Pulling For A Cure: First Known Sibling 8+ Takes On HOCR 2024
By Rowing Head Coach Madeline Hopkins

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In 1983, Matt Hopkins found himself wandering around Union College's freshman orientation looking for something fun and fulfilling to do in his free time. Little did he know that by signing up for the newly minted rowing team, he'd found something fun and fulfilling to do for the rest of his life. Matt, who would later become my dad, poured himself into developing rowing opportunities where there hadn't been any—he started by creating one public school team in upstate New York (Niskayuna), then a league of several public schools (NYS Section II), then a homeschool team (Mohawk), then elementary school rowing camps (Kindersculls), and finally, developing models for Classical Christian schools to compete in the sport (Augustine Classical Academy, ACCS). Like most of us in the sport, he got hooked, and loved the minute details of the relationship between athletes and boats. Unlike most, he passed that love on to not one, not two, but all nine of his children. 

Matt met Tamra, the love of his life, at Union, and the story of how they met became the story of my childhood. As the tale goes, he was driving the trailer down to Vespoli to pick up a boat they'd recently acquired and he needed someone to come along to help out if the truck broke down. One of the novice women lost the toss (allegedly because she should be taking on a leadership position), and Tamra found herself bouncing along on the adventure. As the years went by, the passenger in the seat changed, rotating between siblings.  Entertaining him as he cruised around the East Coast amassing equipment for all his various programs wasn't a terrible gig—I remember meeting countless coaches throughout my years of growing up, most of whom were essentially donating unloved hulls to a man who would bring them back to life. 

In the spring of 2021, Matt was coaching and teaching at Augustine Classical Academy, the school he'd founded to provide an alternative education for students in the Capital Region of New York, and the school (and team) were emerging out of COVID. All of his kids were engaged in the sport; Maddie had graduated college in 2018 and was working full time coaching the programs she'd founded at Gordon College, Emma graduated from the Princeton Lights in 2020 and was doing a masters at Rutgers and rowing there, Ben was a Junior with the Cornell lights, Lucy was rowing at Gordon for Maddie, and Abi, Lily, and Asher were competing for Augustine's middle and high school teams. Thomas and James, still arguably too young to be in a boat regularly, subbed in as coxswains were needed at ACA. Leading up to Stotesbury Cup 2021, Mom had expressed concerns that Dad wasn't himself, that perhaps he was burnt out or running on a vitamin or iron deficiency—but he had just brought a small independent school through COVID, running a year of online instruction, and it seemed a little justified that he might be off-kilter. 

But something really wasn't right. Matt kept awkwardly falling off his bike in Philly—a man who could navigate a stroke watch, a bike, Memorial Drive, and a toddler or two. He launched a boys' quad with a loose fin on Thursday; a detail that might have passed as normal for others, but something that raised real alarm among those who knew him. On Friday morning, while prepping for finals, Matt passed out and was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. A quick check revealed that his brain was being aggressively pressurized by a tumor, and by the middle of the day, he was being prepped for emergency brain surgery to remove as much of the mass as possible. That afternoon, as LilyAnna raced her freshman quad to a beautiful underdog win at Stotes, Dad was fighting for his life. 

The next few days were a whirlwind, marked by Matt parading Lily's trophy around the hospital, bragging about his quad to anyone who would listen. He woke up from surgery somewhat muddled, but immediately started talking about the boat. They didn't know they were fast, they just needed to believe him, he insisted. They just had to go out there and open up a "can of whoop-a**" and they could win Stotes. The look on his face when we handed him the trophy is one his athletes know well; in the midst of the most terrifying moments of his life, the joy on his face when he processed that the girls had in fact pulled off the win he so firmly believed in wiped away the confusion and fear that inevitably come post-brain surgery. 

Matt was diagnosed with Glioblastoma Multiformae, a rare form of brain cancer. That initial surgery removed 80% of the tumor, leaving him unable to access his executive functions or manage his emotions (critical for coaching and teaching). The next months were marked by little glimpses of hope as we occasionally spotted him peeking through the haze of the disease; reminders that we'd already largely lost the man we loved and were now caring for someone very different. GBM robs you of that, it steals away your personality, your rationality, your discernment, your passion. It's a confusing, frustrating disease that leaves you with memories of a very different person than the one you started with. But Dad pressed against that whenever he could; mere days after his surgery he was back on the banks, watching Lucy race at IRA's. Thanks to the incredible kindness of Gary Caldwell and Linda Muri, he was on the docks to catch her, and walked himself down there despite consistent warnings from various healthcare professionals. He welled up as he watched the "Matt Hopkins" race down the course in the Men's 4-, a decision the Gordon men had made days before racing a previously unnamed new boat. Emblazoned down the side were the words "Standing on the Promises," the mantra he had picked for his upcoming treatments. He chose to fight his GBM battle safe in the knowledge that the promises of God in the Bible are true and real, and that even in the darkest nights, He would not abandon Dad or turn His back on him. 

GBM isn't the kind of cancer you usually recover from, and Matt lost his battle in September of 2022. After his memorial service, we rowed. Former rowers got back in boats together, and the atmosphere bustled with rigging, launching, and landing. Matt spent his life bringing people together around the water, usually through rowing, but also through mandatory Sunday afternoon canoe adventures (he famously strapped four canoes on top of our van multiple times). That has been evident in the months and years since he left us; we can't get through a regatta without at least one person stopping one of the siblings to tell a story about how Matt helped their program or them personally. 

The first Head of the Charles without Dad was bittersweet. We reunited as a family, and sat on the banks, and cheered each other on—but no one was furiously biking alongside, hollering his signature "Yiiiiip" to be sure we knew he was there. So many earlier regattas centered around the willow trees at CBC, where we would sit and wait all day for his rowers to go by, delighting (as kids will) in the collisions and close proximity to the action. We'd bring our bikes when we got older, biking in his wake up and down Memorial Drive chasing the Nisky 8+'s down the course. One year we managed a dock at FALS as a family—I'm sure there's no connection, but shortly after, the Regatta added an age requirement to volunteering, ending the short lived careers of our albeit young oar carriers.  And then, of course, we grew up, and started racing ourselves. Dad loved coaching, but he loved coaching his own kids even more. His voice could stand out against the crowd, right alongside you, combating the little doubts in your head. And passing his contagious love of rowing on, never forced, simply caught by each of us, one by one, brought him such joy. 

This year, we're telling Dad's story in order to tell the story of thousands of families impacted by Glioblastoma. 12,000 people in the United States will have their lives shattered by a GBM diagnosis in 2024, and as of right now, there's not enough information about the cancer to be working towards effective treatment. Every year that research goes unfunded is another year that families will be ripped apart by this devastating disease, and we're determined to fight that reality the best we can. We've partnered with Glioblastoma Research Organization to raise awareness and funds to support vital, life saving research, and we're incredibly excited to be coming together as a family to race the Director's Challenge mixed 8+ at HOCR 2024 in honor of Dad. To the best of our knowledge, we're the first biological sibling 8+ to compete anywhere, and to do so for the first time at a regatta that meant so much to Dad as well as our whole family is an incredible gift. Please come to the Charles this year, sit on the bank with some clam chowder and people you love, and revel in the fun of boats. Please also consider supporting our fundraiser, either by purchasing 4702xGBM gear to raise awareness or by directly donating. We're sending all donations straight to research projects being done by amazing scientists, all of whom are fighting to keep families together in the face of a GBM diagnosis. 

I remember once talking to someone at the Charles who told me they had been standing on a bridge when a four I was in raced under, and he'd stopped my Dad to say hi. Dad's response had been "I'm watching Maddie race, she's the one there with the connection—I taught her to catch like that." He thought it was hilarious, that Matt would identify an athlete as his kid simply based on how their body connected with the oar. As I watch all my siblings race through major milestones in their life, I realize that Dad actually gave us an incredible gift beyond the boat. We'll always share that connection, both literal and figurative, with the water and the lessons it teaches us, and our link to the sport of rowing will never be broken. You can't grow up with a man like Matt Hopkins and not feel his presence in the hull the minute you sit down, and those catches will tie us to him forever. 

For more information or to donate, visit 4702forGBM.com or our instagram page, @4702forgbm_hopkins.

For additional comment, contact: maddie.hopkins@gordon.edu