DON WENDT grew up on an 80-acre farm near Battle Ground and graduated from Battle Ground High School. Wendt decided to write a 70-page narrative that includes a collection of stories from his life.
If there was ever someone who should share some anecdotal stories from his life, it would be Don Wendt.
And, the long-time area resident has done just that.
Wendt grew up on an 80-acre farm near Battle Ground and graduated from Battle Ground High School. He later coached and was a teacher at Ridgefield High School before spending the majority of his career doing the same at Woodland High School.
As I was growing up in Stevenson, I had the great pleasure of playing and coaching sports in the Trico League. Among my earliest memories of high school sports in the Trico was hearing stories about Wendt, who was as well known for his colorful personality and antics as he was for his success.
Later in life, I had the pleasure of meeting Don and getting to know him a little bit. What I found was that he was even more entertaining of a man than the legendary stories about him had indicated. And, he has a greater depth to his personality and character than I knew before.
In our fall sports special section, I wrote a column musing about my love for high school sports. One of the examples I used to illustrate my fondness for prep sports was my observations of Don and the stories others had shared with me about him.
Shortly after my column appeared in the paper, I was pleased to get a visit here at the office from Don. We visited and he shared with me something that I very much want to share with you for two reasons.
First of all, those of you who know Don will absolutely love reading about his life. But, even more importantly, I think what he did is something all of us should do at some point and I applaud him for what he has done, both in life and in putting some of his history down on paper.
Introduction
“There are many parts of my dad’s life that I wanted to know more about, but by the time I was old enough to ask the right questions he wasn’t around anymore,’’ Wendt wrote in the introduction to his collection of stories.
“Most of us ordinary people have no written history of our life, probably because no one is interested in reading it,’’ he later added. “For that person out there that might be curious and for my two daughters I have written about a few segments of my life. I am not proud of all of the chapters of my life, but to the best of my knowledge, every word is true.’’
Wendt’s 70 pages are just that, a collection of stories, only loosely chronological and mostly without a great deal of context. But, they are quite enlightening and more than just mildly amusing. As I was reading it in my office, I kept interrupting the work of my fellow reporters with my repeated chuckles that would inevitably lead to my sharing of one of Wendt’s anecdotal accounts.
Here’s just a few:
Dammit Joe
“In my family, I was always called Joe,’’ Wendt wrote. “I am told my mom wanted to name me Don. My dad said, ‘Alright, you can name him Don but I will call him Joe.’ Without exception all of my family called me Joe. Except for my dad, who often called me ‘Dammit Joe.’ ’’
Damn Cops
“Driving the speed limit has always been a challenge for me,’’ Wendt wrote. “The road leading to our house is straight and the maximum speed was 35 mph. Then as more houses were built the limit was changed to 25 mph. It became a challenge for me to stay within the 25 mph limit.
“During the course of one year, I was stopped by the city police in the same area of Insel Road five times, mostly by the same officer. Two or three times he gave me a verbal warning. He would constantly cause the violation by parking behind the Mormon church and I would not see him until I had passed him. Eventually when I saw him, I would just pull over to the side of the road and wait for him.
“By then we had become rather close and I know he didn’t want to give me another ticket. He finally asked, in apparent exasperation, ‘Don, what do I have to do to keep from arresting you?’ I said, ‘Stop hiding behind the Mormon church.’
“He did, the speeding problem was over and life went on,’’ Wendt concluded.
Small towns
“People in small towns tend to be more trusting of each other,’’ Wendt wrote. “Of course through the years there is less closeness and trust at all levels.
“When I was in junior high and high school at Battle Ground, I turned out for three sports annually. There was no activity bus to take student athletes home from practice so I hitch hiked home from each practice. I lived on 2 and one half miles from school. I cannot remember one time I was not given a ride.
“Years later, in 1965, I moved to Woodland. Around 1968 our TV quit working. In those days if your car had to stay overnight to be repaired, you were given a ‘loaner’ to drive until your car was fixed; without charge for the loaner. I took my TV to the local electronics repairman (lets call him Walt). Of course there were no computers and it was more difficult to keep accurate records.
“Walt took my TV to be repaired and gave me a loaner to use until ours was fixed,’’ Wendt wrote. “About three years later the ‘loaner’ TV quit so I took it back to ‘Walt’ hoping to get my original set back. We searched his shop thoroughly but could not find the original set. He ended up giving me a new set to replace his loaner.’’
Almost punked
When I wrote about Wendt in our fall sports tab, I recalled a couple of the stories I had heard about Wendt over the years. One of those stories was about a district playoff basketball game that he coached in 1979.
Wendt’s Woodland team had traveled to the game in Chehalis with the wrong set of uniforms. After a series of events, the Beavers were able to play the game wearing a set of purple jerseys (Woodland’s school colors are green and yellow). Woodland was considered considerable underdogs to the Rochester team they played that night but the Beavers won and went on to a seventh-place finish at the state tournament.
I wrote in my September column that many of us thought Wendt had orchestrated the chaotic scene as an act of gamesmanship, but he tells the real story in his writing, dispelling the myth that I had unintentionally created.
Wonderful Wendt-isms
There’s obviously more stories in Wendt’s writing than I can share here. We included a link to the entire 70 pages with this column here online. In it, you can read more of Don’s thoughts such as:
“When I was 5, I fell out of the car on a gravel road. (But I haven’t done it since.)”
“When I was 8 years old I was riding my horse, Gypsy. She ran under the clothesline and left me hanging out to dry.’’
Reach Don Wendt at (360) 225-0977, (360) 225-8704, on his cell phone at (360) 430-8158 or via email at wendtgolfn@yahoo.com.
