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Woodward, ex-Phoenix coach, spun quite a mark Commentary By DON HUNT The obituary in Sunday's Mail Tribune was only seven paragraphs long. There was no funeral and no memorial service. Jack Woodward touched hundreds of lives during his 26 years as a teacher and coach at Phoenix High School. He won three state championships and is regarded as one of the top high school football coaches in state history. But Woodward didn't want any publicity when he coached, and when he died Friday at the age of 84 he bowed out even more quietly. Parades have been held for the less worthy. "I've had a bunch of people call who said, `Hey, how come there isn't any service for coach Woodward?' " says Ron Williams, who played for Woodward in the early 1960s and coached with him in the 1980s. "And I said, `Because that's the way Jack wanted it. He even wrote his own obituary -- that's why it's so short and why so many of his accomplishments aren't even listed.' " I first encountered Woodward in the fall of 1974 when I was attending Southern Oregon University and working part time for the Ashland Daily Tidings. Part of my job for the newspaper was to cover the Phoenix football team, and it was apparent right off the bat that Woodward was a different breed of coach. For one thing, he ran an offense called the "Spin-T" that I had never heard of. It was an offshoot of the single-wing, an offense that few teams had used in nearly two decades. In the Spin-T, the ball is snapped directly to a running back -- often between the legs of the quarterback. That recipient of the ball then spins around backwards and either hands off to another running back or spins back around and runs up the field. Some folks thought it was a silly, antiquated offense that wouldn't work against good teams. But Woodward managed to win 10 conference championships, two state titles and post a record of 169-61-7 between 1949 and 1974. Woodward also won a state championship in basketball at Phoenix in 1951. The man affectionately known as "Woody," for whom the football stadium at Phoenix is named, stepped down as head coach after the '74 season. But he rejoined the staff as an assistant under Williams in 1976 and coached for six more years. I wanted to write a feature story about this intriguing offense and this intriguing man, but Woodward would have none of it. "Aw hell, I'm no story," he would say with a shrug. "Write a story about one of the kids. That's what this program is about." Woodward, who grew up in Colorado, attended Brigham Young University on a football scholarship and served in the military during World War II, was no taller than 5-foot-8 and weighed perhaps 150 pounds. But he was tougher than a rock and he instilled discipline into his players. "He turned boys into men," nods Mike Reese, who played for Woodward in the late 1950s. "He could take a kid out of the hallway who wasn't much into sports and turn him into a heck of a football player." Reese recalls a day in practice where Woodward grabbed the ball and challenged a pair of dawdling linemen to tackle him. "Those two kids were a lot bigger than Jack -- 200-pounders plus -- and coach didn't have any pads on," Reese says. "But I can tell you those two kids got the worst of it." Woodward's discipline extended into the classroom, where he once took his students outdoors and had them march. "True story," Williams says. "I was there." Woodward perhaps acquired some of his work ethic from his high school coach in Colorado, who once forbade Woodward and his teammates from taking a shower after a game. "According to Jack, the old coach said, `You guys stunk it up so bad out there on the field that you might as well stink it up all night!" Williams says. There were similarly light moments during Woodward's coaching career. On a trip to Lakeview in the early 1970s, the players got out their sack lunches and ate. Two of the players had chicken and everyone knew it since the odor permeated the entire bus. The Pirates played poorly during the first half of the game, and once in the locker room Woodward let them have it. At one point he bellowed, "And you damn chicken-eaters are killing us!" "I snuck out the back door and almost died laughing," says Harry Mondale, the Phoenix wrestling coach who served as Woodward's line coach in those days. "I talked to those boys years later and they -- like me -- remembered it as if it were the day before." Mondale also fondly recalls a day in the film room where Woodward had improperly loaded the projector. None of the film made its way onto the rewind reel and instead made a path along the floor. "When Jack flipped on the light switch and saw what had happened, he picked that film up and threw it in the trash can," Mondale says. "And then he said, `We didn't play worth a damn, anyway."' Woodward never married until he was 50, after his high school sweetheart had become a widow. Louise Woodward died in 1991. "He said he lost her once but wasn't going to lose her again," Williams says. Once Louise died, Woodward's health began to fail and he spent the last few years at a nursing home in Medford. Reese was among the former players who paid him an occasional visit. "I looked at that man as if he were my father," Reese says, adding that Woodward deserved to be mentioned in the same breath as former Medford High coach Fred Spiegelberg. Woodward didn't recognize Reese the last time or two at the rest home. But when the attendant came in to wheel Woodward to the bathroom, the old coach began talking about football. Something about a Spin-T. (Don Hunt is a Mail Tribune sports writer. He can be reached at 776-4469.) Today's Sports Index Mail Tribune Copyright� The Mail Tribune 1999, Medford, OR U.S.A.