Remembering Dave Stein

I’ll

never forget how I met Dave Stein.

I was a youngster who hung with a bunch of kids in the neighborhood playing sports at the old Jefferson playground in Monessen.

Today, that playground is the main parking lot for Dalfonso-Billick Funeral Home.

Whether it was playing basketball, football or rubber- ball baseball, we lived on that playground all day long.

However, there were times when the older guys from the neighborhood would come and take over the playground to play football.

Most of the older guys didn’t treat the younger kids like us very well. They didn’t care if we were in the middle of a game, we had to stop.

It was their playground then.

If they were one or two guys short for their game, they allowed (forced is more like it) one or two of us to “participate” as basically steady rushers in the tag football game.

A steady rusher’s sole purpose was to keep the quarterback from running the ball on pass patterns. On offense, they NEVER were thrown to.

While they played their game, they would use us to make the trip to Greco’s Market near the high school to get them soda, chips, candy or cigarettes. And they always wanted their change back, even if it was just a nickel or dime.

The older guys were a tough crowd.

Among them was a diminutive guy who was fleet afoot and was a good receiver with soft hands who made all the catches in traffic.

He was very competitive, very fluid.

More important, unlike most of his buddies, he treated us little kids with kindness.

That was Dave Stein. Because he was both talented and kind, I was drawn to Stein while I feared most of the others.

My thoughts went back to those days over the weekend when I found out that Stein had died at the age of 70 after a short battle with cancer.

Stein’s ability in football was not limited to Jefferson playground.

Even though he stood about 5-8 and weighed maybe 145 pounds with rocks in his pockets, he was a starter at receiver for the powerful Monessen Greyhounds in the early 1970s. He wore No. 88 and those numbers seemed to take up his entire jersey.

He played on the ’72 team that featured Bubby Holmes and Tony Benjamin in the backfield.

He was so proud of the fact, despite his size, he was good enough to play on those teams.

When I started my career as a local sports writer, our friendship blossomed not only because of our love for the Greyhounds, but the Steelers as well.

Dave always liked talking about his years as a Greyhound and his beloved Steelers. I was always a willing participant in those conversations.

Dave and his wife, Tina, had two children, David and Alicia.

Both were solid basketball players at Monessen and their dad was their biggest supporter. He went to all the games. Our talks immediately changed from his days as a Greyhound to his kids.

While Dave was so proud of his kids, he didn’t like to brag about them. He did love when somebody else spoke about their abilities in glowing fashion. He knew that praise for his kids always meant more when they came from somebody else.

When David made a shot from three-quarters away from the basket to beat Bentworth on the road one night, I wrote about it and Dave loved it.

When Alicia had the game of her life shooting 3-pointers in the Greyhounds’ PIAA championship win in Hershey, I wrote about it and Dave loved it.

Whenever I saw him after that, our talks always were about his kids’ careers and, of course, the Steelers.

Sadly, I didn’t see him at all over the last 20 years or so because he had an illness that wouldn’t allow him to leave the house.

It was such a sad state of affairs for a guy who I remember as so vibrant, so caring, so full of life.

When his kids were playing sports, I always looked for him in the gym because of how he treated me as a kid.

I missed our conversations because Dave had a way of treating everyone as an equal, even a young fat kid who wasn’t happy that his time on the playground was cut short by the older guys.

He was one of the older guys and I was one of the younger kids who didn’t matter.

Yet we were equal in his eyes. That always meant a lot to me.

And I’m not surprised at all about the outstanding character the Stein kids have as adults and parents, themselves.

They had great role models in Dave and Tina.

I hate the fact that Dave’s illness caused him to miss so much of his later life.

I hold close the fact I had the chance to get to know him, back in those days when we absolutely hated seeing his crew take over our playground.

He could have been mean spirited and a bully as most of his buddies, but he wasn’t cut from that cloth. He was a high character person.

And today I feel better for that.

I will miss my friend. I felt compelled to tell his story, not only as a little guy who was still a difference maker on the field, but also because he was a difference maker off it as well.

Thanks, Dave, for the memories.

Anyone with any thoughts, opposing views or comments on this column can reach Jeff Oliver by emailing justjto@verizon.net.