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John McKissick
Gary Smith
October 18, 1993
He told his team he was sorry. Sorry about the boom mike hanging over his head like a dang halo everywhere he paced on the sideline. Sorry about the microphone wires poking out of his shirt, the photographers enclosing him at every turn, the reporters at practice all week and in the middle of the game's halftime pep talk. Sorry about the 406 thing. He wouldn't do it to them again, he promised. If they could just get it over with, he would go back to being what he had been for 42 years, a small-town South Carolina high school football coach.
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October 18, 1993

John Mckissick

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The people of Summerville, who once postponed Halloween because it fell on a game night, scratched their heads trying to figure out how to recognize McKissick's feat. They couldn't give him a whole corner of the little county museum; they had already done that. They couldn't do anything showy; John would hate it. They couldn't make the azaleas bloom. So they decided to keep the lights of the town square ablaze all this week, night and day. One fixture burning for another.

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