Once again, a nation betrothed to the sanctity and majesty of college football turns its eyes toward a devastating incident turned into a scandal. The narrative pitting athletics against academics, athletes and “regular” students, comes with a twist.
This is what we know: Declan Sullivan, a native of Long Grove, Ill., was a 20-year-old junior at Notre Dame University. Sullivan was a video assistant for the Fighting Irish football team; taping practice was among his duties.
On Oct. 28, Sullivan was assigned to film Notre Dame’s practice, held outdoors, from a 50-foot-tall platform called a scissor lift. It was windy in South Bend, Ind., at the time — the National Weather Service recorded gusts up to 51 miles an hour.
Sullivan sent two messages on Twitter that day. “Gusts of wind up to 60mph, well today will be fun at work … I guess I’ve lived long enough :-/” read the first. “Holy fuck holy fuck this is terrifying” read the second, sent an hour later.
At 4:50 p.m. on Oct. 28, a gust of wind blew the scissor lift on its side. The platform from which Sullivan sat fell onto a paved surface. He was transported to a hospital, where he died. The football team remained on the field for 25 more minutes before walking off.
Notre Dame has an indoor practice facility, called the Loftus Center, which was presumably available this week. Fighting Irish head coach Brian Kelly elected not to use it.
This is what has become of it: A cavalcade of criticism and outrage directed at Notre Dame, Kelly, athletic director Jack Swarbrick and anyone and everyone associated with the football team. Some insist they act with the Sullivan family in mind. Others drop all preface because, hey, Notre Dame football is 4-5 on the season; two days after Sullivan’s fatal fall, the Irish lost 28-27 to Tulsa, a mid-level team in Conference USA.
Central to this calamity: Sullivan was a non-athlete, a “regular” student. He died performing menial labor for football players, coaches and the athletic department, to whom the footage was perceived as vital and precious enough to be obtained in “unsafe” conditions. Was Notre Dame negligent toward the safety needs of a student who was performing paid duties for the football team?
The sports website Deadspin ran an account from an anonymous video assistant of a Football Bowl Subdivision school, entitled “The Day I Thought I’d Die On A Scissor Lift”. Provocative, yes, but the underlying message was that Sullivan was not the only young student stranded alone in similar situations.
“I could see lightning strikes roughly a mile or two away. I called my boss, the video coordinator and asked to come down. I was told that the lightning wasn’t close enough yet,” the author wrote. “Three minutes later, whoever was tracking the lightning decided the time had come, and the players and coaches ran for cover. The storm was moving south, though, and the winds came with it. I couldn’t come down without bringing the entire field goal structure with me (and that’s assuming the lift wouldn’t have malfunctioned after getting tangled in the net, as it had in the past). So I was stranded alone on a metal lift with nobody in sight and a lightning storm coming right for me.”
Schools across the country are, unsurprisingly, taking stock of their own practices. Oregon video director Steve Pohl told ESPN that he meets yearly with the lift company and adheres to manufacturer warnings. Only twice in 15 years, he said, has he left the tower due to inclement conditions.
This story deeply troubled me — Sullivan’s death seems so needless and utterly preventable. I contacted an Oregon video assistant to learn more about the job.
He has worked for the Ducks since fall of 2006 and regularly tapes Oregon football practices. Outdoor practices necessitate the scissor lifts. Inside the Moshofsky Center, the indoor practice facility, camera towers built into the building serve the videographers.
“Each camera has a radio that we use to communicate information regarding what we film to the other videographers or the coordinators in the video office, along with general conversation among the other videographers behind cameras,” he said.
He answers to the video coordinators, who answer to the coaches. Specific drills — anything pitting offense against defense — are filmed, and coaches will request film of position drills as they see fit. The typical Oregon practice lasts about two hours, all of which is spent aloft, overlooking the practice field.
“We never had any reason to come down from our lift or location unless there was a problem with any of the video equipment that needed to be taken care of immediately,” he said. “Aside from that, we would be up and ready in our position before practice and come down once practice was over.”
I asked him if he had ever dealt with inclement weather or unsafe conditions. He said he has experienced driving rain and hot (low to high 90s) and cold (mid 30s to low 40s) temperatures. Not uncommon for anyone who has lived in Oregon for a period of time.
With regards to Sullivan, he declined to comment, instead offering condolences and prayers to the Sullivan family. He did not feel comfortable addressing the “tragic death” as I put him on the spot.
Notre Dame held a Mass service for Sullivan, and the Irish honored him with a special helmet decal. Schools across the country are examining their practices, and the debate rages on over the treatment of regular students in athletic programs. Wholesale changes may not occur throughout college football — teams need their practice film somehow — but gradual change may come.
These improvements will not bear Declan Sullivan’s name, but they will carry with them his memory.
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Videographer’s death must elicit change
Daily Emerald
October 31, 2010
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