By BJ Bennett
SouthernPigskin.com

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What Bobby Bowden did was treat others the way they hoped to be treated; it was his garnet and golden rule.

When I was eleven years old, I did my science fair project on the Florida State football team: Did the Seminoles Play Better at Home or on the Road? Though it wasn’t a very ambitious muse, it turned out to be a meaningful one. With all due respect to my younger brother’s snarky study on the effectiveness of structured water flow stoppage, research he proudly called My Dam Project, it was mine that became a lifelong story and ultimately came with lifelong lessons.

First, my hard work came with a handshake from a hero.

In a trip I became more amazed by as I grew older, I was actually able to go to Tallahassee and meet with Bobby Bowden to discuss my simple school assignment. He, even for something so trivial, was engaging and gracious and took his time in visiting with me and my mother. Though I didn’t fully appreciate the scope and scale of meeting with one of the most famous college football coaches in the country, a recent national champion, at the time, his humanity is part of what made the moment seem so normal. He was a superstar to so many, but, in that moment, he was just Coach Bowden. He was authentic, genuine and true.

Bowden always treated everyone like they mattered. Even a wide-eyed grade-schooler with his notebook and his mother.

That meeting, and later watching the man who helped me win first prize at the local science fair competition, helped lay some of the foundation for how I saw the world and wanted to treat people. My parents, with a father who served his country for over 40 years and a mother who constantly taught my brother and I the importance of commitment and volunteerism, have undoubtedly and overwhelmingly shaped my life and my perspective. They raised us in a warm and welcoming home full of absolute love and levity.

Though it may sound trite, somewhere in that framing is a brick laid by Bobby.

I would go on to be fortunate enough to able to meet Bowden a number of times in the years to come. On each occasion, he was the exact same: affable, approachable and friendly. Bowden talked to you like he knew you. Every visit, however brief, was like seeing a far-away relative or a long-lost friend. Whether through media or memory, Bowden became part of my family’s extended frame of reference. Our interactions with him made us feel that way. We all shared a commonality in our respect and admiration for Bowden.

Growing up, you always pay close attention to your role models. One of mine smiled, winked and said “dadgummit” and wore a straw hat. He also won and won a lot. Somehow, that still seemed secondary. How Bowden carried himself, how he treated people, how he cared for others; those traits resonated with me, even at a very young age. Whether I knew it or not, I was paying attention to how he lived his life. There was an old-fashioned charm and hospitality to this man that stood out in the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

Though Bowden was one of the biggest names in sports in the 1990s, who he was become more mesmerizing than all that he did.

Indirectly, at least, we all learned from Bowden. I found his charisma to be captivating. I found his positivity to be uplifting. I found his faith to be affirming. I watched his press conferences, read his books and shared his axioms with a sense of reverence and a grin. Bowden had a remarkable ability to be both modest and witty, humble and profound. He was a southern gentleman with a competitive streak that took him all of the way to the top of the college football mountain. Even from there, he never looked down on anyone.

When I was 14 years old, I was diagnosed with Type I Diabetes. It, compounded with some other health problems, was a very difficult time in my life. One day, I got a package delivered to my hospital room. It was a personalized autograph from Bowden, along with some other memorabilia. The power of that picture wasn’t just that it was signed by one of the greatest in the history of the game, rather that his character made it seem like it was a letter from someone who cared. It was an extension of all of the times I had talked with him before. It felt like he was rooting for me.

That ability to influence and inspire, even from afar, is an ultimate measure of greatness.

As I aged and my circumstances changed, Bowden, just as he had always been, was still right there. Through new schools, new friends and new challenges, I could always count on Bowden to be just a remote or a refresh away. I mostly knew what he was going to say and how he was going to say it because, quite frankly, it seemed like I knew who he was. I felt like I knew him. There was a comfort in that consistency. Conversations about, around and with Bowden were an important part of my upbringing.

The man I talked about and the man I met were always one and the same.

When I was 16 years old, I was invited by a family friend to attend an Fellowship of Christian Athletes banquet where Bowden was set to speak. My seat was actually at his personal table, with me being one of just a people stationed alongside the very man who everyone was there to see. Needless to say, it was a busy night for Bowden. Beyond delivering his personal testimony, Bowden was meeting and greeting everyone in attendance, making it a point to be as personable as always. It was overwhelming watching him work.

During some relative downtime that night, I, as a young sports writer, approached the legend with what I now look back on as an incredibly unprofessional request. I had printed off a story on him I had written on my blog and approached him with hopes that he might sign it. What I was asking Bowden was profoundly out of place and it would have been completely understandable had he declined. Bowden, upon my request, did not stop and autograph my article. He sat down, read the entire story right in front of me and then signed the paper with a personal note.

In a situation where I was clearly in the wrong, Bowden still made it right.

When I was 25 years old, I was in the press box for the 2010 Gator Bowl matchup between Florida State and West Virginia, Bowden’s famed last game. It was a surreal scene, with the entire college football world, from national media to countless former Seminole stars on the sidelines, focused on that field. The setting was one incomporable career blended into one emotional afternoon. As the crowd chanted his name in the final moments of the 33-21 win, then hundreds rushed his way as the contest ended, my memories did the exact same.

There was a sense of awe to the post-game press conference. Media room overflowing, reporters frantically chronicled Bowden’s every word. Each time he paused for reflection, it seemed the sport stopped, too. A collective affection beamed towards the podium alongside the bright lights and camera flashes. When Bowden’s wife Anne fittingly and lovingly ended the session by kindly telling her husband it was time to go, everyone watching shared a smile. As the Bowdens walked away, they tugged at the hearts of many.

Multiple times as a young adult in the early stages of my professional career, I saw Bowden at games or events. There was always a welcoming sincerity to his greetings and a thoughtful quip to his conversations. Covering him at ACC Media Days, for example, where there was often some extra time to talk, Bowden made me feel like he remembered me, knew me and genuinely wanted to know how I was doing. Each meeting felt like a reunion. Those simplest of interactions were encouraging, humbling and meaningful.

As many people will tell you, the Bowden you saw or heard from afar was the Bowden you got in person. He offered his energy, fellowship and passion to everyone. Bowden always took the time to look you in the eye and listen. His approach always made you feel respected. Even when attention of the room was directly on Bowden, as it often was, his focus was always on others. That wasn’t just a lesson in the moment, but part of his legacy overall.

What Bowden did was treat others the way they hoped to be treated; it was his garnet and golden rule.

The glow from the brightest of lights was a shine that Bowden was eager to share. He tried to help you feel what he felt. Bowden wanted you to be at your best, whether you played for him or not. While Bowden was revolutionizing college football, he was reassuring those who played, covered and watched it. There was great power in that perspective, as how Bowden saw you could help change how you saw yourself.

When crowds of fans followed Bowden, he, in some ways, was bringing them with him.

“Coach Bowden touched his players and he touched his coaches, but he touched the regular fan that he may have only seen time because he made that person feel that they were important,” explained former Florida State star, first round NFL Draft pick and Super Bowl Champion Dexter Carter. “That’s what, of many things, was very special about him because he made everybody feel valued. He was the same way with everybody.”

Part of what makes my personal experience so incredible is that are countless more examples just like it. That is the wonderful impact Bowden had on people. On a field 120 yards long and 53-and-a-half yards wide, his influence knew no bounds. In a game played for 60 minutes, the Bowden era is timeless. Though Bowden won over 400 career games, his true triumphs, found in the hearts and minds and on the school display boards of so many, are well beyond measure.

Sadly, college football just lost a incomparable original in Bobby Bowden. All that he represented will long remain.