Rod Campbell shares about a role model in his life and why they are so important for children.
I was fourteen the first time a coach changed my life, and he didn’t say a single word. I was a Junior Varsity kid practicing with varsity, lining up against a tailback built like a Greek statue. The play unfolded, I filled the gap, and next thing I knew I was flat on my back, staring at the sky, with the coach standing over me — cussing, loud, and completely right. My coach could talk about pressure and protection in the same breath. He demanded everything from you because he saw everything in you.
Years later, before a big game in Merced, he told me he needed me everywhere — safety, corner, wide receiver. I had two touchdowns, an interception and shut down the star running back. When I came off the field, he looked at me the way only he could: equal parts “good job” and “you were supposed to do that.”
My coach believed in me before I believed in myself. He fought for me with teachers, guided me through school, and helped me get to college. He gave his word to a university president to hold my scholarship until my grades came up — and because it was his word, they did. What he gave me wasn’t just football. It was manhood. Accountability. Ownership. Love delivered without softness but always with intention. When I learned he had passed away, the world felt a little lighter on wisdom.
A little quieter on guidance. A little less full of the kind of steady belief that man carried effortlessly. If you grew up in Oakland football, you didn’t just know Coach John Beam. You were shaped by him. He was a mentor, a mirror and a lighthouse — one that never dimmed, even when the rest of life felt dark. I shed a tear the day he left us. Maybe a hundred. But they were earned. Because he made me believe. With a Perspective, I’m Rod Campbell.