At Driscoll, everybody is a fundraiser to 'give us a chance'

As Driscoll's athletic director it's not necessarily Bob Carlson's job to raise funds.

In the wake of last Thursday's announcement by Christian Brothers of the Midwest District to close the Addison school after this academic year, it's all hands on deck. And face it, athletics is a large part of what makes the Highlanders tick.

Contacted Wednesday, Carlson said a Tuesday night rally at the school added $110,000 to a kitty that stood at more than $260,000.

"And more is coming in today," Carlson said.

In addition to presenting the Christian Brothers with a viable long-term business plan, Driscoll will need more, much more toward its million-dollar goal. On Wednesday Carlson was encouraged by people stepping forth with donations "without us even asking."

At a vocal meeting held at the school the night after the Christian Brothers' sudden announcement, Driscoll received a deadline of April 20 to, Carlson said, "give us a chance" to remain open. The first day back from Driscoll's spring break will be circled in red on Highlanders calendars.

"Things are moving quickly, there's not much time to think," Carlson said. 'It's act and react.

"But they're going well, at least better than they were last Thursday. At least they're (Christian Brothers) listening to us. Last week it was a done deal."

Hallowed ground

Perhaps it's common knowledge to some, but this writer's driven through the Benet Academy parking lot for years without ever noticing the small cemetery nestled against the property line on the west, nearly a long foul straight back from the baseball field.

Obscured by overhanging tree branches although an open chain-link fence door invites visitors, the cemetery is a reflection of the Lisle high school's early days as the St. Joseph Bohemian Orphanage, where the occupants of St. Procopius Abbey and Sacred Heart Monastery provided care to homeless children. The orphanage operated from 1899-1956.

According to the Web site for St. Procopius Abbey, interred in the Benet cemetery are 23 people. At least 10 of whom were orphans who died in their teens or younger. Some others, the Web site said, left the orphanage but asked to be buried in the cemetery upon their passing.

He's got pop

Batting leadoff and playing center field for Naperville North's baseball team is junior Charlie White, a left-handed hitter who looks to put pressure on opposing defenses with good hands at the plate and speed on the basepaths.

He plays a lot like his dad, Brian, a first-year assistant baseball coach after six years with the Huskies football program.

Mature observers - we're going back to Naperville North's early varsity days in the late 1970s - will remember Brian White as a right-handed hitting shortstop who terrorized the DuPage Valley Conference with speed and contact.

An inaugural member of Naperville North's Athletic Hall of Fame, Brian White earned nine varsity letters and all-conference honors in football, basketball and baseball. Among the baseball program records he holds are career marks for hits (116), stolen bases (77) and total bases (261).

After graduating in 1979, he went on to become a two-time all-Big Ten baseball player at the University of Illinois. He's in the Illini career top 10 in runs, triples, stolen bases and games, and he hit a program-record 4 doubles in a 1982 game.

Now he gets to coach his son on the same high school field he once ruled.

"It's one of those dad's dreams," Brian White said.

"I've coached him all through Little League and Pony League and travel baseball. It's been fun. And this is a riot. Probably not for him, but for me. He gets the wrath."

It can't be that bad.

"It's good to have my dad as a coach," Charlie said. "I mean, not many kids get to do that."

Charlie plays with the same aggressive style as his pop, but he hits left-handed and also pitches, which Brian White never did.

"Go figure," Brian said. "He picked up the bat, and I turned him into a left-handed hitter at a young age - probably 6 months. He just threw the ball lefty, and that was the end of it. Or the beginning of it."

Charlie can't recall his ball-playing origins - which lends credence to his dad's story.

"I have no idea," Charlie White said. "He probably just made me a lefty when I was a kid. I'm probably lucky I'm not a shortstop because he'd be getting on me all the time."

doberhelman@dailyherald.com