The first big snowstorm hit western New York last week. The National Weather Service was advising motorists to stay off the highways, warning of low visibility and potential whiteout conditions.
I chuckled when I saw the news report because it reminded me of a treacherous bus trip home during my coaching days. Our team was traveling west on I-90 when we encountered a lake effect snowstorm outside of Buffalo, NY.
Lake effect snow is a meteorological phenomenon that occurs when Arctic air moves over warmer waters, resulting in intense snowfall, particularly in regions near the Great Lakes. Depending on wind direction, it can be snowing heavily in one location yet sunny and completely clear a mile or two away.
The roads were fine when we left the campus where our team had played. A winter weather warning had been issued, but they weren’t expecting the lake effect snow to arrive until well after we had passed through the area of concern. So we made the decision to proceed home.
About an hour later, our bus ran into a full whiteout. Night had already fallen, and the snow was so heavy it erased any tracks on the road. Visibility dropped to almost nothing.
We would later learn that the New York State Police had halted plow service and shut down this stretch of the interstate at the previous toll booth shortly after we passed.
Driving in blizzard conditions can be tricky. Go too fast and you risk losing control. Go too slow and you risk getting bogged down as the accumulating snow builds beneath your tires. These are precisely the conditions that lead to deadly multi-vehicle interstate pileups.
If it weren’t for our talented bus driver, a stocky, cherubic-faced grandfather named Bob, our team would’ve undoubtedly suffered such a fate that night.
Bob remained hypervigilant throughout the ordeal, guiding our bus along the snow-covered highway with the precision of a surgeon. He blocked out all distractions, focusing on the challenge before him and making what could have been difficult look easy.
Bob’s focus is deserving of praise, but it’s only part of the “good teammate” lesson to be drawn from this story.
What Bob didn’t know that night, nor did any of us on the bus realize, was that at least a dozen cars were following our bus. They had also passed the toll booth before the police closed the interstate.
When we finally made it through the whiteout, Bob stopped at a rest area—and every car behind stopped as well. He was mentally exhausted, having just devoted the sort of sustained concentration reserved for challenges like taking the SATs, sitting for the bar exam, or managing air traffic control. As Bob stepped off the bus, the people in the cars who had been following us approached him.
Complete strangers started shaking his hand and giving him hugs, thanking him for guiding them through the whiteout. They hadn’t been able to see the road at all, but they managed to stay on course by following the high-mounted taillights on the top of our bus.
Bob had likely saved their lives, and they were eternally grateful.
Being a good teammate begins with your example. You don’t always know who’s following your example. It’s easy to be virtuous when you know others are watching—but are you still virtuous when you don’t?
Good teammates are.
Good teammates understand the influence of their example. That’s why they maintain integrity, embrace ethics, and behave morally. Fulfilling this expectation can be difficult sometimes. But good teammates routinely engage in this practice. They make what can be difficult look easy.
I have often joked that someday I am going to write a book about charter bus drivers because they are some of the most interesting humans on the planet. When that time comes, I will most certainly dedicate an exclusive chapter to Bob.
And I will title that chapter: “Eternally grateful.”
As always…Good teammates care. Good teammates share. Good teammates listen. Go be a good teammate.
