Passing a legend is never easy.
I tied Red’s record on December 29, 1994, when my Atlanta Hawks beat San Antonio, 127-121. One more victory, that’s all we needed.
The next night we played in Cleveland, where it would have been nice to set the record. This was my second year in Atlanta, and the Cavs had been my team for seven years. The Hawks management packed several caps with the number 939 to bring with us, along with a victory cake.
We lost by two points.
The next night, we played at home against Portland. The caps and cake came with us from Cleveland back to Atlanta.
And we lost again.
Then we went to New York, as did the caps and the cake. So much for the third time being a charm.
We lost yet again.
On the flight home, we all just ate the cake before it turned stale.
I knew what was happening. The players were feeling the pressure. It’s not like they knew me that well—it was only my second year with the Hawks—but they wanted to win the game, to get the record out of the way. They were tired of being asked about me, about what the record meant, about Red Auerbach. To them, the record meant nothing. They hadn’t been with me for those twenty-two years of coaching. To them, Red Auerbach was just a faint name out of basketball’s distant past. He quit coaching before most of my players were born. To them, this was just a distraction. And I wanted just to get our team past all this.
Finally, on January 6, 1995, we beat Washington, 112-90, at the Omni in Atlanta. With thirty seconds in the game, I lit up a victory cigar in honor of Red Auerbach. I don’t smoke, and I nearly choked to death. But I wanted to pay tribute to Red in some way, and the cigar came to mind. On that night, with the fans standing and cheering and the balloons falling from the ceiling, I remember first the feeling of relief—I was glad it was over. Now we could get back to playing regular games. And then, this enormous sense of satisfaction: No matter what anyone could say, I had become the winningest coach in NBA history, and had done it against enormous odds. There were strange questions running through my mind that night. One was, “What would my father think if he were alive?” Another was, “How does a kid who never even dreamed of playing in the NBA end up as the league’s winningest coach?” The only answer I could come up with was that God had a hand on my shoulder, that he was leading me through this life, sending people to help and support me, like Marilyn and Father Mannion. I also remembered something Father Mannion said to me when I was praying for something and it seemed God wasn’t listening. He told me, “What makes you think it’s going to be easy? God’s busy. You think you’re the only one he has to worry about?” It was not only a great line, but a great lesson in patience. God has always been there, and He’s always gotten to me right in time—His time.
To me, the record was about perseverance.
I see many coaches who are burned out, who not only lose their players and their jobs, but lose their families.
Johnny Kerr once said that coaching nearly drove him insane, “Because I couldn’t deal with there being five guys on the court running around with my paycheck.” And that’s true. You can’t play the game for them. Sometimes, you know you’ve prepared them well, the practices were good, they paid attention in the film sessions—and they walk on the court and act as if they never heard a word. It’s like they don’t even remember where they’re supposed to stand. But usually, if you have good people on your team and you do a good job in getting them ready for a game, they give you a solid effort. But there are nights…I mean, if you dwell on those games where your team just seemed to have one massive head cramp, you’ll want to blow your own brains out. I refuse to do that. The blessing of having played in the NBA as long as I did is that I understand there are some nights when the guys just aren’t with it. Red Auerbach himself could come back and coach, it wouldn’t matter. The team just hits a stretch in the schedule where everyone is tired, both mentally and physically, and all you can do is hope the other team is as fatigued as you are, and maybe you can slow down the game and win it ugly.
In the NBA, some things are out of my control as a coach. I never forget that. Every coach will agree, but a lot don’t believe it. They think they can put their fingers on everything, that they can dictate what happens on the court. They’re so consumed with their teams, their personality and sense of self-worth is tied up in how their team practiced that day. If the team has a lousy workout, some coaches start to doubt themselves. Again, they’d never admit it, but I know how coaches think, how tempting it is to make your team the center of your universe—your entire universe. I’ve never done that. I’m a sore loser, but I refuse to take it out on my family. I hate it when my players are injured, but I don’t blame the player. He didn’t want to get hurt. But I know some coaches who barely speak to injured players, acting as if the player intentionally got hurt just to mess up his team.
I never forget that the NBA is a business. If my team doesn’t play well, I am accountable. There is a possibility that I could be fired. But I don’t spend every minute thinking about that, or looking over my shoulder and wondering what the front office is saying about me. It’s easy for a coach to become paranoid, but the fact is that if they are going to fire you, they’ll fire you. It doesn’t matter if you worry or act paranoid, or if you just do your job. In fact, if you’re paranoid about being fired, you probably will get fired, because you won’t be doing your job the right way. You’ll be distracted, uncertain, hesitant to make the moves you should. The players will immediately sense this, and you’ll lose them. They’ll say, “If this guy doesn’t believe in what he’s doing, why should we?” In the modern NBA, every coach has a good contract, most making well over $1 million a year, and nearly every coach has a multiyear contract. So if they fire you, they still have to pay you—and probably have to pay you several million dollars. That means your family will be taken care of, regardless of what happens. That should give a coach the confidence to make the moves he thinks best and not worry about pleasing everyone all the time. But some coaches start to think, “Man, this is a great job. I’m making more money than I ever dreamed. I can’t mess this up.” Then they become timid and defensive. They’re coaching just to protect themselves and to keep their jobs instead of coaching boldly, doing what they know in their hearts is best for the team—even if it means some people will second-guess them.
I also know that not everyone will like me, or my approach to coaching. I do admit that I get tired of being called “laid-back…a players’ coach,” and it being a negative, as if I don’t have enough fire to motivate my team. But Larry Bird is even more “laid-back” than I am, and he was considered an excellent coach. Or how about John Wooden? How emotional was he when he was winning all those national titles at UCLA? Even Phil Jackson is not a screamer, and he’s considered a genius. Show me the difference between the way those men coached their teams and the way I coach. Sometimes I ask myself, is there something hidden here? Is it a black/white thing? Is it that I’m not a motormouth when some media members first interview me? I wish some people in the media wouldn’t approach me with preconceived notions, because perception isn’t always reality. To me, being a real “players’ coach” is a compliment, because it means you understand the players, can relate to them and communicate with them. It also helps to have been a good player in the league. When Larry Bird first spoke to the Indiana Pacers, he had instant respect. The players knew who he was, and knew of the championships he helped Boston win. I think I receive that same kind of respect from the players, because they know I’ve been through the same things they’re experiencing now.
You can’t yell at players all the time. Any boss who constantly yells turns off the people who work for him. They just stop listening. But I’m amused when people say I never yell. I can show you pictures of me screaming at officials, or getting on my players. The key is to pick your spots. I get tired of reading that I’m “stoic,” that all I do is “stand there, arms folded across my che
st.” Sure, there are times in the game when I stand there, arms folded, and just watch the game. It makes no sense to bellow at the officials every minute—they’ll just tune you out. But if you only go to them when you have a legitimate complaint, they’ll listen. Hey, officials are human. I believe I get better treatment for my team by not attacking them all the time, because when I do question them, I know they say to themselves, “Maybe we should see if Lenny has a point.” Officials have told me exactly that. So have players. When I rip into them, they know there’s a reason behind it; I’m not doing it just to make a lot of noise and vent frustration.
Here is something else that’s always in the back of my mind: I know that if I’m fired, my family will still love me. God will still be there for me. As a person, nothing has changed. The Lord will not judge me based on what kind of record I had with a certain team, or if I was ever fired. I know that God has always been with me. I don’t scream about my faith, but my faith is strong. It is central to who I am.
So is my marriage.
To me, the vows of marriage are sacred. When you promised to love and obey for better or worse, that meant something. Those weren’t just words to be uttered, then forgotten. We not only made those promises to each other, we made them to God. That meant we had to work at our marriage. Marilyn brought a rule into our house that we never go to bed angry at each other. And guess what? In any marriage, there are times when you’ll disagree, when you can’t help but argue. But that’s no reason to blow up a marriage. Marilyn’s idea that we immediately talk out a problem was tough for me, especially at first. I always like to keep things inside. But Marilyn believes if you suppress things for too long, you let them stew inside you—and everything gets worse. But I admit, I had to learn to talk things out. At times, I had to force myself to do it, but it has worked for our marriage. We always remind each other that we love each other before we go to bed, no matter what happened that day.
I respect my wife for the kind of person she is, and how she takes care of our home. I’m always proud to bring people to our house because they can see that the people who live there care about each other. When our kids were little, they were well-behaved when company was around. Marilyn has learned how to handle herself with all kinds of people. She has matured from the quiet young woman who hated to talk to a stranger into a woman who will very quickly let you know what is on her mind. She said she had to learn to be more outgoing, to speak up to anyone, because I was gone so much with basketball. She is the one who often had to deal with the repairmen, with our kids’ teachers, with all the duties that come with taking care of a house. She doesn’t agree with everything I say, and believe me, she’ll tell me about it. But I love that, I really do. Because I know that she loves and respects me. She supports my career. She is a great mother to our kids. So if she disagrees with something I want to do, it’s because she has the best interests of our family at heart. And then we talk it out. It’s great to have a wife who has her own mind, because I don’t have to be over-protective of her. Anyone who has ever met Marilyn knows she can take care of herself.
My family has been supportive of everything I’ve done. Everything. They’ve backed me. The fact that God is in our house has helped us to raise our children, especially because I’m in the public eye. My wife has often had to run our family because I’m on the road with basketball. But Marilyn really understands me and what my family needs from me. She knows that I grew up on the streets, that part of me is tough and macho, even though I don’t talk like it. She’ll come up to me and say, “You need to hug your son.” Just like that, “You need to hug your son.” I’d go and hug young Randy, and I could tell that she was right, not only did my son need a hug, I needed to hug him. She knew that my family wasn’t very emotional, there wasn’t much hugging. She brought that into our house, and it’s made me a better person, a better father. Marilyn made me notice that when our daughter Leesha was little she would watch me very intently when I came home from a road trip. So I learned to make it a point to go right to Leesha, pick her up, and tell her how much I love her and how special she is to me. Our daughter Jamee would be the first to greet me when I got home from a road trip. She’d say things like, “Dad was away, playing with his friends, now he’s home.” At least that was the scouting report about me being an NBA coach when she was three years old.
Making everything more difficult for Marilyn is that I’m a sports celebrity. We’ll be out in public, and people will want to talk to me, to get an autograph—and they’ll act as if Marilyn isn’t even there. I’ve seen fans just push her right out of the way. I’ve learned that I have to look out for Marilyn first, to make sure that she’s right there with me, that everyone knows she’s my wife and she’s important. The wives all hear stories about the temptations on the road, but if you have a solid marriage, you don’t put yourself in those situations. You call home—a lot. I have friends in virtually every major city in America, and I get together with them for dinner out, or I go to their homes for a visit. Friends watch out for each other and their families.
I look at our three children and I can see how blessed I was to have Marilyn for a wife. I know that God’s hand was on me when she came into my life, because she not only has been such a terrific wife, but she’s a super mother.
Early in our marriage, Marilyn worked in the accounting department of the telephone company. When she became pregnant with our first child, we talked about her getting a sitter and going back to work. But then I thought about it and said, “Hey, I’d rather have you at home with the baby. There are so many crazy things going on in the world.” Marilyn gave up a career to be a full-time mother for our children, which is the most important thing she could have done. Children need parents around, especially at an early age. I look at my daughter Leesha, who decided to stop working—she was in charge of a doctor’s office for several years—when she had her daughter, Ashley. She had long talks with Marilyn before the decision was made, and she decided to stay home just as Marilyn did with our children.
When Leesha was little, she never enjoyed my being in the public eye. She was very proud of me, but she didn’t want to be known as the daughter of a celebrity. She wanted to have her own identity, and I can understand that. It’s tough on the children of celebrities, and it’s really not surprising that some of them get in trouble. Dad is away a lot, and when he’s home, he’s often too preoccupied to really pay attention to them. Some people befriend the children just because they want to get close to the celebrity dad. The children grow up in an affluent home, and people sometimes treat them differently because of their fathers. The kids often feel under extra pressure, especially if they try to be athletes.
My son, Randy, attended a private high school in Seattle. He went out for basketball and made the team, but the coach wouldn’t start him. I was sure Randy was good enough to start. So were a couple of area high-school coaches. Naturally, Marilyn was livid about the coach not starting Randy. I sensed the coach didn’t play him that much because Randy was my son and he wanted to show that he wouldn’t be intimidated by that. It had to be very frustrating for Randy.
But that’s when I really began to realize Randy was an outstanding young man. I offered to help him transfer to another school. A local coach virtually guaranteed Randy would start for him, but Randy said, “No, I want to stay here.”
He stuck it out. He played on the soccer team and had a wonderful career. He got excellent grades, and I now realize how sticking it out at that school helped him grow as a person. He attended Santa Clara, where the basketball coach wanted him to walk-on to the team. Randy said it was more fun just to play basketball in the dorm league, which was probably true. None of us can fully appreciate what it must be like to be a young player and have to deal with the pressure of being the son of a basketball star. In college, Randy just concentrated on his studies and went on to earn a master’s degree in psychology. He also is great with computers and now works in that field.
Our
third child, Jamee, attended UCLA, where she majored in art history. After graduating, she returned to Seattle and attended the Seattle Art Institute and earned a degree in computer graphics and animation. She is a bright, determined young woman who works in computer graphics for Boeing.
If there is one key to parenting, it’s knowing who the friends of your children are. We always wanted our children to bring their friends to our home, to have them stay overnight, stay for the weekend. I still know all of Randy’s best friends, because they’d come over on Friday night, and then I’d cook them breakfast on Saturday morning. Pancakes, french toast, bacon, sausage. Then we’d sit around and talk about everything: sports, politics, school, you name it. If you’re able to make kids feel comfortable and show that you’re really interested in what they have to say, they will open up to you. But I also had a rule: After that breakfast, I assigned all of the kids a chore before they could go play. One swept the driveway. Another cleaned the dog pen. Someone might rake leaves or help me clean up the kitchen. I’d find things for them to do. I just thought that having them get a little taste of work was good.
One time, Leesha brought a boy to our house. I was in the den, and I could see he was a little nervous when he was introduced. He had on a Sonics baseball cap. After we said hello, Leesha took him to the recreation room with some other friends to listen to music. I went to check on them, and I noticed the kid still had his cap on.
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