouraging me to remain strong in my faith and to trust in God’s plan. He urged me to be patient with myself and, more important, to be patient with Mary Gayle. He knew I was hurting, but he reinforced that my love and care for her was critical during this period of time. You either grow apart or you grow together experiencing what we did. Over time, we would heal, and we did so together, growing even closer.

  Getting back to practice brought me a much-needed distraction. The players and coaches were so thoughtful. My veteran group of defensive backs didn’t miss a beat. We beat Michigan State, 36–14, that week. We then won six more to set up that season’s “Game of the Century” with No. 1 Florida State. We were ranked No. 2, and my alma mater would be traveling to South Bend for what would turn out to be a memorable game on November 13, Mom’s birthday.

  So much hoopla and buildup took place prior to the “Game of the Century” that pitted unbeaten teams at the top of the rankings against each other, a rare spectacle that doesn’t happen very often in college football: No. 1 vs. No. 2!

  FSU was stacked with standouts and future NFL players, with 1993 Heisman Trophy winner Charlie Ward headlining the crew.

  Personally, the week leading up to that game proved to be very distracting for me, between the guests coming into town and the media from all over looking for unique stories to the game like the one about us losing our child.

  In typical fashion around a high-profile game, journalists sought out new story angles. Gary Long, who covered college football for the Miami Herald, wrote a story about our loss. The headline for that November 12, 1993, article read: “Tragedy trivializes Irish-FSU showdown.”

  In the article, I was quoted talking about our loss as follows: “This game’s outcome is so trivial when you think about things like [a child’s death].”

  I told Long: “God has a plan for us all. You have to believe in that plan, whether or not you can agree with it or understand it.”

  In addition, the many connections that existed between Notre Dame and FSU kept everyone very busy, catching up with old friends and colleagues (though, interestingly, the two schools had only played once before—in 1981, which had been my redshirt year—and FSU won, 19–13). Coach Holtz was very friendly with Coach Bowden. They used to vacation together on summer trips. Skip Holtz had been a grad assistant for Coach Bowden in the late ’80s. Mickey Andrews was still the defensive coordinator, and several other FSU coaches were still there from when I played. Two of the coaches, Jeff Bowden and Odell Hagans, played with me during my days at Florida State.

  As part of the additional excitement leading up to this special game, Notre Dame had a tradition of holding a pep rally in the basketball arena the night before every home football game. At each pep rally, one or two assistant coaches were assigned by Coach Holtz to speak, and, of course, I had been picked to s
peak prior to the Florida State game.

  I thought long and hard about what I could do or say to get Notre Dame fans pumped up while not disparaging my alma mater. I decided I needed a prop. FSU arrived in town wearing green baseball caps that were embroidered with the FSU logo in gold lettering, so I asked our equipment man to get me two Seminoles spear decals and put them on one of our Notre Dame helmets. The end product resembled an FSU helmet, only shinier. When I wrapped up my speech, I pulled out the helmet from underneath the podium. The boos became deafening. I calmed the Notre Dame faithful once I began to rip the decals off each side of the helmet. I told them, “Under every great team … there lies a golden dome!”

  Well, that brought the place to a frenzy, and it was a big hit, though it wasn’t appreciated by my sister, mother, and FSU friends. Of course, Dad, a Miami Hurricane, absolutely loved it.

  Notre Dame dominated the game, but FSU scored with 1:39 left in the fourth quarter. On a fourth-and-20, Brian Magee deflected a Charlie Ward pass, and Kez McCorvey hauled in the ball for a touchdown that cut our lead to 31–24.

  FSU kicked off to us, then managed to get the ball back within three plays. Once again, the magical Ward moved the ’Noles down the field to our 14-yard line. But with three seconds left to play, Shawn Wooden knocked down a pass in the end zone to save the win for Notre Dame.

  After that, I just broke down. All the heartache of the past two months had built up, and I was emotionally exhausted. I rode the elevator down from the press box with Mark Richt, the FSU offensive coordinator, who I played against when he was at Miami; and Brad Scott, who had been a grad assistant when I played at FSU. I told them they did a great job and wished them luck the rest of the way.

  My trip back to the locker room took me past the FSU bench. Sitting on the bench were two green hats that had been discarded.