Coach's love for Special Olympians honored

PROVO - Gary Slaymaker stood at the finish line, trying to hug athletes who mostly just wanted to keep running.

Special Olympics hooked him that day, 35 years ago. And this week, the Riverton resident was named the Special Olympics Coach of the Year for North America.

Even without the award, Slaymaker would still enjoy a kind of "Yoda" aura during the Special Olympics Utah Summer Games at Brigham Young University. It's impossible for him to eat lunch, conduct an interview or anything else without a steady parade of athletes of all ages coming up to show him a medal, tell him how they're preparing for the next event or discuss a post-competition party at the motel.

Slaymaker kids them, advises them and sometimes ignores them, teaching them not to interrupt. He excels in working with children and adults with intellectual disabilities, mostly by treating them the same as other athletes. He is demanding, making sure they try hard, support their teammates and follow the rules.

"I have fun with them," he said. "I badger them and they badger me back. When they screw up, I get in their face."

And his influence extends beyond the members of the Hartvigsen Howlers. That's Slaymaker's 65-athlete team from a Granite School District special education program, ranging in age from 8 to 64 and easily recognizable this weekend by their tie-dyed T-shirts.

"He doesn't just coach his own team," said Allyson Burt, a Hartvigsen assistant.

That's among the reasons Slaymaker was honored from among 90,000 certified coaches from the United States, Canada, Mexico and the Caribbean. His coaching success is reflected by the Hartvigsen athletes and by the growth of Special Olympics Utah, now involving some 2,200 athletes and requiring qualifying events for the Summer Games.

"Special Olympics has evolved a lot in 36 years," said JD Donnelly, president and CEO of Special Olympics Utah, "and Gary's evolved right with it."

Slaymaker was there almost from the start. A friend, Brent Anderson, convinced him to volunteer to help with a track meet as a University of Utah student. He still jokes about trying to hug the athletes, only to have them keep running. Recently, the designated hugger's role was eliminated in an effort to make Special Olympics more like a traditional sporting event.

In any case, Slaymaker long ago found his niche. Besides coaching athletes in most of the 20 sports conducted in Special Olympics, Slaymaker has a more demanding full-time job working with severely handicapped students at Hartvigsen. Part of that role involves explaining to some parents that their children will never be able to do certain things, such as walk or talk.

"I'm not a miracle worker," he said.

Yet he can find ways for students to succeed, or help determine a reasonable definition of success. Working with Special Olympics athletes also takes just the right touch, knowing how much to push them before they become frustrated and finding ways to teach them at a pace they can handle.

"It's hard to work with some of these kids," he said, "but I love what they can accomplish."

It requires innovation, such as Slaymaker's trick of tying strings around basketball players' waists to keep them from leaving their assigned areas in a zone defense.

Another secret: It's not all about winning, even though Special Olympics athletes are now being influenced by the pros they watch on television as much as anyone else is.

"I didn't think that would happen," he said.

So Slaymaker finds himself dealing with sportsmanship issues, among other problems. And he has a knack for dealing with the athletes.

"The man has the patience of angels," Burt said. "He knows when to tease; he knows when to discipline, and he does it respectfully."

Slaymaker's attention to his athletes was illustrated in a couple of ways Thursday night, when he nearly caused a problem with the Opening Ceremony. Burt marveled how he managed to keep the team from getting restless while waiting to march into BYU's baseball stadium. Later, though, he was prepared to take a misbehaving athlete home before officials intervened.

They had kept Slaymaker's award a secret, and they could not let him leave and miss the presentation.

He was a reluctant winner. "He's not very good at accepting praise," Donnelly said.

The tributes included a speech from an athlete, Donna Schurtz, who said, "Gary has more confidence in me than I have in myself."

Hundreds of Utah athletes call him "coach," even if he never actually coached them. That's why Burt said, "I hope and pray that he continues to coach."

But he's 55, has taught for 27 years and knows he could devote more time to his own family. As much as he downplays his contribution, Slaymaker is trying to convince himself that Special Olympics would go on without him.

Or that he could go on without it.

"My problem is, I can't quit," he said. "I have a bad habit: I like what I do. . . . It's like, 'Have I done enough?' ''

That's a tricky subject. They gave him a major award this week, and Special Olympics organizers, coaches and athletes believe Slaymaker has done far more than his share. But they also don't want him to realize that just yet.

kkragthorpe@sltrib.com