Success In The Teachings Of A Lifetime

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Before we dive back into the abyss of conflict that characterized my memories of Coach Wooden, it is important for to have a clear picture (or at least my clear picture) of this seemingly simple man who many have made out to be almost saintly. John Wooden is not a saint. He is exceedingly smart, well-read, and somewhat shy. He loves his family as fully and as deeply as anyone I have ever known. He has a deep belief and an abiding faith in God with an unending admiration for Abraham Lincoln and Mother Teresa. He genuinely cared that his players received an education, which he considered much more important than playing basketball. Everyone calls him Coach, but he was first and foremost a teacher. Though retired from coaching for many years now, teaching is so deeply ingrained in his nature that every conversation contains a lesson or quote that enlightens and informs.

It is also true that this outwardly gentle and soft-spoken man might just be the toughest man I ever met. I am sure that many of his former players would concur. No matter how many times this guy got knocked down in his athletic days, there was simply no doubt he was getting back up. He was a tough taskmaster in practice, demanding full attention and effort at all times.

When you spend enough time around him, you find he has a biting sense of humor that can be tinged with sarcasm. While many of Coach's staunchest admirers make a big deal that he never swears, and it's true that Coach never uses profanity, it is simply ridiculous to say he never swears. Any player who screwed up in practice and was on the receiving end of Coach's wrath when he would angrily blow his whistle and yell, "Goodness gracious, sakes alive!" knew that he had been "properly" cussed out. John Wooden knew how to swear without using profanity.

This is the man I was going to seek out after almost 30 years, perhaps reopening those old wounds, so I could tell him that I owed everything I now had to his inspired teachings. I felt like I was eating a whole flock of crows – or maybe snipe – but it was something that I simply had to do. I looked through some old appointment books and finally found Coach's phone number. It was really an old number, but I figured if anyone in the entire city of Los Angeles still had the same phone number, it would be Coach Wooden. I mustered up my courage and dialed. I had to suppress a momentary sense of panic that this might be a big mistake. Why revisit such long-gone pain? Maybe I should hang up. But I didn't.

After a couple of rings, a machine picked up, which was sort of a relief. At least he wasn't on the phone, asking me to remind him who I was – or worse – asking why I would be calling.

The message started to play, "Hello, this is John Wooden. Please speak slowly and distinctly, and leave your name and number after the tone." Hey, this wasn't so hard, I would just leave word, try my best not to expect a call back so my feelings wouldn't be hurt, and move on. The message machine beeped, and I started to speak. "Hi, Coach (I was, of course, speaking slowly and distinctly, since taking orders from Coach seemed natural, even after a quarter of a century) this is Andy Hill." Wham, the phone was picked up, and that familiar voice was on the other end. "Andy, where are you, where have you been?" It was Coach, and his voice was unchanged. It was like being thrown back in time nearly three decades.

But the forbidding Coach of yesteryear wasn't getting on me for a bad crosscourt pass, or annoyed at me for some ill-conceived idea I was asking him to support. He just wanted to know when I was coming to see him. In fact, he really wanted to see me. When Coach suggested that "right now would be fine," it threw me into another moment of panic. Am I really ready for this? Am I better off leaving all this behind me? I had no appointments that day, and could have come over immediately, but I needed some time to think this over. I arranged to come by and see him the next day. I drove to see him with a mixture of positive anticipation and absolute dread. It didn't matter that I hadn't been under his command for almost a quarter of a century. I made sure I arrived on time. I knew better than to be late for an appointment with Coach.

He met me downstairs. I was a bit startled to see how 87 years of life had affected this seemingly indestructible man. In his days as a three-time All-American at Purdue University, John Wooden had been famous for his fearless style of play. Old pictures of him reveal a chiseled, muscular athlete. But nearly 65 years later, this reckless abandon had left Coach with hips and knees that gave him a great deal of pain (not that I've ever heard him complain about it). He walked slowly, almost gingerly, to meet me. But the face was familiar; the blue eyes clear, the handshake firm. In an instant we were inside the door of his condo.

To visit Coach in his smallish condominium in Encino is to take a trip back in time. Stuffed full of pictures of his large extended family, the condo is also filled to overflowing with memorabilia that would blow any college hoops fan's mind. It is also deeply infused with sadness because Coach's beloved wife, Nell, is no longer there to share it with him. I felt surprisingly at ease with him. No longer seated at the end of his bench, hoping desperately that he would put me in the game, I was instead seated comfortably on his couch having a conversation with a much older but most engaging gentleman.

My fears and insecurities about how Coach would receive my visit receded and were replaced with a powerful and important sense of reconnection. Though I wasn't too sure of my motivation at the time, I knew I deeply needed to express to him how I now appreciated all he had done for me, and how useful and practical the lessons of UCLA basketball had been for me in the "real world." As much as I had tried to repress my need for approval from Coach, I was aware that somehow his opinions were still terribly important to me.

I sat down and started sharing with him my post UCLA life story. Coach sat and listened attentively. As I described the relationship between coaching sports and managing a business (my big revelation, as you'll recall) he simply sat there with a beatific smile. Clearly, this big surprise to me was no surprise to him. He nodded and said, "So you did learn something after all."

We sat and talked for hours, about life, about family, about values and priorities. My thoughts now mirrored his. I had fought this man, feared him, and at times despised him when I was sitting on the bench as a youngster. And now I was just like him. Remarkable!

Since that day, I have been back to see Coach many times. I'm still pleasantly surprised that he is always happy to schedule our next get together. His mind is still sharp and focused. He is nothing less than a national treasure.