This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2015, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

Sandy • Jerry Richardson mailed his Christmas card to his former football coach, Rick Bojak, this past December. More than three decades removed from their time together at Jordan High School, the holiday season is Richardson's way of staying in touch, having lived in Arizona for 24 years.

He decided to include his email this time. Days later, he received a photograph of Bojak at the Festival of Trees, and he knew right away: Coach was dying.

Bojak's ailing frame has since weakened to 134 pounds. The man who once epitomized strong health is fighting Lou Gehrig's disease (ALS). It's been three years since doctors told him three years was all he had left.

"I was just shocked," Richardson said. "At that point, I started thinking: 'What can I do for him?'"

Richardson, who eventually played collegiately at Weber State, had contemplated transferring in high school. Football was his passion, and Jordan football stunk. It was the worst in Class 3A, if not the entire state. That perception changed with Bojak's arrival in 1980.

Behind unique methods of motivation, including visualization and goal-setting — both new concepts at the Sandy school — Bojak reshaped the downtrodden program. In his second season (1981) — Richardson's senior year — he guided the Beetdiggers to the state championship. But it was the effort Bojak dedicated to each individual, scheduling one-on-one meetings to ensure every player reached their academic and athletic potential, that left an impression on his players.

So Richardson phoned two former teammates — Flynn Andrizzi and Bryan Washburn — knowing they, too, shared the same admiration for their old mentor.

"Many of the successes I've had in life are in direct correlation to the things he taught us," said Washburn. "… For me, personally, he was one of the most influential men in my life."

The three began searching. They intended to invite every senior from the 1981 team to a surprise tribute in Bojak's honor, most of whom they'd subsequently lost contact with after graduation. After several months, they secured 19 commitments from ex-teammates scattered across multiple states.

"We all felt so strongly that this individual had done so much to change all of our lives," Washburn said. "We wanted him to know how significant he was."

In late February, Richardson told Bojak he was planning a weekend skiing getaway with his son, wanted to reconnect while he was still in town, and asked if he could treat Bojak to dinner. Bojak gladly accepted.

That evening, an unsuspecting Bojak froze — overcome with shock and emotion — as applause began to crescendo in the reserved room of Jim's Restaurant. He had spent his entire life sculpting youth for the future, and as he panned the crowd, looking into the eyes of grown adults, he realized his work truly was meaningful.

"I really can't express my feeling on it. It was absolutely wonderful. It brought tears to my eyes," Bojak said, his voice increasingly fragile with each passing syllable. "I didn't want the night to end. I was a little bit sick at the time, and we were still there for four hours."

Players shared stories of success and failure. One credited Bojak with saving his life. Drowning his depression from losing a family member with liquor, he wandered the streets, questioning his desire to continue living. Bojak picked him up. Others related parenting techniques and business practices they learned from Bojak, while another compared two-a-days to his experience in military boot camps.

"Being in the Marines was not as hard as running those sand hills," he said, laughing.

Bojak was presented a football made of Tiffany crystal and a scrapbook with pictures past and present, from football to family — which in many ways were one in the same that night.

Richardson concluded the evening with one final story. He asked if anyone remembered a particular speech Bojak gave about the cherished moments they could create. The coach challenged them with conflicting choices: They could spend Saturday mornings watching cartoons, or they could come together in practice, to accomplish something special, something they'd remember the rest of their lives.

They chose the latter.

"And here we are, 30 years later," Richardson said. "And look at the memories we've got."

Twitter: @trevorphibbs