End Note: The letter jacket and the 200 butterfly

The last week of August 1974, I enrolled as a freshman at Harding. As I stood in the registration line in American Heritage, I noticed a middle-aged man dressed very well in coat and tie making a beeline for me. He came right up to me, looked me in the eye, and asked, “Are you Lee Thornton from Nashville?”

“Yes sir,” I replied.

“Can you swim?” he asked.

“Yes sir.”

Without missing a beat, Coach Arnold Pylkas told me, “Swim team practice starts today at 3:30 at the pool behind the Administration Building. I want to see you there!” With that final statement, this bundle of energy marched off.

I was impressed. I had been a lifeguard in Nashville, Tennessee, the previous two summers but had never swum competitively. I decided to give college swimming a try.

So that afternoon I went to my first swim team practice. The pool was only 20-yards long and was the oldest indoor pool in Arkansas — it looked and smelled like it.

I realized pretty quickly after a few workouts I didn’t have the buoyancy our best swimmers were blessed with. I could swim the breaststroke OK; however, I didn’t earn enough points in swim meets during the winter season to secure a letter jacket.

Two days before the conference championships Feb. 22, 1975, Coach pulled me aside after practice.

“Lee, I just found out that in the 200-yard butterfly there will only be the final on Saturday night, and there is an open lane. I entered you; all you have to do is finish the race so the team will get points.”

I replied, “Coach, you know I can’t finish the 200-yard fly. I can’t even finish the 100-yard fly.”

Coach countered, “Lee, I need you to do this for the team. You can finish this race.”

Talk about two sleepless nights. I tried the next day in practice to go 200 yards in the fly but only made it 100. However, I reassured myself that I was 19, strong and stubborn, so I would just muscle my way through the race, but deep in my heart, I knew that I was going into the lion’s den.

Midway through the championships that Saturday night, the words I was dreading to hear came over the loud speaker: “200 butterfly participants, please come to the blocks.”

I got through the first two laps OK; I started to struggle a little on lap three, and by the end of lap four, I was toast. Still four laps to go, and nothing to give.

I seriously considered quitting, but Coach was depending on me, so I decided to finish no matter what. The pain was awful, but the worst part was the embarrassment of looking like Shamu the killer whale who had just been harpooned and floundering around in the water.

When I finally finished, you could have heard a pin drop. No clapping, no atta-boys, nothing. Total embarrassment for yours truly.

I climbed out of the pool, and Coach came over to offer words of encouragement, but to be honest, I was upset with him for putting me in a race I told him I couldn’t finish.

When I got back to Armstrong Hall, I slumped down in the hallway outside my door and sobbed. I decided that night my swimming days were over.

The next six months passed quickly. After lifeguarding in Nashville that summer, I knew after returning to campus I would have to tell Coach I had no intention of returning to the swim team.

He found me quickly that week and told me to come to the kickoff swim team meeting at Pizza Hut that Friday night. I replied there was no need for me to attend based on what had happened at the Arkansas Intercollegiate Conference meet that previous February. We got into a slight argument, but finally, just to get him off my back, I told him I would come.

Coach gave his kickoff pep talk about how we would win the AIC championships, which we did. Then Coach presented jackets to the guys who had lettered the previous season.

After the letter jacket presentation, he closed the gathering with these words: “Last February, I asked someone to swim a race that was definitely out of his comfort zone. I have never seen such determination to finish a race. He may think he doesn’t deserve this letter jacket, but I do. The final letter jacket goes to Lee Thornton.”

I was stunned. The place broke into applause, and I left my seat to receive my jacket from Coach who helped me put it on. I wore it back to the dorm even though it was more than 95 degrees outside. I wore that letter jacket a lot the next three years at school.

I still have that jacket; it hangs in the back of my closet next to my dad’s World War II Army dress jacket decorated with his ribbons and patches for bravery under fire.

During the valleys of my life the past 40 years, I would put it on and remember that February night. Then I would put on my dad’s Army dress jacket and think of what he and his buddies went through in combat and how my jacket could never compare to his.

More importantly, I realized a few years ago the letter jacket was a greater symbol of grace and favor from Coach that I didn’t deserve or earn just like what the carpenter did on the cross for my sins. I know, despite my efforts that night, I really didn’t deserve that jacket just like I don’t deserve eternal life.

But I got the jacket from Coach, and I have been promised eternal life from my savior. It is the best lesson on grace I’ve ever experienced. For that, I am forever grateful.

Oh yes, I swam two more years for Coach — not the butterfly, just the breaststroke.