Paradise Found by Bill Plaschke

Author:Bill Plaschke [Plaschke, Bill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-09-23T00:00:00+00:00

Eight

Hopper

AUGUST 30, 2019

The law of faith, Working through love, upon their hearts shall write, to guide them in all truth.

For some on the Paradise Bobcats, the fire lived in their heads, leading them to the football field to seek respite.

“It’s the only thing that has any importance in our lives,” said Lukas Hartley.

For others, the fire lived in their hearts, pushing them to recklessly attack their football opponents as if their foes were holding a gas can and matches.

“We’re way more focused, we’re not messing around, we act like the other team took our homes from us instead of that fire,” said running back and safety J. D. Webster.

For 370-pound coach Andy Hopper, the fire simmered and stewed and baked in his belly. The Sunday after game two, it exploded.

Hopper, forty-seven, was the team’s emotional touchstone. He was not only their offensive line coach but also their connection: the one who screamed at them, joked with them, cried with them. This emotional behemoth knew how to reach those crazy mountain folk because he was one of them.

“He is the one who really speaks to us,” said Hartley.

Hopper grew up on the hill, in the rural burg of Magalia, just outside of Paradise, with his mother in what was essentially a two-bedroom garage. His father, Bert, died when Hopper was six, but the boy never knew him because Bert had spent most of those years incarcerated for selling heroin. Officials released his father from jail when he was dying of cancer, leading to an unusual farewell between father and son. Although Bert was only forty-seven, the drugs had aged him, and he was withered, with gray hair and beard.

“Boy, do you know who I am?” asked the father.

“Santa Claus?” said the son.

“That’s right.”

So Hopper went through much of his childhood believing that his father was Santa Claus. He had two photos of his father. Both were lost in the fire.

Hopper spent much of his childhood hanging out at the Optimo Casino Club, a local dive bar and restaurant owned by his grandfather Red Hyatt. There was a card room in back, hookers in front, and Hopper hanging out with everyone, eating prawns in the kitchen and maraschino cherries from the bar while doing his homework in the storage room.

“I loved being there; it taught me that everybody is worth something,” he said fondly. “Besides, I could never be left at home. I’d eat everything in sight!”

Hopper grew up with a collection of mountain buddies, running wild, no direction. The back roads were their home, the laws their own. He sported a green Mohawk haircut and a hyperactive nature. He sewed his own clothes or wore Kmart T-shirts over spandex pants. He and his buddies fought their own wars. Somebody’s alcoholic father beat up somebody’s mother? Hopper’s gang would rough up the guy. Racing up the mountain lanes? Check. Disappearing for a few days in the woods to hunt and fish, even as young teenagers? Check. Getting thrown off the school bus for crawling under the seats and tickling girls’ feet? Check.

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