I was impressed by the well-written obituary for J. Hutchison Lewis. It mentioned his service in World War II. He worked with Morse Code and was able to remember and imitate the sounds and sometimes entertained us (his women’s basketball players at Red Bank High School) with “messages.” Conversely, much of what the man I knew simply as “Coach,” took place quietly.

I looked up the definition for “coach” in Webster’s Dictionary. It says “tutor, instructor.” When I think of the many years that Coach Lewis spent helping to mold the lives and futures of young women with whom I played basketball, the definition is woefully - even painfully - inadequate. He was so much more than that. His job description would have included: politician, judge, corrections officer, motivational speaker, press agent, teacher, trainer, transportation specialist, logistician, laborer, psychiatrist, psychologist and chaplain. And that’s just a partial list.

He had characteristics that made him a wonderful coach, an effective teacher, and one of the most outstanding human beings I ever had the opportunity to rub elbows with. When I met Coach Lewis, I believe he was in his early 50s. Yet he was unbelievably energetic and optimistic. He had a gift for assessing players not for what they were, but as their potential best and treating them accordingly. This talent was furthered by his ability to give the sort of individual attention that each of his “girls” required—whether that was the fierceness of a lion or the gentleness of a lamb. He possessed a make-up that every great coach needs: the wisdom of an owl, the stamina of an ox, the cunning of a fox, and the fortitude of an eagle supported by the heart of a kitten.

He gave freely of his time, his energy, his family life, his health and I suspect at times of his own wallet. In return, he received little financial reward, little comfort on earth, little privacy, little praise but probably more “helpful criticisms” than he needed from various sources. But one thing that he owned without question and freely was the love and respect of his players--not only in practice and on the basketball court, but every single day of his life. Now that he is gone, he will continue to have mine.

I am currently a practicing trauma and general surgeon at UT Hospital in Knoxville. I have done a cardio-thoracic surgery fellowship and I am boarded in critical care. I donate time to Doctors Without Borders and have provided surgical service to poor people in the US, Bolivia, China, Nicaragua, Sri Lanka, Nigeria and Iraq. I write national guidelines for trauma care through the auspices of Eastern Association of the Surgery for Trauma. I have published in the medical journals as well as public literature. When I am asked if there is anyone to whom I attribute my ability to accomplish all these things and more, my answer is my family, immediately followed by Hutch Lewis. He taught me to work hard, to be disciplined, to set goals and work toward them. He taught me not to step down on my teammates but to give them a hand up. He told me, “If you can’t be the best, then by all means, be the best you can be.”

I have applied these life lessons he taught me over and over again. And I will keep doing it. If you look amongst the ranks of women who were basketball players for Hutch Lewis, you will find outstanding women who followed in his steps, like Pat Lane at Central and Susan Thurmond at Red Bank High School. And you will find a host of excellent wives and mothers, politicians, doctors, lawyers, teachers, school principals and numerous other professionals that work hard every day and are valued members of their families and their communities.

Although Noah Webster may believe a coach is an instructor, I believe this coach was better than that. If you asked me to come up with a word for J. Hutchison Lewis that sums up what he meant to me, it would be “father.” Although most, but not all of us, had a father who cared about us and provided for us, Coach Lewis was a second father who took up where our own dads left off, taught us well and set us free to become our very best. I think nearly all of us have done that.

Many graves contain the saying, “Gone but not forgotten.” I don’t know what Donna Lewis plans to put on Coach Lewis’s grave, but this I do know. He is not forgotten. And as long as his players and the children and grandchildren of his former teams live and breathe, he won’t be gone either.

Sincerely,

Lou M. Smith, M.D.
Associate Professor of Surgery
University of Tennessee Medical Center
Knoxville, Tennessee