Winning State (part 2)

In 1997, Wheeling High School won the State Title in Congressional Debate for the first time since the program began in 1985.

That’s the headline that garnered the attention in District 214 and beyond. I received many notes of congratulations from colleagues. WHS created an all-school assembly in our honor. The state of Illinois passed a resolution congratulating us, as did the Village of Wheeling. The team attended a meeting where the mayor of Wheeling presented the resolution amid much applause. It was a lot of hoopla for a high school championship, especially for a non-athletic event. As I stood before the mayor and council, I was humbled, excited, a bit overwhelmed. But I also recalled an event from the weekend almost no one knew about.

To explain this, I need to provide some background. Trust me, I could go far, far deeper into debate details that virtually few of you care about (let alone understand) in reference to high school debate. But stay with me on this; the story will make more sense if you get the context.

At the State level, a Congressional Debate team is made up of four students. In 1997 we were represented by four outstanding young women. The four debaters are randomly assigned to one of four rooms (call them A, B, C, & D), each room with a single student from each competing school. A room contains maybe 15-20 students.

Those four competition rooms were spread out at the spacious Capitol Complex in Springfield. There was one room on the first floor, two on the third floor, and one on the fourth floor. Remember, this is before cell phones, so students in A have no idea how it’s going in B or C or D.

Students debate for three hours Friday night, three more hours on Saturday morning, and three more on Saturday afternoon. Scores are tallied up for each team, A+B+C+D. High score wins.

Every year (until 2002), I logged thousands and thousand of steps running from room to room to assess how the competition was unfolding. Since I’m not omnipresent (or any other omni), I had to rely on my impressions of each room. Friday night after the first session, Slaw and I met with the four debaters to get their feedback and craft strategy for round two on Saturday morning. The six of us planned to do the same after the second session, spend our lunch time analyzing the tournament and strategize for the big finish. And hopefully a very large trophy.

After the second session, I sent Slaw ahead with the JV squad to Wendy’s for lunch. I had arranged to meet the four girls after the morning session and then join Slaw to figure out how to win. I was beyond amped that morning, knowing, just knowing, we were on the cusp of winning State. We had come so close on several occasions, but I had great confidence in the girls. And great nerves.

At the appointed time after the morning session, I paced at the bottom of a long, winding marble staircase. At every voice, every noise, I searched for my girls. Nothing. Well-dressed, animated students and coaches from others schools strode past me on their way to lunch. It’s not uncommon for a single student to be late. But my whole team? No Meredith, Anita, Nicole, or Robyn? Nobody?

Out of patience, I ran to the second floor and found my debaters huddled around I didn’t know who. Sitting upright against the wall, the mystery girl sat, her legs extended and her face frowny. I knew a lot of debaters from other schools, especially their varsity students. Not this girl.

Robyn was bent down next to the girl. Her eyes focused, she asserted, “Mr. Hurley, we need to get her some ice. She hurt her ankle.” Her tone was unexpectedly forceful.

I surveyed the situation and scratched my head. There must be something I was missing. “Who is she?” I finally asked.

“Dundee Crown,” Meredith answered. “We found her here. She sprained her ankle.” The unknown debater grimaced and nodded in assent. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen.

“One of their JV debaters. She’s not sure where her team is,” Nicole added. DC was a small school competitor, no threat to us. They also were no help to us, no help at all.

I stared at the girl seated on the floor, heels off, reclining against the wall. I still had no idea who she was. Robyn looked plaintively at me. “Rob, her coach can take care of her. We need to get to lunch,” I replied, half turning to leave, expecting them to follow.

In my brain, the choice was simple. We sat on the edge of greatness; we needed the time to plan for session three. Helping a JV debater from a small school held no strategic advantage. Slaw was waiting for us (along with the whole JV team) at Wendy’s. My team didn’t even know this injured girl, at least not before they had found her alone and grimacing on the stairwell. Where was her coach, her team?

The four young women stood before me. “Her coach isn’t here. We need to help her,” Anita repeated sternly.

I was not only outnumbered, I was out-argued by my own debaters. I paused and bit my lip. I looked again at the DC debater propped against the wall, sullying her dress because she couldn’t walk. I inhaled a deeply. “Okay,” I finally said. “Two of you get some ice. Ask a security guard downstairs. Two of you stay with her. I’ll run to the Tab Room, maybe the Coach’s Lounge, see if I can find Roger (her coach).”

Hurrying over vast marbled floors, I had ample time to ponder. I hate to admit it, but my mind kept returning to how this delay might cost us. We were in the hunt for a State title, our first one. I wanted to know how the morning session went. Slaw was waiting, eager to craft our final session plan. But the Wheeling girls weren’t even thinking of debate right now.

I finally found Roger and escorted him to his injured student. By the time we returned, an ice bag rested on the ankle, a slight smile on her face. Roger thanked me and the four Wildcat debaters.

By the time we found Wendy’s (and Slaw), parked, gobbled singles and fries, guzzled a drink, there was just time to race back to the Capitol for the final session. Everyone wanted to hear the story of the injured debater, but I just shook my head. “Later,” I muttered.

We had no updated strategy, no idea which schools to focus on, which schools didn’t matter, what arguments had been used. My stomach hurt, and it wasn’t from Wendy’s.

The end of the story, you already know. Our third session scores were nearly perfect, and we bested Crystal Lake Central, 88.8 to their second place score of 88. You don’t need to know Congressional Debate to know the margin is paper-thin. We were Illinois State Champions.

Winning is great, and I still love to win. But winning, even winning a State Championship in high school, it ain’t the top of the mountain in life. When you’re 30 or 40 or 50, even a great accomplishment becomes a mere memory that elicits a smile, a picture in a collection of old photos. A story to tell.

Four high school debaters–Robyn, Meredith, Nicole, and Anita–they taught their coach something that day in 1997. In a setting where deal-making, corruption, and self-serving machinations prevail as accepted practice, these young women set aside their goal to help a stranger. They could have easily passed her by, as I suspect many others did.

Having that mindset, that character and integrity, the willingness to challenge a head coach, that’s what I call winning state.