not have been wise nor patient
enough to do this.
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His teammate Keith Erickson
enjoyed horseplay and fooling
around during practice, which I
didn’t permit. Unlike with Gail,
however, I was able to be very
direct—almost rude —with Keith, and it would bounce off him like TIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP
water off a duck’s back. But he’d get the message without taking it NA
personally.
FIRST
Once, during UCLA’s pregame warm-ups at Kansas State, I was
THE
standing on the sideline talking to a reporter when I noticed Keith hors-ing around down at the other end. I immediately excused myself and started walking briskly toward him—very displeased. He caught sight of me and stopped right away, but I kept walking straight at him. When
I was about six inches away, I hissed under my breath, “Keith, it’s a good thing I decided to count to 15 on my way over here, because if I’d counted to 10, as I usually do, you’d be on your way back to California.” He nodded, said, “Sorry, Coach,” and continued the warm-up correctly, no hurt feelings. He just liked to have a little fun—occasionally at the wrong time—and I had to calm him down.
Walt Hazzard was totally different from either Gail or Keith. A big compliment would go in one ear and out the other, as if I hadn’t spoken a word. If I made him mad at me, however, the results were amazing. Walt’s attitude would become almost defiant when I criticized him, as if to say, “Well, Wooden, I’ll show you!” And he usually did because he was so good.
One problem, however, took a while to fix. Walter was an extraor-131
dinary player, but one who liked to use fancy moves such as dribbling behind his back or between his legs. Some called him “East Coast”
because the style of play back there was more given to showboating.
This show-business type of play was unacceptable to me because it drew attention away from the team and onto the player. Additionally, it was not fundamentally sound and provided little advantage that I could TIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP
see. But when I tried to stop Walt’s entertaining moves, he would NA
become upset and think I was trying to hurt his game.
FIRST
This was serious for me. Walt was (and is) a good person and was THE
probably the team’s foremost basketball player. I wanted to work with him in a way that was productive and achieved my goal—namely, getting him to cut out the flamboyance. Furthermore, I knew if I allowed one player to violate a clear rule, others would soon be breaking rules they didn’t like.
132
The last seconds of the first championship.
So I called Walt’s father, Reverend Walter Hazzard, in Philadelphia, and explained that I was going to take some hard measures: I was going MY PERSONAL BEST
to bench his son. Reverend Hazzard told me to do whatever was necessary. After I benched Walter, he immediately called his dad and announced that he was quitting the Bruins and moving back home. I am told that Reverend Hazzard replied, “Son, don’t come back here because my door will be locked.”
I can’t say that Walter stopped all of the fancy stuff, but he toned it down enough for us to have a workable compromise. Compromise was also something I had to learn along the way.
Let me also tell you this: even without the flamboyance, Walter was just a delight to watch, perhaps the greatest passer I’ve ever coached—
and I love passers. Additionally, because of his eagerness to pass the ball, his teammates worked feverishly to get open. Walt was a perfect example of what happens when a player is more interested in helping the group than in boosting his own statistics.
136
MY PERSONAL BEST
137
TIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP
NA
Another player on that first championship team who tested me was FIRST
Jack Hirsch, the only fellow I’ve ever coached who called me John. In THE
my early years, I wouldn’t have tolerated this informality, but by this time I somehow felt that if it made Jack feel good, what was the harm?
All of the preceding examples and many more resulted from my
attempt to get better at understanding human nature—mine as well as
other people —so I could be a more effective teacher. Understanding human nature is absolutely crucial to a leader’s success.
The 1964 team is dear to my heart, perhaps my favorite. Like a first child, a team that brings a first national championship is very special, even more so with this group because of the circumstances. After all, at the beginning of the year they were not even ranked among the top fifty teams in the country.
Comparatively speaking, they were also the shortest team to ever win a national championship—our center, Fred Slaughter, was only six foot five. My message to them was simple: “I don’t care how tall you are, I care how tall you play.” And Walt Hazzard, Jack Hirsch, Gail Goodrich, Keith Erickson, Doug McIntosh, Kenny Washington, and Fred—our 138
short center—played tall. They were the first team to efficiently execute the full press that I had begun teaching at South Bend Central High School. Additionally, they practiced in the chaotic conditions of the men’s gym and played all “home” games on makeshift courts elsewhere, because in 1956 the fire marshal declared that UCLA crowds were too big for the gym—it was a fire hazard. Equally pleasing to me MY PERSONAL BEST
was the way they worked together on the court—like a hand in a glove.
Their togetherness on court has never been surpassed by any group of players I’ve coached; they were a single unit, a real team.
All of this didn’t impress most of the critics, however. On the Saturday morning of the championship game, I sat in the lobby of the Muehlebach Hotel in Kansas City writing a little birthday note to my daughter, Nan. As I did so, many folks stopped by to offer their kind
regards and condolences that although the Bruins were a capable team, Duke, our highly regarded opponent in the finals that night, was a tall team. And tall teams win. “Nice try, Wooden,” was what I sensed.
Although UCLA had won every single game that season, the boys were still viewed as almost lucky to be in the finals. This burned me up.
This is the starting five from the first national championship team. They looked like champions should look.
That evening, Walt, Keith, Jack, Gail, Fred, Doug, and the rest of the young men outscored Duke 98–83 for UCLA’s first national basketball championship. Ironically, it happened in the same Kansas City Municipal Auditorium where my Indiana State Sycamores had lost to Louisville in the finals of the NAIB championship in 1948.
The following year, 1965, UCLA outscored Michigan 91–80 to win its second straight NCAA championship. Suddenly, or so it seemed to some, I was an overnight success with two national basketball titles.
The truth is that it took about fifty years—going all the way back to our farm in Centerton, Indiana, when my dad nailed a tomato basket with the bottom knocked out to the hayloft our barn.
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MY PERSONAL BEST
14
J. D. MORGAN
A HELPING HAND
O n the day I was hired as UCLA’s new head basketball coach in 1948, Wilbur Johns, the University’s athletic director, assigned me the task of budgeting and scheduling everything related to the Bruins’ basketball program. It was a complicated and time-consuming job.
I spent hundreds of hours detailing, arranging, and invoicing travel, lodging, and dining as well as scheduling opponents and ordering most of our supplies, including uniforms, shoes, socks, basketballs, and almost everything else. All of this on a very small budget. On road trips our trainer, Ducky Drake, and I would even search for cheap restaurants to save money on team meals because hotel meal prices were always higher. All of this was a distraction from coaching and teaching. I
t also alienated a few of the hotels that we stayed at, and some didn’t want us back.
This all changed starting in 1963 with the arrival of the new athletic director, a big, bold, outspoken fellow by the name of J. D. Morgan.
While he had little to do with UCLA’s NCAA championships in 1964
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and 1965, he recognized how important they could be and he seized on it. In the spring of 1965, here’s how he signaled his commitment to the future of UCLA basketball.
THROWING AWAY MY HARD WORK
One afternoon I was busy in my office poring over the details of the projected budget and schedule for the upcoming year. The desk and a connecting table were stacked up with piles of papers full of numbers, names, and timetables.
Suddenly, towering over me was J. D. Morgan, who asked in his deep, rolling voice, “What are you doing there, John?”
142
Looking up from my work and irritated by his interruption, I said,
“Mr. Morgan, I’m trying to get the budget request put together for next year. Could we talk later?”
Without saying a word, J.D. leaned down with his arms outstretched and scooped up almost everything on my desk—papers, notebooks, receipts, and all the material I had worked so hard on for weeks. Then MY PERSONAL BEST
he slowly walked over to the corner of my office and dumped it into, and around, a large, metal wastepaper basket. I was speechless.
J.D. came back to my desk and said, “John, you just take care of getting that team ready to play basketball. I’ll handle the rest.” From that moment—April, 1965—I could focus completely on teaching basketball. It was as if he had given me another assistant coach named John R. Wooden. We had our differences from time to time, but J. D. Morgan knew what he was doing.
PAULEY PAVILION
The new athletic director also understood the advantage of having a modern basketball facility. When I arrived at UCLA in 1948, it had been with the indication that the men’s gymnasium would be replaced within three years. Fifteen years later, it still hadn’t been done. Morgan recognized what Pauley Pavilion would provide—more revenue, eas-ier recruiting, and greater fan support. What I understood better than J.D. was how much more productive my practices would become.
By 1964, he also had heard about Lewis Alcindor, Jr.—the best high school player in the country—who was deciding where to go to college when he graduated from New York’s Power Memorial Academy in 1965.
J. D. Morgan cleared my desk of everything unrelated to teaching basketball.
Michigan, St. John’s, Oklahoma, and other fine schools were all interested. J. D. Morgan let young Lewis know that Pauley Pavilion, a five-million-dollar, state-of-the-art gymnasium would be completed by the time he enrolled at UCLA.
Lewis and his parents, Cora and Ferdinand,
A player is a success only
were attracted by UCLA’s academic reputation and
when he does his best in
environment, but I have no doubt that Lewis
service to the team.
Alcindor would not have attended our school if the
old men’s gym and various city college facilities had been his “home”
court. It would have been a downgrade from his high school days.
In my opinion, J. D. Morgan got the job of building Pauley Pavilion done. In the process, he also made me a much more effective coach and teacher.
145
HOW DID UCLA WIN ALL THOSE CHAMPIONSHIPS?
I’m probably no better at self-analysis than anyone else, but when I’m J. D. MORGAN
asked how players under my supervision won ten national championships in twelve years, here’s the best answer I can give. I don’t rate myself too high as a “game” coach, but I was among the best when it came to conducting practice. And practice is where a championship is won.
Also, I did have a sizable knack for recognizing talent and knowing how to use talented athletes—whether tall or short—within a system I was very good at teaching. (Few people besides coaches and sportswrit-ers recognize that the only constant in our championship teams was quickness—some players were tall, some were short, but all were quick.)
If I had a “technique,” it was my ability to get players to share my belief that a player is a success only when he does his best in service to the team; this is only possible with extreme effort in all areas. I defined many of those areas in the Pyramid of Success.
Importantly, J. D. Morgan’s assumption of budgeting and scheduling duties let me coach full-time. And when he facilitated the construction of Pauley Pavilion—completed in June of 1965 just before Lewis arrived on campus—it not only made practices extremely productive, but also made UCLA more appealing to potential student-athletes.
J. D. Morgan’s contribution was significant.
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THE HARDEST VICTORIES
However, those first two national championships—1964 and 1965—
made it all possible. Because they were achieved (1) under the near-hardship practice conditions of the men’s gym, (2) with comparatively short teams who had no “home court,” and (3) at a time when UCLA had no reputation for winning an NCAA basketball competition, I can MY PERSONAL BEST
honestly say they were more difficult to achieve than the next eight NCAA championships combined. There’s no question in my mind
about that.
However, once the pieces were put in place —and J. D. Morgan
played a part in it—UCLA was on the verge of being an ongoing force in college basketball.
That’s the best I can do in explaining how the so-called basketball dynasty happened.
15
THE AGE OF ALCINDOR
W hen I first saw Lewis Ferdinand Alcindor, Jr., now Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, I was simply amazed, not just with his height, seven foot two, but even more with his extraordinary demeanor. Lewis had the bearing of an eagle. He also reminded me so much of my own father, Joshua Hugh Wooden.
SELF-CONTROL AND POISE ARE FUNDAMENTAL TO
ACHIEVING SUCCESS.
This may sound impossible because two men couldn’t appear to be more different. One was white, the other black; one stood under six feet tall, the other over seven feet; one was a plain Midwest farmer, the other a superstar from New York. But they shared a most valuable quality: Joshua Hugh Wooden and Lewis Alcindor, Jr., both possessed such 147
Copyright © 2004 by John Wooden and Steve Jamison. Click here for terms of use.
My father and Lewis (Kareem Abdul-Jabbar) shared a most extraordinary quality. Both had the bearing and poise of an eagle.
148
powerful self-control and poise. I so greatly admire this and believe it fundamental to achieving success. Without it, how do we resist the temptations that pull us off course?
MY PERSONAL BEST
IGNORING THE COMMON ASSUMPTION
When Lewis chose to attend UCLA with its brand-new Pauley Pavilion, many felt my worries were over: after two national championships with short teams who practiced in an antiquated men’s gym and played all “home” games at other local schools, things would now be easy—
all I had to do was make sure the Bruins arrived on time for games.
Lewis would take care of the rest.
BOY
ARMF
INDIANA
I did not share this view. I kept in mind what had occurred at Kansas with Wilt Chamberlain, arguably an even greater and taller presence on court than Lewis. Kansas failed to win any championships. This was in spite of the fact that Wilt not only was slightly taller, but also had an arm span a foot greater than Lewis’s (101 inches versus 89 inches).
While no coach can win without talented athletes, not all coaches can win—even with talent. This has been demonstrated time after time.
WHILE NO COACH CAN WIN WITHOUT TALENTED ATHLETES,
NOT ALL C
OACHES CAN WIN—EVEN WITH TALENT.
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My perspective was that UCLA, with Lewis as a team member, had a great opportunity to win a national championship—our foot was in the door, so to speak. But I’d seen the door slam shut on many feet. For that door to remain open, I needed to help other members of the Bruins avoid two destructive attitudes: namely, jealousy and complacency.
MY PERSONAL BEST
Everything about Lewis demanded attention, and the media certainly supplied it. But Lewis’s teammates were also talented—Lucius Allen, Kenny Heitz, Lynn Shackelford, Mike Warren, Curtis Rowe, Sidney Wicks, and others—and naturally wanted some credit. It wasn’t easy.
During interviews after a game in which Lewis had scored 30 points, I would make a point of first complimenting a player who had made a valuable defensive play or set up a big basket. I tried hard to spread the attention around. But the reporters all wanted to talk to Lewis, and even
BOY
ARMF
INDIANA
when they interviewed other
players, the questions were usu-
ally about their tall teammate
from New York. It’s very diffi-
cult for a player who is working
hard and making a contribution
not to become upset—resent-
ful—with this sort of treatment.
I would remind players that
basketball was in some respects
similar to the making of a movie.
There was a star on the screen,
152
but that star was helpless without
a good script and costars, light-
ing and makeup experts, and all
the other less recognized things that go into making a good movie.
Without them, the star is meaningless. Our team, with Lewis, for example, had a star, but everyone’s contributions were crucial. Lewis could MY PERSONAL BEST
do nothing without them. Then I would also remind them that a movie needed a director who was in charge of everything. I was
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