John Wooden, RIP

[paul secor]

I thought Mr. Wooden's passing deserved a thread of its own, rather than a few mentions in the NCAA/NBA thread.

I've never had any special feelings about coaches - basketball, football, baseball managers - but John Wooden always seemed like someone who stood apart from the rest of the pack. He always seemed to have a true dignity and, at least from what I've read, he seemed to care more, or at least as much, about teaching his players about life and living life with grace as he did about winning. His players always spoke of him with the greatest respect. Whenever I read something about him, it seemed as if it was something positive and respectful, and when you live 99+ years, that's somewhat unusual. When someone dies, people seem to have good words for them, but while they're living there are usually at least a few negative comments. Not so with John Wooden, at least as far as I know.

He was a great basketball coach. He won titles with different kinds of teams - small teams that relied on speed, teams with dominant big men, and teams that fit somewhere in between.

The two constants with his teams were discipline and defense. I remember watching the 1965 NCAA championship game (back then, college basketball wasn't a billion $ business & only the championship game was televised) and marveling that a relatively small team (Gale Goodrich, Keith Ericson, Kenny Washington, Edgar Lacey - I can still see them in my mind) could dominate by playing great defense and through their quickness.

Back before I learned to stop wasting other people's time and lives with such things, I sent Mr. Wooden a copy of one of his books with a letter asking if he would sign it. He did sign it and took the time to send me a short letter inside the returned book. Some years later, when I was rereading it, my wife asked me what I was reading. I showed it to her, and when she came to the section with John Wooden's Pyramid of Success, she started laughing and said, "You're one of the most disorganized people I've ever known and someone with probably fewer life goals than anyone I've ever known. How can this mean anything to you?" She was right about what she said. (She loves me in spite of all of that - perhaps because of it). For me, reading what John Wooden wrote was reading about a dream. For John Wooden, it was about his life.

Thank you for all of the great memories, Mr. Wooden. I never met you but I'll miss you.

Edited June 6, 2010 by paul secor

[papsrus]

Touching column by Bill Plaschke. It begins:

"When I think today of the greatest sportsman who walked a sideline, I think, instead, of where John Wooden lay his head.

It was a tiny bed in a cluttered room in the dark Encino condo where he lived for the last three decades.

He showed it to me once, without a trace of discomfort or embarrassment, led me inside and pointed to the threadbare white bedspread, Coach still coaching.

"That's Nell," he said.

It was, indeed, a smiling picture of his beloved late wife of 53 years, propped up above the pillow where he slept.

In the space next to the pillow, where Nell used to sleep, there was another propped-up photo of her.

Below that photo, in the middle of the bed, was a bundle of carefully scripted letters, all in the same intricate handwriting.

"Fan mail?" I asked.

"You might say that," he said.

The letters had been written by Wooden to Nell.

They contained humble descriptions of his day, gentle laughs over private jokes, eternal promises of his affection.

They had been written once a month, every month, since 1985.

They had been written after she died.

"I obviously don't have anywhere to send them," he said. "But I had to write them anyway."

He said he had talked to his wife every day for more than half a century, and it still wasn't enough. He wondered, when you are best friends, can it ever be enough?

"I miss telling her things," he said.

As he led me out of the bedroom in that darkened apartment, I realized he taught me again, only this time it was something that cannot be found in a pyramid or a rolled-up program.

I realized that I had just been given a glimpse into a lifetime of simple devotion, from Nell to UCLA, from a sport that didn't deserve it to children who will never understand it.

Coach had just shown me the meaning of undying love, and, as he led me out of the darkened room, I quietly wept at its power.

This, though, is why I will not weep today, in the wake of John Wooden's death at age 99."

Continued

.

Edited June 7, 2010 by papsrus

[ghost of miles]

Wooden grew up about 20 minutes north of here--although he's strongly associated with UCLA, I still think of him as a great credit to the legacy of Indiana basketball.

[Tim McG]

A very sad day, indeed.

Rest in Peace, Mr. Wooden.