Never letting up

There’s one particular picture that speaks volumes about William John Studenc—known to my brothers and me simply as “Dad.” Of all the decades’ worth of photos in family albums, this single image defines my father, at least in my mind.

The photo, titled “Exhausted Runner,” is captioned thusly: “Bellaire High’s little Bill Studenc was an exhausted runner after finishing the mile Saturday. Here he’s kept from falling to the cinders by Jack Teasdale, vice president of the Bellaire Touchdown Club. In a few minutes, Billy was okay again.”

If one were lucky enough to have known Dad, one probably would understand why the black-and-white photograph from a yellowed and tattered newspaper clipping resonates with me more than Grandma’s faded snapshots from the 1960s, brother Greg’s wrinkled Polaroids from the 1970s, or my kids’ digital cellphone images from the 21st century.

To me, this photo captures the essence of Dad’s life, at least the 50-some-odd years I was fortunate enough to be in it. (And those who know my family and childhood will understand how odd some of those years actually were. But, I digress.)

Throughout his life, Dad gave it his all. He pushed himself to the limits. He went as hard and as fast as he could for as long as he could, willing himself to cross the finish line. He wanted very much to win. But more than that, he wanted very much to finish as strong as he could.

Despite the hurdles thrown in his way (track-and-field analogy on purpose, by the way), Dad just kept going forward. The hurdles were many. A humble childhood in an impoverished area of southeastern Ohio that my Dad and his siblings called “Cowshit Holler.” Finding his own father dead of a heart attack at the age of 40. Two children who died at or shortly after birth. A wife—my mother—whose own personal hurdles proved far too great for her to overcome and who died way too young. Struggling to raise a family of three kids on a limited income. Helping care for a father- and mother-in-law as they battled old age or slipped into dementia. A heart attack of his own, in spite of the fact he was one of the healthiest people I know. Being forced into retirement a year later after almost 40 years at the same institution because of a change in ownership and a corporate desire to “go in a different direction.”

Those are just some of the hurdles of which I know. I am sure there were others. But no matter the number of hurdles, no matter how high, Dad kept moving forward. He kept his eye on the finish line.

To be sure, Dad’s sprint through the human race was not all hurdles. There were many bright spots. One child who overcame significant hurdles of his own to win regional and state honors as handicapped employee of the year. Two sons who went on to college.  He even went back to Asheville-Buncombe Technical College himself as a non-traditional student and got a degree in accounting, graduating with honors. Four grandchildren. Ten years of a second chance at life with a new spouse, and the love and acceptance of her children and grandchildren.

Unlike in the time-tinted image, Dad ran a marathon, not a sprint. 

Even during the months after his cancer diagnosis and his surgery, he took the advice of Jim Valvano. I hope my fellow Tar Heel fans will excuse me for quoting the former coach of the Wolf Pack, but it seems appropriate. Dad did not give up. He never gave up.

When I look at the old photograph of Dad, I don’t see a mere competitor. I see the epitome of a champion, the essence of Dad. He was like a Timex watch. He took a licking, and kept on ticking. My stepmom would call him the Energizer Bunny—he just kept going and going and going.

During his last few days in a deep, peaceful sleep, Dad’s feet would be moving, like he was still pushing forward, still running that race. He went as hard and as fast as he could for as long as he could. And when Dad finished, Dad finished strong. He gave it his all. He pushed himself to the limits. Nonetheless, to me it felt like someone moved his finish line, and that the race ended before it should. 

Shortly after 4 p.m. on Tuesday, Sept. 16, 2014, in a few minutes, Billy was not okay again. There was no vice president of the Touchdown Club to lift the exhausted runner from the cinders after he had crossed the finish line.