Quaker Meeting House (QMH) was ready to talk about how much time he spent scoreboard-watching Ivy League field hockey and men's soccer this weekend. He was ready to talk about the happiness he felt when women's soccer came back and finally won an Ivy League match on Senior Day. He was ready to talk about Friday night's football game, and the steps forward he sees volleyball taking literally match by match. And, of course, he was ready to talk about the first championship event of the season, the Ivy Heptagonal Cross Country Championships.
 
Honestly, there was a lot to cover—not unusual, given the time of year and the number of teams competing.
 
But then QMH got an email on Saturday that changed everything.
 
You may recall when the first QMH posted about a month ago, QMH said most weeks would be a quick-hits but occasionally he might focus on just one thing if it felt warranted.
 
Tony Tenisci feels warranted.
 
The email came Saturday at 6:34 p.m., while QMH was doing stats at what turned out to be a highly entertaining volleyball match between Penn and Ivy leader Yale. So there was a job to do, and it wasn't until later that night that he got to sit down and really digest the gravity of the message.
 
Tony had passed away.
 
In total honesty, this would have come as a complete shock if not for an email QMH had received at the start of October. It came from a man all the way across the world, in Adelaide, Australia. Tony had gotten him involved in running back in the 1970s, he said, and the relationship had continued right up until today and included the man and his wife being hosted by Tony for the Penn Relays in 2018.
 
The man said he had been in contact with Tony via WhatsApp on an almost daily basis for a long time but hadn't heard from him in a few months and was worried. Did QMH have any sense of what was going on?
 
This was news to QMH. Since Tony had retired, QMH had gotten used to not seeing him for months at a time, then suddenly—boop—there he'd be, riding his bike around the athletic footprint. He would tell QMH about his travels…around the country, to Europe, to Australia, to…really, anywhere. Tony was a man of the world, and he was a man of the people. He had friends everywhere.
 
So QMH reached out to the track staff and that was how he found out that Tony was in ill health. Even then, there weren't a lot of details to share.
 
So the fact that he passed away before the calendar even turned to November was stunning, but boy the shock factor could have been significantly higher. And QMH is sure that it is for many people who had no idea it was coming.
 
(In case you're wondering…yes, QMH sent an email to that gentleman in Adelaide to pass him the news just before sitting down to write this.)
 
It provides further evidence that Father Time will never be defeated. Because as long as QMH knew Tony—and we're talking nearly 20 years now—he was (a) the very picture of health and (b) a man with perhaps more joie de vivre than anyone else QMH has had the pleasure to work with at Penn.
 
How does one describe Tony Tenisci?
 
QMH has talked with a few other folks in the department who knew Tony—sadly, there's plenty who don't anymore—and with all of them he describes Tony as not just a character but almost a caricature. But here's the thing: calling someone a caricature might typically denote some negative connotation, but in no way does QMH mean it that way. To know Tony was to love him.
 
But let's start with the bicycle. Tony was a well-built human being—he was a hammer thrower of the highest order, earning All-America four times as a collegian and holding the Canadian national record in that event—and so the bike always looked a little too small under his thick torso and those massive legs of his.
 
Tony could drive, of course, but he rarely did. On the infrequent occasions that QMH saw Tony behind the wheel of a car, he would do a double take.
 
There was his history. Tony was a Canadian of Italian descent who went to college in the Northwest corner of the United States, at Washington State. His training and education took him to places like the University of Moscow in Russia; the University of Gutenberg in Germany; and the University of Hawaii. As mentioned before, he spent time in Australia. He spent plenty of time in his homeland of Italy. Again, he had stories from all over the world about all kinds of people. (QMH was especially entertained whenever Tony regaled him with stories of his exploits in the Aloha State, and he had a lot of them.)
 
There was his voice. That voice! It was breathy. It was sing-songy. It was lilting. It didn't seem to fit the body. It might be the most one-of-a-kind voice QMH can remember, and he defies anyone who knew Tony to disagree with that. But even now, the thought of hearing his voice has QMH smiling. It always will.
 
Finally, there was the Mr. and Ms. Penn competition.
 
Tony initially created the Mr. and Ms. Penn competition as a fundraiser for the track program, and turned it into one of the biggest annual events on campus. It was a bodybuilding competition and already well-established by the time QMH arrived at Penn. Track athletes would be involved, of course, but so would athletes from other teams. Then there were folks who weren't varsity athletes, but who Tony had seen working out at the Pottruck Center and recruited into the competition. He would put them on a regimen for several weeks covering all aspects of the event—diet, lifting, body definition, posing, etc. Students, grad students, faculty, staff…all were invited and included. He even recruited coaches to serve as judges. (QMH will tell you that you haven't lived until you've seen Al Bagnoli judging a bodybuilding competition.)
 
QMH got tickets from Tony every year and brushed him off for a few years. OK, maybe more than a few. Finally, though, he'd heard just a little too much about it and decided it was time to go and see what all the fuss was about. He figured Tony would be happy to see him there, supporting his cute little endeavor.
 
So he arrived at Annenberg…and could barely get in the door. It was packed. All the seats were full. The crowd was in full throat. QMH had no idea he had walked into a campus sensation.
 
And up there on the stage, in a tuxedo that looked maybe a size too small and a bowtie, was Tony in his glory as the emcee. (Caricature!) He was introducing the contestants, the different weight classes, getting the music going, and putting them through their poses as the crowd went mad.
 
QMH went every year after that and made sure his colleagues went, too, especially newcomers. It became a can't-miss event for him, like the Catholic League games at The Palestra. One of the reasons? To watch Tony react as the contestants—his contestants—put on their different poses. He would gasp, and ooh and aah, and drop the occasional "oh my" or "yeah baby!"
 
In a word, the whole experience was amazing.
 
It also broke Tony down to the two essentials that made him who he was: authentic and passionate. Because he wasn't saying those things to egg the crowd along (although it did); he was saying them because he was genuinely moved by what he was seeing, and he was unapologetic about expressing it.
 
Tony lived his whole life that way.
 
As a coach, he fought so hard for his athletes. Remember, the sport is track & field—sometimes people spend so much time focusing on the track portion of it, the field athletes get shortchanged. Tony worked hard not to let that happen. As a man, he developed incredible relationships—with his athletes, with other coaches, with his peers. With everyone. (For instance, a guy in Adelaide, Australia back in the 1970s.)
 
As he helped pull together the obit that was posted late on Monday, QMH was reminded of the amazing life Tony led but especially the fact that he introduced an event to college track & field—the women's hammer throw. Seriously, how many people have that on their resume?
 
Tony's passion could go both ways, of course. It's easy to paint a picture of him as this happy-go-lucky, go-with-the-flow person because that's how so many people saw him. But as he might say, he was Italian. So there were plenty of times he left the QMH offices with eyes rolling behind him and folks on the other end of the conversation saying "why? Why is he so concerned about that?"
 
In fact, probably the biggest blowout QMH himself ever had with a coach was with Tony. QMH doesn't remember what the subject was, but it was something Tony had been bothering him about for awhile and QMH had finally had enough. There was yelling, and swearing, and harsh words from both parties before they stormed off to their respective corners. (Field hockey coach Colleen Fink probably remembers the, uh, discussion since it happened right outside her office.)
 
The next time QMH saw Tony? It was forgotten. Water under the bridge. He had moved forward.
 
For so many people, especially the women, Tony Tenisci remains a touchstone of the Penn Track & Field experience. And not without reason—he spent 30 years coaching the throwers, much of that during a time when the track staff was two, maybe three full-time coaches. Thirty years! Think about all the lives he touched over those three decades here. Then add in the folks who were simply part of the Penn community and were brought into his orbit thanks to the Mr. and Ms. Penn competition. It's staggering.
 
QMH remembered being happy for Tony when he announced his retirement back in 2016, giving him the chance to smell the roses and live a life that a man of his unique ilk deserved. It has always been a joy to catch up with him in the seven years since then…at Relays, when Penn has hosted Heps, or just randomly when he might be rolling around campus on that bike of his. It's going to take awhile to fully digest that he has taken The Final Trip and won't be coming back to University City.
 
RIP, Tony Tenisci. You will be missed.