BOULDER — If they handed out Heismans for selfless hearts, Archie Griffin would be eating Peach Pagano’s dust. “I was bawling down there,” Pagano told me Wednesday, not long after the last chords of the public memorial service to honor the late, great CU icon Bill McCartney had faded into the Events Center rafters. “I had no idea they were going to honor me. I was just like, ‘Oh, my gosh.’ I couldn’t even … and then I’m like, ‘I have to stand up?’ I’m like, ‘Oh, my God, I’m bawling.'” Dry eyes proved mighty hard to come by. Mark Johnson, the voice of the Buffs, remembered Mac as a life coach and mentor. Alvin Simpkins, Raleigh Washington and Jonathan Bernis remembered a brother in Faith. Mike, Tom and Marc McCartney remembered a demanding father with love like an eight-lane highway — room enough for everybody. Derek McCartney, Mac’s grandson, stood on a chair to simulate the giant that helped to shape his youth. Mike Jones, Jon Embree, Rick George and Chris Hudson recounted, often with hilarity, the high standards of working for, and with, a national championship coach. Yet Peaches, despite not having a turn on stage, was one of the unspoken stars of the day. Coach Mac, the giant who put CU football on the map, passed away on Jan. 10 at age 84 after a battle with dementia. For the last seven years or so, through good days and bad, Jenny “Peach” Pagano was his caregiver. A buffer. A protector. A steward. A confidant. A friend to the very end. “What Peach did for our dad,” Tom McCartney told the assembled. “Thank you. I love you. I appreciate that.” Michael Westbrook, left, puts his arm around Peggy Coppom, right, before the start of a memorial for former CU football coach Bill McCartney at the CU Events Center on Wednesday, Jan. 22, 2025. (Matthew Jonas/Staff Photographer) Wednesday was a Who’s Who of CU. Former Buffs filled Section 21. The current CU roster took up a good chunk of Section 23, with coach Deion Sanders and defensive coordinator Robert Livingston right at the front, nestled against the aisle. Khalada Salaam-Alaji, mother of the late Buffs running back Rashaan Salaam, sat with T.J. Cunningham’s mother, Cheryl, in Section 22. Ex-coaches and staffers huddled in Section 20. Related Articles Sports Columnists | Keeler: Who needs Joel Embiid? Not Nuggets. Nikola Jokic-Victor Wembanyama is NBA’s marquee big man matchup now Sports Columnists | Renck vs. Keeler debate: Who wins a pro title next for Denver? Michael Malone, Jared Bednar or Sean Payton? Sports Columnists | Keeler: Avalanche, please don’t make Nuggets’ mistakes. Pay Mikko Rantanen. Help Cale Makar. Don’t break up the band. Sports Columnists | Grading The Week: CSU Rams, Jay Norvell got welcome transfer portal mojo, raiding Ohio State, Baylor after rough start to January Sports Columnists | Keeler: Sean Payton says Broncos would’ve beaten Chiefs, Patrick Mahomes in playoffs. Not without a better running back, coach Only one individual was granted a standing ovation. All by herself. One more thank you for the road. “I had such a unique relationship with Coach that every day, there was a challenge,” Pagano recalled to me later. “But there were times that I would put stuff into a coaching perspective with dementia, and, boy, Coach would get the biggest kick out of that. I’m like, ‘Now you can relate to what I’m asking you.’ “I would be the head coach, and he’d be the quarterback, and, I’m like, ‘I’ve got to be the head coach, and you’ve got to be the quarterback, and what if the quarterback doesn’t do what you’re told?’ He’s like, ‘Yeah, I know.’ It was just a gift from Day 1, and even until the end, he was just coaching his last game, even at that moment. And he was present, and just so faithful to The Lord. And that’s the gift.” So was she. Peach became an old coach’s personal coach, his rock and his light, jogging every memory she could. They’d visit old stomping grounds. Familiar streets. The Wild Animal Sanctuary up in Keenesburg. The Davidson Mesa Overlook, where Highway 36 offers one of the most breathtaking views in the metro (“He’s like, ‘Peach, this is where I recruited families when I was selling Boulder,'” she recalled.) McDonald’s. “We went through the drive-thru at McDonald’s, and (they were) like, ‘This cone’s going to be $2.50,'” she recalled. “And he leaned over, he said, ‘$2.50 for an ice cream cone?” “I’m like, ‘Coach, it’s OK, I got it.’ He’s like, ‘$2.50?’ And, I mean, there were numerous (stops) that were like that. Because … everything had a price on it. And (that) would just bug him.” He rode mountain bikes. He prayed. He visited Buffs practices, a living, loving reminder that a dream written down with a date could become a goal. That any mountain could be moved. Rachel Washington sings on stage as a slide show is played on the screens above the court during a memorial for former CU football coach Bill McCartney at the CU Events Center on Wednesday, Jan. 22, 2025. (Matthew Jonas/Staff Photographer) Mac insisted that Pagano be called “Pretty Peach,” and would happily correct those who left out the adjective. But Pagano also wouldn’t put up with any guff. She hails from BoCo football royalty herself. Father Sam coached Fairview football for 21 years. She’s the sister of Chuck Pagano and John Pagano, the former Broncos assistant who’s currently working for the Washington Commanders. Peach’s sons eventually played for Tom McCartney at Fairview, where she was one of the football moms who helped keep things humming. After she started her own business as a caregiver about two decades ago, “When Tom called me to help, I was honored, and said, ‘You bet.’ And the next week, I started.” She said Billy Mac was “great” at first, she said, before he started to wonder what was up. “He was just like, ‘Now, can you leave?’ He was just like, ‘Why are you staying?,'” she chuckled. “So that’s how all that came around full circle.” She became family. As reporters circled Darian Hagan, one of the greatest Buffs ever and the QB of the 1990 national champs, Peach made a point to come over and hug him. “What did he do with the video I sent?” Hagan wondered. “Oh, I told him you said, ‘I love him,'” she replied. “I played it to him right then.” “That’s awesome,” Hagan said. “Thank you.” “What would Mac say about all this?” I asked Hagan. What would he think of the crowd? The anecdotes? The singing? The Word? “He would be touched by it,” Hagan replied. “But at the same time … he’s one of those guys, (he’d) be like, ‘Why are you guys all here? Don’t you have something better to do (like) be with your families?” And stuff like that. He would like that we’re all together. But he wouldn’t like that it was because of what it is now.” The table on the concourse guarding Section 24 was marked by three wicker baskets, buttressed by a dozen small Kleenex packs and piles of a paper program whose cover featured a warm, welcoming smile. It was a portrait of Coach Mac, a cloudless Boulder sky, Folsom Field and the Flatirons he changed forever. “Dementia hits different people with different ways,” Pagano reflected. “But it’s just what I’m meant to do, and be there. But your heart has to be huge. And your empathy has got to just be bigger.” Want more sports news? Sign up for the Sports Omelette to get all our analysis on Denver’s teams.