BY JOSHUA BALL

A photograph has been circulating recently. A coal miner, still wearing the evidence of a long shift underground, stands hand in hand with his young daughter on a school gym floor. Coal dust marks his face. His boots display the wear and tear of a hard day’s work. And yet, there he is, present, proud and exactly where he needs to be.

That image stayed with me.

It reminded me of remarks I recently shared at the WYMT Mountain Classic Scholarship Banquet and of a truth I keep returning to in life, one that has shaped me in ways I did not fully understand until much later. I call it the Power of One.

One person showing up.

One moment of belief.

One quiet act that changes everything.

In my remarks, I spoke about the darkness of the mines. Not just the physical darkness, but the unseen sacrifices that accompany that work. After late-night road games, after making sure every player got home safely, while the rest of us were winding down, Coach Ronnie Smith was pulling on his boots and heading underground. He worked while we slept. He carried burdens we never saw, so we could grow without knowing their weight.

That coal miner in the photograph carries that same story. He did not leave the darkness behind when his shift ended. He brought his love, pride, and responsibility straight into that gym so his daughter would know she mattered more than exhaustion.

That is the Power of One.

When I see that image, I see Coach Smith.

When I eulogized him at his funeral in 2010, I described Coach Smith as a coach, a mentor and a friend. That progression mattered. Like so many relationships in Eastern Kentucky, ours began in a gym. But what made it lasting is what it became over time.

As we move deeper into basketball season, coaching looks very different from what it once did. Armchair coaching no longer ends in the bleachers. It lives on social media, in comment sections, and in instant opinions offered without context or commitment.

But real coaching has never been about commentary.

Coaching is a calling.

It is the difference between those who sit on the sidelines and those who stand with young men and women across the seasons of their lives. Not just when the crowd is cheering, but when the future feels uncertain, and the path forward is unclear.

That was Coach Smith.

Early in my career, I believed I had found my path. A new job, a new state, and what looked like a clear trajectory took me to North Carolina. It felt like forward progress.

Nine months later, that same road led me back to Eastern Kentucky for an interview, with plans to return south before nightfall. I called Coach Smith to let him know I was in town. He had a game that night.

I stopped by the gym.

We talked for a long time. The kind of conversation that does not feel rushed, even when it probably should be. Before I left, he said, “You will get that job. You are supposed to be here.”

Less than 24 hours later, as I walked into my office in North Carolina, the phone rang. An offer was extended. And as I like to say, you have never witnessed someone load a U-Haul faster in your life.

That was the mentor Coach Smith was. He saw something before I could. Years earlier, when I first left the hills, he hugged me and said, “Son, you will be back.” I remember thinking, Coach, I love you, but I am moving to the coast.

He never doubted it.

But it was the friend Coach Smith became that brought our relationship full circle.

When he was diagnosed with cancer, we sat together at the local Dairy Bar. It was one of the hardest conversations we ever had. Even in his moment of concern, confident in his faith and his Creator, he was still coaching me. Still mentoring me. Still reminding me what mattered.

In the months that followed, I wrote every coach I could think of, asking them to send words of encouragement. Not just for his battle with cancer, but for who he was. A pillar of our community. A foundation in so many lives, including mine.

As his race neared its finish, a final photo was sent to me. I had just visited him at the hospice center and knew time was short. The photo showed former players, men who came years after me, huddled around his bed. Even in his final moments on this earth, he was still coaching. Still mentoring. Still being the one.

That image stays with me.

When I stood on the stage at the WYMT Mountain Classic Scholarship Banquet and spoke of Coach Smith, I choked up. There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of him. Sometimes I wonder what he would say if he were here.

I think he would remind me that the Power of One is never about recognition. It is about showing up. About doing what you say and saying what you do. About standing in the gap for someone else, even when it costs you something.

That coal miner in the photograph understood that. Coach Smith lived it.

The Power of One has shaped my life and the lives of countless others. And when one becomes many, communities change.

This basketball season and this holiday season, I will reflect on those memories and try to pay it forward. Because somewhere in a gym, a classroom or a quiet conversation, someone is waiting for their one.

And sometimes, showing up is enough.

Joshua Ball is a community and economic development leader in eastern Kentucky who serves as Chief Operating Officer of Shaping Our Appalachian Region Inc. (SOAR), a nonprofit focused on promoting regional collaboration, workforce development and economic opportunity across Appalachia Kentucky.