The Life Whisperer

For the better part of 45 minutes yesterday, Larry Jarman spoke of the significance of the 50-foot-tall landmark located at the northeast end of the Grover Jones Field and Jim Hickey Track on Collegiate’s North Mooreland Road campus.

 

He spoke of the day the tree was planted and of the marker that sits at its base. He spoke of his personal journey over the past 36 years, his joys and disappointments, and his many challenges. He spoke of his deliverance, ultimately, from the abyss of unimaginable despair.

 

His audience was 15 8th Grade boys, their teacher Wendi Moss and a couple of guests. The purpose of his visit – a pilgrimage of sorts – was to bring a human face and a reality to this lesson in the class’s “outdoor” unit of study.

 

Jarman has been a valued member of the Collegiate Family since the late ‘70’s. Amidst his “day job” as a financial planner, he coached place kickers and punters in the school’s football program for 31 years and earned the nickname “The Kick Whisperer,” a term which connotes dedication to his craft, endearment and respect.

 

His opportunity to coach was born from tragedy, however.

 

You see, on March 14, 1981, his 15-year-old son Sam, a Collegiate freshman, died in an automobile accident, and in the aftermath, Jarman’s life spiraled into a period of grief from which he thought he might never recover.

 

Then, six months later, his old friend Petey Jacobs, Collegiate’s director of athletics, invited him to assist with a fall baseball program he was directing.

 

He answered instantaneously.

 

“What time does practice start?” he asked.

 

The chance to tutor kickers followed in short order and quickly became his passion.

 

“I would hate to think where I’d be if that hadn’t happened,” he said.

 

One of the many joys of spending four months a year on the football field was being in proximity to the tree – at first little more than a sapling – that was planted in Sam’s memory a couple of months after his death.

 

“I’m thankful it’s still part of Collegiate,” Jarman said. “It’s very connecting for me to see it.”

What plays in your head when you’re in this spot? he was asked.

 

“I probably see Sam out there participating in football and baseball,” he replied.

 

“Not every time,” he continued thoughtfully. “Somebody told me once that when you suffer a tragedy, the hole is humongous to start with, but as the years go by, it gets a little smaller and smaller and smaller, but it never goes away. It’s always there.”

 

“Yeah, it’s true,” he said. “You know, somebody I went to see to get some help about a month after Sam died told me that. He said, ‘You’re not going to believe it. You’ll have to live it to believe it.’ He was right. He really was.”

 

A couple of weeks after Sam’s accident, a group of his close friends from the class of '84 convened with Jarman on the back porch of his home on Westham Woods Drive to hash out a statement for the memorial plaque.

 

After some discussion, they settled on the words that appear under his name: “May we live, learn and compete with his intensity.”

 

“They couldn’t have said anything that described Sam better,” Jarman said. “He was smart. He was athletic. Anything he went into, he wasn’t going to do it half way.”

 

How have you managed? he was asked.

 

“Daggone few days go by that I don’t think about Sam,” he replied. “Last year, he would have been 50 years old. That really threw me for a loop. There were so many people who helped. People were – still are – unbelievable.”

 

For Jarman, reminiscing about Sam is therapeutic. Always has been. His story runs far more deeply, though, than a proud father sharing memories of his son.

 

“You’ll go through life and make a lot of choices,” he told the young men seated before him as he looked them straight in the eye. “I know a ton of people who have made bad choices. Sometimes, it’s cost them their life. Make good choices. That’s my message.”

     -- Weldon Bradshaw