When I was teaching and coaching at Piscataquis Community High School in Guilford, I underwent a series of interviews and tests to see if I had what it takes to pursue a business career.

The Hannaford Brothers-sponsored program put prospective business candidates through a couple of rigorous eight-hour sessions, covering everything from career counseling to career analysis through Alpha hypnosis.

A couple of years later, with my hand still in professional basketball through scouting, I landed at John Bapst Memorial High School in Bangor as an English teacher and a boys varsity basketball coach.

I was still on the fence a bit about career choices. I was 32 years old, and I had made a pretty good reputation in coaching. Then I got sick.

Hereditary renal disease hit me like a ton of bricks that fall of 1983.

If I doubted that I belonged in education and coaching, those doubts went by the wayside after checking into Eastern Maine Medical Center to treat the malady.

I remember waking up in the wee hours of the morning thinking somebody else was in my room. The light was dim, but I could see a couple of kids, dressed in purple letter jackets, sitting beside my bed.

When the early morning first shift of nurses came on, one of them touched me on the shoulder and told me they had quite a problem out in the hall.

“We need your help, Mr. Brown,” she said.

Still confused from sleep, I sat up in bed. I remember muttering something. The nurse kept talking.

“The halls of the fourth floor are lined on both sides with kids,” she continued. “The front desk doesn’t know what to do with them all. We’ve never seen such a crowd.”

The students and players came in shifts all that day and the next night.

Finally, a faculty member emerged from the crowd and leaned over my bed, attempting to explain to me this purple and white phenomenon which had engulfed the corridors of the hospital.

“Did you hear?” she asked.

“Hear what?” I muttered.

“Your basketball captains -Joe MacDonald and Pat Culumovic – asked to have an assembly yesterday. They assigned each student enrolled at Bapst a specific time when they could visit you. Every kid at that school – each and every one of them – had a partner, and they all showed up. It’s been amazing.”

When I was downstairs in dialysis, those kids decorated my room, top to bottom. I’ve never seen so many posters, cards, and balloons in one place.

In all my years of working with kids, I never really knew the impact a teacher, or a coach, for that matter, had on kids until that 30-plus day stay in the hospital.

The faculty had their own meeting and decided that each teacher would kick in one sick day for me in case I went over my allotted 15 days.

Consider that generosity, then consider how uplifting it would be to know that all parties at your school were pitching in to help you get back on your feet again.

To this day, I get emotional with each retelling of the story. It is not an exaggeration to tell you that from the time school got out each day at 1:30 p.m. until the time school started at 8 a.m. the next day, I was never alone in that room.

As the basketball season winded down, I set a goal for myself of coaching our last home game. I had fought my way through most of the early games, figuring I had the flu – like an idiot – but the games I finally missed were covered by our assistants, Jim Nahra and Bob Cimbollek.

I wanted to return for our last countable game against Bangor Christian, return, that is, without telling the kids.

As luck would have it, my treatment that day didn’t go well. In fact, that day was awful, but I was bound and determined to coach that game. The nurses helped me get ready. They even bought me a rose for my sports jacket.

The only other people who knew my intentions were our coaches and my good friend Joe Floyd, of course.

We entered the rear exit of the Bangor Auditorium, and both sides of the hall erupted as people saw us come in. The kids were already warming up when they spotted me making my way to the bench.

It was the most emotional game of my career. It certainly reinforced in my mind that my career choice had been a good one.

NEWS columnist Ron Brown, a retired high school basketball coach, can be reached at bdnsports@bangordailynews.net