By MONTE DUTTON

It’s difficult to describe a man simply from a panorama of nearly half a century.

Richard Brinsley Sheridan had a righteous voice.

Football players did what he told them. He told them to win. He molded them to be indomitable. They expected to win.

Dick Sheridan died in Myrtle Beach, where he has lived since he stepped down as head football coach at North Carolina State, on Thursday. I saw him two years ago and told him a funny story he said he’d forgotten. We left laughing.

Part of Clay Hendrix’s statement – the current Furman head coach played for Sheridan at Furman in the 1980s – read: “The lessons he taught and example he set for so many still resonate with us all.  I can assure you there are a bunch of older guys like me with incredibly heavy hearts today. The class, integrity, care for his players, and competitiveness he always displayed will forever be part of those who knew him. What he accomplished at Furman was nothing short of remarkable. The impact he made on so many young men will last for years to come. He was such a special man, and our thoughts and prayers are with the Sheridan family.”

When I arrived at Furman, Sheridan was the most popular Art Baker assistant. When Baker left for the Citadel in 1978, Sheridan succeeded him and took the Paladins to new heights. I worked under him as equipment manager, for the athletics department as sports information director and then under him again when he became athletics director in his final two seasons at Furman. We had our differences at the end, but the main reason I left the public-relations business was because I realized I was too hardheaded to be anything but a writer whose perspective was independent. It wasn’t because of Sheridan. Jene Davis, the basketball coach, was the one who made it difficult for me to look at myself in a mirror.

So suddenly I find out Sheridan died at age 81. I can’t imagine him dead or 81. I’ve been wondering why he’s not still coaching for 31 years. He was a natural. Mountains moved to keep him contented. Losing wasn’t worth its consequences.

I’ve never known anyone who hated looking stupid more.

At the Southern Conference preseason meetings – it was known inexplicably as “a rouser” – Sheridan and I roomed together. He wasn’t much of a mingler. He came across as distant in social settings. He was something of a Puritan in public demeanor. I was something of a Bohemian.

He broke the tension by saying, “Look, you go out and make friends with the media,” he said. “It’s just not my style. That’s what I’ve got you for.”

Being the obedient employee, I enjoyed myself, drinking beer, swapping tales, winning friends and trying my best to offset Furman’s stuffy image. I also enjoyed such strictly professional endeavors for many years after I’d waded the river to the Fourth Estate. Being a scribe used to be fun. As best I can tell, most of them play video games now.

I came in at about 3 a.m., and even in my delicate condition, realized the room was not equipped with water floors. Sheridan had turned on the shower, forgotten to make sure the drain in the shower was open, answered the phone and talked so long that the room flooded.

He got up at no later than 7, and I rolled over, mildly hung over, and asked, “Coach, uh, what’s the deal with the carpet?”

Perry Mason never drew more anguish from a murderer than my question. Admitting he had done something stupid aged him. Sheridan grimaced. He stammered. He hurried to the shower he had been planning to use the night before, and I was so amused I couldn’t go back to sleep.

Another time he locked his keys in the car, and while he was giving an Atlanta columnist more time than even he had dreamed of, I slipped out and found a coathanger. A façade of perfection was restored. It was always Sheridan’s aspiration.

As I remember Sheridan, I dwell on his fallible moments because they were rare.

It’s no wonder N.C. State hired him. His teams beat the Wolfpack twice.

Sheridan coached eight years at Furman and had seven winning seasons. He coached seven years at State and had the same number. He is the only Furman coach in the College Football Hall of Fame.

Since 1985, every single Furman head coach – Jimmy Satterfield, Bobby Johnson, Bobby Lamb, Bruce Fowler and Hendrix — has either coached with or played for Sheridan. His first team won Furman’s first Southern Conference championship. Hendrix’s 2018 co-championshp was the 14^th.

Many schools have, over time, declined from inbreeding. Dick Sheridan is the reason Furman has never seen the need to go far outside. He was, to a small private school in South Carolina, what Vince Lombardi was to the Green Bay Packers.

Sheridan had his flaws, but seldom did anyone notice. His teams exuded class.

I’ve written a baseball novel, The Latter Days, that can be purchased inexpensively at MonteDutton.net, along with other books I’ve written over the years. Insofar as local sports are concerned, you can contribute to the coverage here by contributing either as a patron or by sending a check to DHK Sports, P.O. Box 768, Clinton, S.C. 29325.