Saddleback High Coach Quietly Succeeds : Jerry Witte Learned From Son’s Death to Appreciate Football Family

Those who know Jerry Witte only as a high school football coach, that is to say, those who don’t know Jerry Witte, will tell you he’s a nice guy. A little dull, but a nice guy all the same.

You see, Witte (pronounced witty), coach of Central Conference finalist Saddleback High School, is a rotten showman. An occasional scream isn’t much for most coaches, but for Witte--so disciplined during a game that an untied shoelace qualifies as madcap behavior--it’s too much.

The Roadrunners play La Quinta Friday night at Le Bard Stadium.

Reporters find Witte less than quotable. He has this habit of thinking before he speaks. No gut reactions. His first response to a question is a pause.

How is it a man so careful not to show emotion attributes his program’s success to love. How is it a man so disciplined had to seek refuge in the empty regions of the practice field last season--when his mind could no longer think about the game, but only of his 5-year-old son Todd who died in February 1984.

Why? Because Jerry Witte is a fine actor. Astute at hiding his emotions behind a rock-solid jaw and the fact that he is a football coach behind a nondescript shirt and a pair of thick glasses that make him look more like a lab instructor.

Witte prefers the image, which of course is no image.

Although even the best of us slip sometimes.

Asked if he was nervous before a homecoming game, Witte replied, “Why? I’m not going to the dance.”

Once, with his team losing at home, 28-0, and more than five minutes left in the first quarter, he casually called down to assistant coach Bob Mangram on the field from his perch in the press box.

“Uh, Bobby. I just wanted to tell you I won’t be coming down at halftime. I’d never make it through this crowd alive.”

Mangram: “No one is more witty than Witte.”

But for the most part, his wit and wisdom is reserved for his players.

“I’m very open with the kids about my feelings, and I want them to be open with me,” he said. “We have a relationship that I really don’t want anyone else to know about. Because it is such a personal thing between my staff and the kids. If people think I’m dull, that’s fine. I suppose I am outside this circle.”

The circle reaches around the entire school. Principal Nancy O’Conner--who attended the faculty breakfast last year and saw a two-hour slide show that included “an old picture of me that’s one of those shots you try to repress,”--says there isn’t a more respected person on campus.

“Sometimes you might have an English teacher who doesn’t appreciate the football coach,” O’Conner said. “But Jerry is respected as a history teacher. He’s helped bring a cohesiveness to this school. Everyone in this school feels involved with the football team. Everyone is so excited about being in the finals, they’re bouncing off the walls.”

Understandably, the shortened life of his son had a major impact on Witte.

Todd was born in 1978 with bronchial pulmonary discomfort, which affected his lungs and constantly required a respirator.

“Jerry has changed,” said Mangram, Witte’s assistant coach of 12 years. “He used to be a lot more easygoing. But after his son, he had no time for people who said they had a bad day because they spilled some coffee on their pants. I mean, every day when he left the practice field and went home, he didn’t know if his son would be alive when he got there.”

The time was one of contradiction for Witte.

“We might have had a great win, then I’d go to the hospital and Todd would be very, very ill,” he said. “Or other days Todd would be doing great and the team would lose. It was very difficult.

“I think that’s why I don’t really have time to make small talk with people, and why I stick around the kids and my staff most of the time. I’ll hear people complain, and I’ll say to myself, ‘Hey, look at all the good things you have. Your children are alive, your life is good.’ ”

Life was never better for Witte than when he took Todd to a Saddleback game against Newport Harbor.

It was the first time Todd had been out at night and it is captured in a photograph that Witte keeps with him at school. Todd is flinging the cap he has taken from his father’s head. Todd is laughing, a respirator tube attached to his throat. And Jerry? Well his actor’s mask has been cracked by the mile-wide smile all over his face.

Saddleback lost the game, but Todd still received the game ball.

These days Witte’s children, in addition to his daughter, Laurie, include every member of his football teams, past and present. When the team reached the semifinals this season, Witte received a phone call from a former player now stationed with the Army in West Germany, wishing him luck. But they aren’t players to Witte, they are “the kids.”

“You go through a lot with each other,” he said. “This program is first built on love for each other. The kids don’t take Todd’s place, no one in the world could ever take Todd’s place. But I treat them as I would want my kids treated. Sometimes they make me mad because they don’t do what I want. Not on the football field, but as far as keeping up their studies and such. I guess I am like a parent to them.”

He has taught his family well. After the Roadrunners defeated La Habra in the Central Conference semifinals last week, several of the kids consoled Highlander players.

“After it was over a lot of the La Habra players were sitting with their heads down,” O’Conner said. “Peter Pesak reached out to their great runner (Chuck) Weatherspoon and hugged him. Jerry has developed that in the boys. It’s very good, very sincere. Just like he is.”