St. Thomas Aquinas' George Smith makes impact on and off field

George Smith has led the St. Thomas Aquinas Raiders on and off the field for 34 years. Scott Terna/Cal Sport Media

On every Father's Day and Mother's Day for more than 20 years, one former player, Barry Robinson, phones his old coach to say thanks for being the parents he never really had. Another, Michael Irvin, called before each Super Bowl he played to say, "Without you, I wouldn't be here."

Tavares Gooden of the Baltimore Ravens wrote a poem to thank him, and Nate Salley, who until last week was with the Carolina Panthers, not only wrote a poem but also read it aloud at his senior banquet: "What you mean to me, words can never explain ..."

You don't have to rent Hoosiers to see a high school coach from central casting. Just wait your turn outside George Smith's office at Fort Lauderdale's St. Thomas Aquinas, if you have the time.

His team is ranked No. 1 in the country, and right now a Nebraska recruiter is outside his office, waiting. A TV film crew is out here, waiting. A former player, Twan Russell, who played with the Redskins and Dolphins, is waiting, too.

Smith? He's sitting at the same desk he's sat at for 34 years, being interviewed by a high school reporter accompanied by his mother. The kid isn't even from St. Thomas. But he was assigned a story on someone who inspires other people and he thought of Smith. He even got a first-hand account in how the coach works.

"Do you ..." the kid mumbles.

"Speak up,'' Smith barks.

The kid speaks up. His mother covers a smile. That's what everyone gets from Smith. He is so hopelessly old-fashioned players are expected to say, "Yes sir,'' and, "No sir." He walks the school halls, confronting one kid, "How's your math going?" and another, "You get Spanish figured out?"

His wife schedules dinner at 10:30 each night, because she knows the phone won't stop ringing until then. A father whose son is in trouble. A parent needing college advice. A former player. A rival coach. Sometimes, the phone calls even are about football.

Smith's teams have won five state titles in Florida and the national title last year. But he teaches important lessons, too. That's why, a few years ago, a father brought his son to Smith to see about playing football at St. Thomas.

After a few minutes, Smith asked the father to leave the room. He wanted to talk to the son alone. It was the kid he'd be working with, after all. The father might just get in the way, the way fathers often do.

So Cris Carter left the room.

"I liked him doing that,'' Carter said.

Carter's son, Duron, made the 52-mile round trip from their Boca Raton home to St. Thomas each day. He also had a quick answer when his father flirted with taking over a high school program and asked if his son would transfer there.

"No way I'm leaving here,'' said Duron, now playing at Ohio State.

The story hasn't changed in three decades. Irvin's father once took his son into Smith's office, sight unseen, when Michael was getting into trouble at his public school. "I'd like him to play for you, if you'll have him," he said.

That part of Smith's reputation is renowned in South Florida's rich high school circles. This part isn't: When Irvin's father died a week before Michael's senior year, Smith met with Michael daily to talk. Just as he did when family problems plagued Russell. Multiply that across 34 years and you see the bigger picture.

You can see Smith's legacy across the country today by looking how Georgia's Gene Atkins and Notre Dame's Sam Young are Outland Trophy candidates. Or just flip through photos cataloged by years of players he still follows. Pick a year: 1984. Point to a name that's not football famous: Mike Delvisco.

"He's an engineer," Smith says.

Keith Evans.

"He's an FBI agent."

Another year: 1980. Another name: Cameron Benson.

"Cameron's the city manager in Hollywood (Florida)," Smith says.

Sometimes when the headlined world of sports gets too much -- too much money too much ego, just too much of what sports shouldn't be -- it's good to step down to its roots. Do you see how tomorrow is prepared here, as it is inside our best high schools?

St. Thomas has turned out some big sports names through the years: Brian Piccolo, Chris Evert, Sanya Richards. But none have made a bigger impact than the guy who's sat at this desk for 34 years behind the name plate that reads, in lieu of a name, "And you thought Lombardi was tough."

That's why, every Christmas Eve for the past 15 years, one former player, Mark Williams, quietly places a Christmas card outside Smith's doorstep. No knock. No hello. Just a card of thanks.

It's why a couple of decades ago another player, Scott Murray, awarded Smith the Excalibur sword that Air Force cadets receive upon graduation. Murray broke his neck at Air Force. Smith called the first day Murray could take calls. Then he called the next day and every day for the entire six months Murray was in the hospital.

It's why Cris Carter thought more recently how, as a parent, he could properly thank Smith for the good work done with his son. He struck on the only thing he could offer: Himself.

That's why, for the last five years, Carter has been an assistant at St. Thomas. He'll be on the sideline on Friday night as St. Thomas hosts second-ranked South Carolina Byrnes in a nationally televised showdown.

It's a big game by any measure, except the one these kids are prepping for in the decades ahead.

Dave Hyde is a columnist for the South Florida Sun Sentinel. He can be reached at dhyde@sunsentinel.com.