Support Staff
I hate that I even have this story to tell. It’s been years, but as I type these words, I feel angry and disappointed that this moment ever occurred.
I was still a college coach, and one of our players had a lingering injury.
Our head athletic trainer came by the office and shared that he believed the only path to recovery would be for this student-athlete to go to the hospital, but at this point, she was refusing to do so. He asked if I would speak with her about this, which I was glad to do.
I sent her a text and walked across campus to meet her at a coffee shop. We had a healthy relationship, and she understood that my words were coming from a place of care and concern. I reiterated that no one could force her to go, but I did tell her that I didn’t care what time of day or night it was, or what was on my schedule; if she decided to go to the hospital, all she needed to do was call me, and I would drive her to the hospital.
At 1 am, when my phone rang, all she said was, “Coach, can you take me to the ER?”
I switched from pajamas to sweatpants and headed to campus to pick her up. Thank goodness I lived close to campus, and the hospital was just minutes away.
As we drove, she shared how nervous she was. Her parents were out of town for work, but I promised her that she would not be left alone. I also called our team’s athletic trainer, who was relieved, and she agreed to meet us at the hospital.
It didn’t take long to realize this was going to be a very long night. Just before the sun came up, our athletic trainer suggested I go home, get an hour of sleep, and return to campus for an 8 am practice. She would get a colleague to cover our practice so she could stay at the hospital. After practice, I would return to the hospital, and she would go back to the training room to work with student-athletes. We both knew the day was going to be as long as the night had been, but we were at peace about it. We were intentionally taking care of someone who was counting on us.
When I arrived at practice after an hour of sleep, I looked a little…rough. There was no hiding the fatigue, and I was grateful for a team that was more worried about their teammate than what their coach looked like.
After we wrapped up practice, I stopped by my office to grab my backpack and drive back to the hospital. Before I got to the exit, our Athletic Director called me into the office. I was told to close the door and have a seat.
My Athletic Director looked at me without smiling and firmly said, “I need every detail from start to finish.”
At this point, I was confused. I wasn’t sure if it was the sleep deprivation or if I had missed something.
“I’m sorry,” I replied, “you need every detail about…what?”
“My job is to protect this school from a lawsuit. I need to document everything about this injury. I need all the details from start to finish because if her family threatens a lawsuit, we have to be ready.”
For the next hour, I was grilled on every detail.
Our athletic department had proudly stated that student-athletes were at the center of everything we did. It was in our branding, our recruiting, and all over our website.
It was mind-blowing to me that I was never asked about how the student-athlete we claimed to care so much about was doing. And–you can probably guess–there was no concern for our athletic trainer or for me. Not one single word.
The lack of care for the people around the student-athletes told me a great deal about this leader's priorities.
Contrast that with a video clip I recently saw of the new Superintendent for the State of Oklahoma, who said, “If you’re not a teacher, a bus driver, a cafeteria worker, or a custodian, someone who works with students every day, then you and I are support staff. Our job is to take care of the people who take care of the students. That’s why our new mantra is; if you’re not taking care of the students, take care of someone who is.”
Leadership as support staff. Leaders choosing to take care of the people, who take care of the people. I love it.
Most organizations say they care about people. They hang posters in the hallway and add phrases like “students first” or “people matter” to their mission statements. But when the moment comes—the inconvenient, middle-of-the-night phone calls—that’s when you find out whether those words are alive in your culture.
That morning, sitting across from my Athletic Director, I realized we were operating under a slogan, not a standard. And when slogans replace standards, culture begins to crumble.
I’ve thought a lot about that conversation since that day. Leadership isn’t just what we say in the daylight; it’s what we do in the dark. It’s how we respond when nobody’s watching, when there’s no photo op, when the easy choice would be to protect ourselves instead of supporting someone else.
The best leaders I know understand that their job is to clear the path, not claim the credit. They know that if their people feel seen, supported, and valued, the mission will take care of itself.
That’s what real support does. Leaders who embrace a support staff mindset don’t stand above the work—they stand behind it. They make sure the people doing the heavy lifting have what they need to keep going. They ask, “What do you need from me to do your job well?” Then they listen and act.
Whether you’re leading a team, a classroom, or a business, remember this: If you’re not the one directly caring for the people you serve, then your leadership responsibility is crystal clear—take care of the people who do.
Because in the end, leadership isn’t measured by how many people report to you. It’s measured by how many people can rely on you.