Kevin Tantlinger
It saddens me to report that our friend Kevin Tantlinger passed away on Friday, August 27, 2004. Our deepest condolences go out to his three daughters and the rest of his family.
Kevin, I miss you my friend.
The memorial service will be held Wednesday, September 1, 2004 at 11:00 a.m. at the Central Christian Church 3131 W. Avenue J Lancaster. Click Here for a Map to the church.
A memorial fun has been established for his daughters. Those wishing to contribute to the fund may send to the Kevin Tantlinger Memorial Fund, Antelope Valley Bank, 831 West Lancaster Blvd., Lancaster, CA 93534.
An earlier story that preceded his passing from a local newspaper:
(This story appeared in April 2004)
The Toughest Opponent
By: Ramona Shelburne
Staff WriterTuesday, April 06, 2004 – By the time you read this, Kevin Tantlinger will be well into a 13-hour experimental surgery at UCLA — his last chance to beat cancer. He might already be gone.
Or the surgery might be a resounding success, giving hope to all future patients diagnosed with adenoid cystic carcinoma (ACC), a rare, and especially malicious, form of brain cancer with an approximate 30 percent of a 10-year survival rate.
Without the surgery, doctors gave Tantlinger three months to live.
But the surgery is being attempted because the cancer is so rare, and Tantlinger’s case has attracted the attention of some of the nation’s leading oncologists.
“Hey, this is my chance, I’ve got to take it,” said Tantlinger, a softball coach at Highland High. “To tell you the truth, I’m scared. They’re going to be in there for 10 to 13 hours with four doctors doing four different things. But I honestly believe that God’s not going to take me now. Look at my kids. … If there’s any blessing to this cancer, it’s that I’ve got to spend so much time with my kids.”
The waiting room at the hospital will be crowded with people whom Tantlinger has touched. He’s been a beloved pitching coach in the Antelope Valley and Santa Clarita valleys for the past two decades. Many of his former students will be there.
There also will be his teammates from two decades of men’s fast-pitch softball and his extended family, which has traveled from all over the country to be with him the past few weeks.
But the most anxious people will be his three daughters.
Lauren, 16, will be waiting with Shelby, 12, and Monica, 20, a softball player at Cal State Fullerton.
Tantlinger has had sole custody of Shelby and Lauren, who pitches for Highland, for the past two years. Their mother lives in Washington.
There are plans in place in the event Tantlinger does not survive the surgery or the cancer, but nobody really talks much of those plans now.
“You have to make up your mind about things and with this surgery. … I’ve already decided that I’m going to make it,” Tantlinger said.
It was obvious to everyone watching the game that Lauren Tantlinger was tired. Earlier in the day, she’d thrown a shutout against Granada Hills, but Thousand Oaks was now having its way.
Kevin Tantlinger walked to the mound. “Don’t take me out,” Lauren said.
It was against his better judgment, but he knew there was no way to change her mind. She was, after all, his daughter, and never in the 10 years she had watched him pitch for elite men’s fast-pitch teams had he ever come out of a game.
But there was something deeper going on too, something undetectable to the crowd or anyone who didn’t know of Kevin Tantlinger’s condition. It was easy to miss.
Except for the slight droop to the right side of his face and the radiation burns near his jawbone, there were no visible signs of the brain cancer that threatens to cut short his life at age 45.
But if you look closely, you can see it in the way Lauren looks at him as he walks to the pitcher’s circle. That there is absolutely no way she’s coming out of this game. That there is absolutely no way she’ll let him down.
“If you start something, you should finish it,” Lauren said. “When I pitch, everything else goes away. I just focus on the game. And I know that whatever situation I’m in, my dad has been in this spot a million more times. And if he can do it, so can I.”
The more you talk to the Tantlingers, the more it sounds as if cancer — like Thousand Oaks was that day — is just another opponent to face.
Steve Calendo, who coached Lauren in travel ball the past four summers, watched the scene at the Hart softball tournament unfold. Calendo shook his head and laughed.
“Lauren’s playing her heart out for her dad right now,” Calendo said. “She’s playing for him. You watch their games and those two are just so connected. Whether it’s a word or a look. … If there’s a guy who will beat this, it’s Kevin. He’s never lost his spirit or his optimism.” q q q
Tantlinger coached his final game for Highland last Monday. Afterward he spoke to the team. He told the players he would be back for the playoffs.
This weekend, members of the softball team and other athletes from Highland who are close to Lauren drove to UCLA to donate blood for Tantlinger’s surgery.
“I hate needles, but I’m going to donate blood for him,” Highland senior Shannon Doepking said. “He’s a great guy who has helped me a lot. It means a lot that we’ve done well this year and he was there. … He said that we were his favorite team that he’s ever coached.”
Before each game, the team says a prayer for Tantlinger.
“Softball is the best therapy I could have,” he said. “And there’s something special about this group this year. It’s so much fun to coach them because you know that something good is going to happen every time you go to practice.”
Highland coach Dan Morrow said the team has become closer because of Tantlinger.
“The players love him, and they can relate to him because he was a player,” Morrow said. “You don’t have to be the most talented kid for Kevin to like you. All he needs to see is hustle, a kid that works hard and wants to get better or isn’t afraid to slide into third base head first. That’s what makes him happy.”
Both Tantlinger and Lauren know the survival statistics. Privately, they’ve both wondered, “What if?” But neither has ever come out of a game because they were tired or gave in to an opponent.
And so they do the only thing they know: Step back on the mound, face the next batter and make up their minds they will win.
“You go as long as you can go,” Tantlinger said. “Ninety-nine percent of this is mental, and this surgery is just extra innings.”
Ramona Shelburne, (818) 713-3617 ramona.shelburne@dailynews.com
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