When Bill Hamilton joined the ranks of teachers at Mayville High School, he brought with him two sets of credentials: a degree from Central Michigan University and a swagger that only comes from someone who has made it out of the Thumb and then returned home triumphant. He had that Ivy League haircut. He wore nice sports jackets and ties, he knew how to handle himself in front of a group, he was confident to the point of being almost cocky. In short, he was cool. I looked up to him and so did many of my schoolmates. Plus, he was the new Varsity basketball coach, thrust into a tough spot because he followed Sheldon Spellbring, a popular and relatively successful coach. I liked Shelly, as we called him when out of earshot, but he was NOT one of us. Coach Hamilton was so much like us it was a little spooky. First off, he was only about 5 or 6 years older than the juniors and seniors in his charge. It was like having a big brother who offered fatherly advice when needed. He also was a native of Pigeon, a Thumb farming community in the next county. He graduated from Laker High, a respected school and feared sports foe. Coach Hamilton knew us. He knew what we were about, and what we faced after high school. I learned much from him on the basketball court, but so much more off the court. He taught me how to handle adversity, and overcome life’s obstacles – hard lessons that do not necessarily come out of textbooks or the classroom. I don’t know what it was, but he saw something in me that others did not. We connected, and I could always talk with him. He pushed me to reach higher, set attainable goals and go after them fiercely – advice that I have used and relied on throughout my life. I always called him Coach, even in recent years when our paths crossed. His response: “David, please call me Bill.” I could never quite bring myself to refer to him that casually. He was a mentor to me and many others. I owe him much, and consider myself fortunate to have known him. Thank you, Coach! R.I.P.