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© St. Petersburg Times, published November 8, 2002
TAMPA -- Bud Hodgens stood in his crinkled straw hat, wearing cheap sunglasses, his reading glasses tucked in the collar of his Robinson High T-shirt, a whistle around his neck, a clipboard under his arm -- while leaning on a crutch.
And I loved him.
How could you not love him?
After 38 years, it was his last practice as a high school football coach, and as his 24-year friend and assistant, Mike DePue, said, "He's never changed."
I've known him for eight years, and in that time, he has not, in fact, changed, which is one of the best things I can say about him.
He saw me walk up Thursday afternoon, and a big grin stretched across his face. And as with every time he has ever seen me, he made me feel that in that moment, there was no one in the world he would rather see or spend time with.
"How are you, Scott? What can I do for you today? Nice to see you. Thanks for coming."
And I know I'm far, far from the only one.
I got close to him during the fall of 1997, the best of his 10 seasons as Robinson's coach. That year, the Knights went 11-2 and became known as the "Men In Black" after Bud posed for a picture in the Times with Zain Gilmore, Desmond Allison and Larrell Johnson.
Wearing all black, he and the players crossed their arms, slid on black sunglasses and tried to look tough for the shot (at least when Johnson wasn't giggling, which made everyone giggle).
The headline MEN IN BLACK ran two days after Robinson won a playoff game 27-24 at defending state champion Bartow. "And let me tell ya," Bud said, "those Bartow boys weren't a bunch of sissies."
The magical run for the Men In Black ended in a state quarterfinal at Belle Glade Glades Central 35-16, a score that doesn't indicate the close fight.
Robinson led 16-14 at halftime, when Bud said the fans threw chicken bones at the team and screamed at the officials, "There's only two ways out of Belle Glade, and we know where your car is."
The officiating was questionable during the second half, but two turnovers ultimately doomed the Knights.
Bottom line through all of it is Robinson mirrored the attitude of its coach. It never flinched in the face of adversity. It was tough, and it cherished the ride.
Gilmore finished the year with 2,322 yards and 29 touchdowns, became the only player from Hillsborough County to be named Mr. Florida Football and earned a scholarship to Missouri.
Johnson went on to start on the offensive line at South Carolina, and Allison, arguably the best football player of the bunch, earned a scholarship to play basketball at Kentucky.
Bud would have other great players but never another year like that.
This, however, did not change him or the way he treated anybody.
Before the 2000 season, at 61, he and DePue were right in there working their tails off.
This time, they had to move all of the football lockers into a portable because of county renovations to the locker room. Bud built benches, kept washing uniforms (He sometimes repaired the washing machine.), kept cooking chicken dinners for the team (every Friday for 10 years), kept coaching, and at practice when his players didn't get it right, you would still hear his favorite saying: "Do it again."
And he did this even though Robinson's young team went 2-8 last year and is 1-8 in 2002.
The only thing that has changed, and this is a big one, is Bud is retiring.
He doesn't look ready to retire or anywhere near 63, even though he did walk with a crutch during Thursday's practice. That's because he tore the meniscus in his left knee when a player bowled him over during Tuesday's drills.
DePue said he didn't stay on the ground for more than 30 seconds, and when he stood, the players started clapping before he shooed them off to continue.
Then DePue, in all seriousness, said Bud has never missed a practice in his 10 years at Robinson. Never. Even when Johnson accidentally split open his left eye with an elbow, Bud drove himself to the hospital, got 20 stitches and immediately returned to practice.
Gotta love him.
I remember the first time I saw him. I was doing a story on Robinson for the preseason preview section during the early 1990s.
There he was, wearing that crinkled straw hat, cheap sunglasses, a pair of reading glasses tucked in his T-shirt, a whistle around his neck and a clipboard under his arm.
He shook my hand, grinned at me, and I liked him immediately. Sure did ...
Man, I'll miss old Bud.
And I know I'm far, far from the only one.