A coach and a ball player reconnect, 28 years later

As my granddaughter’s softball team was coming off the field at Freedom Park,  I heard someone call my name.

“Coach Grisamore?”

When someone calls me “Coach,’’ I have to smile. I wear it like a badge of honor.

I reached to shake the young man’s hand. (At my age, I consider a 37-year-old to be a young man.)

“I don’t know if you remember me,’’ he said. “I’m Terrance Toomer. You were my coach.’’

“Of course I remember you, Terrance,’’ I said. “Didn’t you used to be 9 years old?”

My memory raced back to 1996, when I coached the Vine-Ingle Mighty League Marlins. Terrance and my son, Grant, were on the team. 

This past spring, almost a generation later, Grant and Terrance had daughters playing on the same softball team. Sterling Gray and Sania played  on the same patch of ground where their fathers once chased after ground balls and hurried to the concession stand as soon as the game was over.

Terrance reminded me that he was in the fourth grade at Clisby that spring. He lived with his mother, Melody, and his sister and two brothers in the public housing apartments on Roff Avenue next to the Freedom Park Gym. He would ride his bicycle to the practices and games.

He and his younger brothers, Wesley and Charles Jr., could stand in their front yard and see the glow of the lights from the baseball and softball fields around the corner and across the lake at Payne City. 

They had begged their father, Charles, to sign them up to play baseball. They were in three different leagues – T-Ball, Pitching Machine and Mighty League — so their dad’s head was on a swivel to keep up with all of them.  It was the first time any of the boys had played organized sports.

Charles Toomer worked three jobs to help support his family. He did maintenance at the Massee Apartments during the day and moonlighted at Big Daddy’s Liquor Store at night. He also had a side business doing landscaping work.

Terrance’s mom, Melody, was diagnosed with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis when she was 14, and she suffered from lupus, a debilitating illness of the immune system. She was in and out of the hospital and had open heart surgery. 

She died in 1999, when Terrance was 12. 

She was 37, the same age he is now.

Terrance can’t remember how many hits he got that season. His mind has no replays of when he might have smacked a double down the right-field corner or caught a pop fly at third base. But he does remember being the fastest kid on the team … and he was.

More importantly, he was a joy to coach. He always had a big grin on his face.

“One of the highlights for me was getting that uniform,’’ he told me. “I was so happy. I played kickball in the neighborhood, but I had never been associated with a team. I used to wear that cap all the time. I folded it so much there was a crease on the top and the bill was split.’’

Of course, he remembers the team party. It was at Z’s Pizza on Forsyth Road. 

He played at Vine-Ingle until he was 12, then at Macon Little League when his family moved. At Miller Middle and Central High School, he was on the basketball and football teams.

Terrance spent eight years in the Army. He was deployed to Iraq in 2009 and 2010. He was stationed near Balad at Camp Anaconda, which earned the nickname “Mortaritaville” because of the frequent enemy mortar attacks.  

He often was in the line of fire. He had buddies who didn’t make  it home. He returned to the U.S. after suffering a knee injury, which limited his mobility.

He met his wife, Nabila, while living in Baltimore. They moved to Macon in 2012. They have three children – daughters Sarai, 10 and Sania, 8, and son Terrance Jr., 4. Terrance is the director of engineering at the Marriott City Center, where he has worked since 2019.

When he signed up his daughters to play softball, Terrance drove them over to the Freedom Park complex and gave them a tour of the playing fields. It’s different now. The baseball diamonds, including historic Morgan Field, are now used as softball fields. And Morgan Drive, which once cut through the heart of the instructional leagues complex, has been rerouted behind the outfield fences.

“I took my daughters over there, and I was walking around telling them this is where I did this and this is where I did this,’’ he said. “I showed them where we took the team pictures. I told them the field had changed, but this is where we were.’’

He now lets his daughters pick out some of his old jersey numbers he wore. On the Marlins, he was No. 3.

Memories are all he has left of those days.

After his mother died, the family moved in with his grandmother. In 2002, fire destroyed their home on Second Street. He lost everything, including trophies and team photographs from his playing days.

When he told me that, I couldn’t get it off my mind. In a foot locker, I found the team photograph the players had autographed and presented to me at the team party. It was framed, with all their names and numbers.

I know it was a gift, but I told my wife I wanted Terrance to have it.

Last week, I went to Rutherford Trophies on Pio Nono Avenue. I explained the situation to the nice lady. I told her Terrance had lost his trophy in a house fire more than two decades ago, and I wanted to replace it.

 On the invoice, she made a note next to “1996.’’ This is correct, she wrote to the engraver. Just making sure.

Last Friday, Terrance met me at the ballpark, and I presented him with the framed photograph and trophy.

He grabbed me and hugged my neck.

“Thanks, Coach,’’ he said.

Ed Grisamore has been a journalist in Macon and Middle Georgia for more than 45 years. He received the 2024 John Holliman Lifetime Achievement Award from the Grady College of Journalism and Mass Communication at the University of Georgia. He was the recipient of the 2010 Will Rogers Humanitarian Award, presented by the National Society of Newspaper Columnists. Grisamore has won first-place awards from the Georgia Press Association in five categories and has written nine books