The day he died, George Boiardi interviewed with Teach for America. He wanted to mentor Native American children at a reservation in South Dakota.

The next day, some teachers at the Landon School, his former prep school in Bethesda, Md., refused to teach. Not so soon. These adults couldn’t stand in front of their classes of 15-year-olds without crying. George Boiardi had died just 24 hours earlier.

Boiardi, a defenseman for the Cornell lacrosse team, died March 17 when he was struck in the chest by a lacrosse ball in a game against Binghamton. He was 22. Today, Cornell will play Syracuse at Schoellkopf Field in Ithaca at 7 p.m.

Today’s game, played at the site of the tragedy, will be only the second home game since his death. His passing has not only shaken the lacrosse world, but jolted friends, family and strangers who knew him as a selfless kid and an intense competitor.

‘When someone passes, the general statements are, ‘What a great guy he was,” said Jeff Tambroni, the Cornell head coach. ‘That being said, George was one of the most remarkable young men we ever had a chance to coach.’

Tambroni was one of five to speak at Boiardi’s funeral Mass held on March 21. Former Landon teammate Mike Martinez flew to Washington, D.C., to attend the service. He arrived 45 minutes early. He couldn’t find a seat. There were about 1,000 people packed inside the church.

Members of the Cornell and Landon lacrosse teams attended the service, as did Boiardi’s fraternity brothers. Everyone wore red ties to support Cornell. Landon coach Rob Bordley insisted his players go, even though none of them had the chance to play on the same team as Boiardi.

But they still knew him. Teachers spoke about the quiet kid who was respected by all. The one who never partied and always set an example. The great-grandson of Chef Boyardee, the figurehead of the canned ravioli.

The current students at Landon met him when he lifted in the school’s weight room during Winter Break. They marveled how someone could be so strong yet so gentle and quiet. His strength earned him a spot on Cornell’s Wall of Power, which awarded athletes for their lifting prowess.

He was quiet. Except, he hated when people said so. He led by example, he’d like to think. One day in high school, Deborah Boiardi, his mother, bought him a paper weight with ‘Well done is better than well said’ engraved on it. That was more appropriate for him.

‘Even though George was as quiet as he was,’ Martinez said, ‘you always knew he was there. When I came back for the wake and I saw our group from high school and he wasn’t there, I can’t begin to tell you how strange and awkward and wrong it felt. Even though he probably would have been quiet somewhere, you would have been able to feel his presence.’

Friends say Boiardi was the most intense person they’ve ever met. But he could control his emotions. He could hold a grudge on the football or lacrosse field, and give it up the moment he walked off it.

No one knows that better than Rob Bordley, a teacher, lacrosse coach and football coach at Landon. During his senior year of high school, Boiardi played running back for the football team. He was a bruiser. But he had a reputation as having bad hands.

After a botched opening kickoff in one game, Landon found itself on the 3-yard line. Bordley, the offensive coordinator at the time, called for a pass to Boiardi. When the head coach asked him what play he called, he was furious. ‘Do you know you’re throwing to George?’ the head coach screamed. ‘Do you know what yard line we’re on?’

Boiardi caught the pass in the backfield and rumbled 45 yards to Bordley’s feet. Bordley turned to the head coach. ‘Yeah coach, it looks like we’re on the 50.’

He was known around school for his athletics success. His picture appeared on the pages of all the local newspapers. Still, the editors grumbled that he was a lousy quote. Too quiet, they said.

But when he made the paper he was usually the last to see it. Boiardi didn’t want to. Give someone else the honor, he’d think.

‘He got more ink during the football season than any of the rest of us combined,’ Martinez said. ‘That never went to his head at all. None of it had any effect on George.’

While in high school, Boiardi kept all his sports trophies and plaques in a tucked-away corner of his room where they collected dust. When he left for Cornell, his parents, Deborah and Mario, decided to display them on the wall in his bedroom. He was so embarrassed when he returned home one weekend that the trophies were back in his closet by the time he returned to Ithaca.

Boiardi prided himself on his athletic achievements, though. He found success in his classes, even if it didn’t look like it. In high school, Boiardi fell asleep so much that it became the running joke. Don’t tell George what we did in class today, the teacher would say.

It wouldn’t matter.

‘He’d still do better than anyone in the class,’ Martinez said.

While a student in Bordley’s history class, he always insisted he have more time for tests. If it was an essay test and the students had to write three pages, he’d write five. By the end of the year, Bordley joked that he’d give Boiardi better grades if he wrote less.

Landon students sat in a crowded auditorium four years later while the headmaster informed the school of Boiardi’s death. Later that day, the Landon lacrosse team created T-shirts with ‘GB21’ written on them. The players wrote the same message on their helmets.

Boiardi’s teammates at Cornell have done the same. As do most of the teams the Big Red have faced since the tragedy. A banner hanging from the Landon athletic fields displays the same message. The school has also named its Speaker’s Program after him.

It took the Cornell lacrosse players six days before they could practice again. Cornell’s game at North Carolina on March 23 was canceled. And only 11 days after Boiardi’s death, the Big Red defeated Yale, 10-6, in Ithaca, their first game since losing one of their own.

When the Boiardi family drove to Cornell the day after George’s death, they comforted the players. Deborah Boiardi walked the aisles between her son’s teammates, stroking their faces and hair. She didn’t know what she would say. Instead, she felt like someone was speaking for her.

‘George wanted to be a teacher,’ she told the team. ‘This is his first lesson, to be kind and thoughtful and caring. I told them to never pass up the opportunity to help someone that they love. Because that’s how George lived his life.’

‘We’re trying to play this season for George,’ Tambroni said. ‘Emotionally, it’s such a deep scar. It’s an opportunity for them to be inspired, to play for someone who’s given us all so much.’

The Boiardi house in Washington, D.C., is full of cards, flowers and love – lots of giving for what’s been taken. There are 28 in the extended family, which means someone is always there for comfort or a warm meal.

Deborah and Mario last saw their son on March 13, after Cornell’s 9-6 win over Stony Brook in Ithaca. George, his parents and his girlfriend went out to dinner. Despite the win, all George could talk about was his upcoming interview with Teach for America.

‘I told him the next day, I’m so happy for you,’ Deborah Boiardi said. ‘We’ll always be here for you. He said, ‘It’s OK mom.’ I know it’s OK because he said it. And I believe it. I can’t understand it, I don’t want to even try to, but I know I had a gift and that was being given a wonderful son. Every mother is proud of their son, but I certainly appreciate the gift that I had.

‘It’s not like losing a parent or grandparent. It’s losing a friend and a son. We have to heal together. I’m thankful he walked among us, and very thankful he was mine. He died doing what he loved with people that he loved. I’m not sad about that. He’ll continue to teach. It’s a lesson to us all, just to be kind and thoughtful.’

Published on April 12, 2004 at 12:00 pm