Sidelines Kalani Simpson

---

VonAppen finding success

STORY SUMMARY »

Ten years ago, on March 29, 1997, 6-year-old Cody vonAppen went down Waipahee Slippery Slide with Hawaii kicker Shannon Smith. The water held them under, and Smith died while helping save the life of his coach's son.

In 1998, Fred vonAppen was fired as UH's football coach after having gone 0-12.

Cody vonAppen stayed in Hawaii with his mother. He grew up in Kailua. He's 17 now, and the starting quarterback at Kalaheo High School. The Mustangs, who were 1-7 last season, have a winning record.

You read that right. VonAppen is winning in Hawaii.

"It's nice that somebody in the family has had some success," Fred vonAppen said.

His son spends summers with him in Montana, and the retired coach catches a few Kalaheo games each year. He's just another parent, hanging out along the fence.

A son proud of his dad. A dad proud of his son.

Cody vonAppen, the boy who was saved by Shannon Smith, the son of the 0-12 coach, shrugs off the symbolism. He's just trying to win games with his teammates. He isn't playing for his father, he isn't living for Smith.

But of course, 10 years later, he is doing both.

---

FULL STORY »

Kalaheo quarterback overcomes personal tragedy to become a leader

THERE is so much with Cody vonAppen. He's the boy in the picture. He's the golden-haired kid with his mouth the shape of an O, sitting on Shannon Smith's lap. You can see by the look on his face how excited he is to about to be headed down the rushing waterfall at Slippery Slide. He was the boy who went under, seconds later, and stayed under, he and Smith. The water was different that day, dangerous. Deadly. Everyone who jumped in to help them knew it right away.

He is the boy from that March 29, 1997, day, the boy Shannon Smith died saving. The boy the Hawaii kicker gave his life for making sure the son of his coach would be safe.

That was a little more than 10 years ago, now. Cody vonAppen just turned 17.

His hair is still golden. You can still see that kid in him, there are times when he still has that look on his face. You should see him when he's talking about playing football, when he runs off the field after a Kalaheo touchdown. He looks like he's about to go over a waterfall with Shannon Smith.

He's that kid, 10 years later. He's running, he's living. He's bouncing off a tackler, breaking into the open -- look out here he goes.

He is alive.

He is that Cody vonAppen. No, it's not a coincidence. He is the son of the man who went 0-12 as head coach at the University of Hawaii, the son of the man who lost 18 straight. He is the little boy who had to stay quiet when he rode home with his dad after all of those losses.

He is the kid who stayed here when his father went back to the NFL, he grew up in Hawaii with that name. He's playing high school football now. In Hawaii. With that name.

And he's winning.

He is the quarterback at Kalaheo, and the Mustangs are winners, defying history. They've lost their last two games, but they were 1-7 last season, and now they're 4-3. They're in it, this season. They're winning.

A guy named vonAppen is winning. Here.

He takes one hit, then another, then a late one. He gets up, asking for more.

He is winning. And he is alive.

It seems as if he plays football like a little boy about to go down a waterfall with Shannon Smith.

SMITH, THE WALK-ON kicker, had invited them all to go hiking, on the Easter weekend before 1997 spring practice. His UH teammates, Tim Carey and Chris Shinnick, and the vonAppens, too. Come, he would show them Kauai. He'd show them his favorite secret places. And they went. All of them, the coach and his family, too. He'd invited his coach on vacation and his coach went. That's who Shannon Smith was.

Smith went down the slide first, and it was fun as usual, everything was fine. Then he took Cody with him, and then as soon as they hit the water everyone felt it -- it was chaos and danger and fear. Others jumped in to help them, and immediately found themselves being sucked under, too, held under, fighting to get free. At last Cody was in Carey's arms, they were all on the bank, shaken, exhausted. And that's when Shinnick started yelling:

"Where's Shannon?!"

The terror and the anguish of that day.

"We don't talk about it, it's too painful," Fred vonAppen says.

"I didn't really understand. But I knew he died. I was upset about that," Cody says.

"A life cut way too short," Cody's mom, now Thea Anderson, says.

Shinnick, who watched it all happen from the shore, says water always brings it back. But strangely, not in a bad way. "It makes me remember Shannon," he says.

He's convinced that Shannon Smith knew exactly what was happening that day, 10 years ago, that he knew how it would all end. And he did it anyway.

"That could be time adding false meaning," Shinnick says. "But he knew that place best. He was a local guy.

"He wasn't going to let that little boy go."

THE 'BOWS WERE not good to begin with -- vonAppen was installing a pro offense with option players, the best in-state talent was leaving, the coach had made some bad decisions, the support wasn't there, the program was down, the timing was wrong. It was the perfect storm. It would have been ugly anyway. But after that ...

Everything was different after that. Fred vonAppen was different after that.

"I think that changed everybody's life," Thea Anderson says. "Yeah, he was (different), yeah. Everybody."

Smith was posthumously given the NCAA Award of Valor, the first time in 14 years the honor had been given out. The UH locker room was renamed in his honor. But it was little comfort to those who missed him most.

Hawaii beat Minnesota in that 1997 season opener, five months later. Rinda Brooks caused a Gophers fumble and Shinnick grabbed it for a crucial touchdown and called it the Shannon Smith bounce. Hawaii beat Cal State Northridge next, and in the middle of the season, Fresno State. But then came the losses, some excruciating, some inexplicable, some not even close, one after another, until at last there were 18 straight.

"It just started spinning so fast," Shinnick says.

"I had a big mouth and a lot I wanted to accomplish," Fred vonAppen says, "but the people were always good to me."

"They told him he was crazy," Anderson says of her ex-husband, "and then they ended up doing the same thing that he'd asked for. But he didn't quite know how to do it properly. It's OK. I'm sure he doesn't regret anything."

"A great guy," Shinnick says. Many have said that, and he seems like it, he seems at peace. But in Hawaii, he'll always be infamous as the worst coach in the program's history, his name synonymous with going 0-12. That's life as a coach.

Fred vonAppen says that when he left for the mainland to go back as an assistant in the NFL, he suggested to Thea that Cody might change his last name.

"I think he's joking," Cody says.

No, I don't think that he was.

CODY VONAPPEN IS the one guy every opponent wants to hit as hard and as often as he can, and not just because, as his mother suggests, he's the quarterback. No, this is different. He's that guy. The one every opponent sees with a bull's-eye on his back.

And vonAppen knows it, and rolls with it, and goes with it, as long as it helps Kalaheo win at the end.

He takes one hit, then another, then a late one. He gets up, asking for more.

"Our penalties gave them opportunities and chances to win," Castle coach Nelson Maeda would say.

"It's a game of emotions, and they started getting their emotions and momentum going," Moanalua coach Arnold Martinez said.

"He makes plays and he's tough. Our kids can learn from that toughness," Iolani coach Wendell Look would say.

He is tough. That's the best way to describe it. Of course he's tough. He's the boy from the picture. He grew up in Hawaii with that name.

He draws the defense offside on fourth and 2. A 15-yard pass on third and 14. A vicious hit, and he gets back up, attitude intact. Getting into it with everybody, words exchanged.

"He's got a lot of competitive zeal," Fred vonAppen says, watching the game leaning over the end-zone fence. He's retired in Montana, now, catches several of his son's games each year.

Growing up in Kailua, Cody organized every game, as a small-petot kid. He was the captain, coach, commissioner, referee. He's been a crazed, competitive sports nut since he could walk.

"I just want to win, you know," he says. "I'll do anything it takes to win."

But what makes him that guy? The target? The one every opponent wants to take out? His mother calls him "a good boy." His coach, Chris Mellor, insists he's not a troublemaker, says, "This is Richie Cunningham playing football." ("Who?" Cody says.)

But then his coach calls him "confident" (he walks like he hears his own music, out there on the football field). And the longer his mom talks she allows that he is a little cocky, that he doesn't back down, that he can be a hothead sometimes, that he doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut.

Sound familiar?

His mother says proudly, "There's a lot of his father in him."

CODY VONAPPEN SHRUGS off all the "name" questions, says he never had a problem growing up. He's proud of his dad. Always was. About Shannon Smith, he says, "I love him. I pray to him every night."

But none of it is hanging over him. He isn't a symbol. He's just a high school kid living his life, doing his best, like any other high school kid. He's just trying to win football games. He's just thinking about college, and girls. He's just hanging out with his friends.

He has a kolohe-boy smile that lights up a room.

Which is how it should be. Which is how you'd hope it would be.

He isn't playing for his father. He isn't living for Smith.

But he is, of course. Even if he doesn't realize it, he is.

A guy named vonAppen is a winner, in Hawaii, now. The boy in the picture is still golden-haired, and excited, and alive.

He's still going through life like he's about to go down a waterfall with Shannon Smith.

He hands the ball off at the 2-yard-line, and Kalaheo punches it in. Then he is freaking out, just freaking out, as he runs off the field, leaping and leaping and leaping, almost floating on air. The look on his face is one we've seen before.

Ten years later, Cody vonAppen is winning. He is winning, and he is alive.