by Dan Doyle
8
(1985-1987)
Jim Keating’s career in Jersey State imploded for many reasons, but one factor was his lost zeal. In a profession that requires uncommon energy, this was cataclysmic. While there were several reasons for the loss of that passion, Edna’s cancer was by far the most formidable. It had drained her strength and diminished his willpower—at least the sort of willpower required of a Division I coach.
And the charge of being racially insensitive—devastating to Jim personally—had surely not helped matters in a professional sense.
Edna had rallied for several months after Jim’s appointment, and her better health, coupled with his fresh opportunity, brought a new wick of flame to his life. But once his first season was underway, with a team of twelve Division II players with Division I egos, Edna, closing in on fifty-nine, began to falter again. Jim winced at this slippage, and he was also now acutely aware that turning State into a Division I power would be even more difficult than he had originally thought. He felt stampeded, and he made several important decisions in reaction to the pressure, even one that involved his marriage.
From the day he had wed Edna McCarthy, Jim’s innermost concerns had placed Edna—and then Edna and Sarah—in first position. Yet his actions often contradicted his deepest feelings. Coaching at the college level, particularly during the season and recruiting periods, had required of him an unrelenting attention to his job. But as his wife’s condition continued to deteriorate, for the first time in his career, Jim decided to focus more on her expanding needs. He would delegate some of his normal responsibilities to his assistants, one of whom had been forced on him by State President Mahon when he offered Jim the job. Jim was explaining what he expected of the coaches he wanted on his staff when Mahon interrupted him.
“I know you want to bring in your own people, but there’s a young assistant from the prior regime that you must take on if we’re going to get this deal done. His name is Robert Frazier and he’s an African American kid. You may remember him. He was a good player here several years back, and he’s been top assistant for the last two years. He’s done a decent job and some of the alumni think highly of him,” said Mahon. Jim noticed that the president became hesitant as the rhetoric got thicker.
“In fact, to be honest, there were a few who wanted him to get the head job, but our athletic director didn’t think he was ready . . . thought he needed more time and that he’d profit from working under someone with your experience.”
Finally Mahon’s hands collapsed at his sides.
“I’m going to level with you,” he said. “Our record for hiring minorities in the Athletic Department is not what it should be, and my affirmative action people are starting to give me a difficult time about the situation. Of the varsity athletes in our school, 65 percent are black, yet we only have four assistants in the entire department who are black, and not one head coach. I’m prepared to offer you the job, and you can make the call on your number two assistant and your graduate assistant. But Robert Frazier has to be part of the package.”
Jim knew that he should insist on final say on all of his assistants, and he related this point to Mahon. During his career, he had consistently practiced his own form of affirmative action even before it was popular or the law. He hated prejudice unyieldingly, and he always made it a point to hire top black assistants whenever possible and prepare them to become head coaches. The result was that two such former assistants had reached the head coaching level in Division I. But all had been his hires, his decisions. Mahon, though, was adamant, and now Jim was going to have to go off to war with a top assistant he didn’t even know.
Yet his wounds from past battles were deep, and he was in a financial bind. Jim Keating needed this job, a fact he was reminded of every time a bill came to the post office box he had opened solely for all correspondence relating to Edna’s care.
In the 1985-86 season, Jim’s first as coach and the transition year from Division II to I, State played thirteen of their twenty-six games against Division I competition. The team showed clear improvement at the end, winning four of their last eight, including two February victories over Division I opposition. State finished the season 10-16.
But to compete at the Division I level, Jim knew that he needed better talent . . . much better talent.
Two weeks after State’s last game in that first season, Robert Frazier took his boss to a high school All-Star game in South Jersey to show the coach the three “blue chippers” that Frazier was certain would help turn State’s fortunes around. The three all fit the profile of the majority of recruits at Division I schools. They were African Americans from urban environments, and they all looked at basketball as the best—if not the only—way out of their difficult circumstances.
Jim Keating always had an uncanny ability to judge talent. For whatever reason, he could look at a kid and generally project how good this player would be in several years. Jim knew that the three athletes Frazier had been touting were not heavily recruited by other schools. Yet he liked the fact that, as kids down at the heels, they would likely crave success. A lot of Hall of Famers came from similar backgrounds, he thought.
His major worry, however, was that Second Assistant Bill Laverty, whom he knew to be a sound judge of talent based on his sending more than twenty of his former high school players to Division I programs, was cool to the notion of offering scholarships to the three prospects. Laverty’s doubt had caused tension in the office.
“I saw all three of these kids when they were juniors, Robert,” Laverty said to Frazier in front of Jim at a mid-February staff meeting. “At the time, I didn’t think they were D-I. Plus, I don’t believe they’re getting much interest from other Division I schools.”
“They’re D-I,” Frazier responded stiffly. “They all have upside; they’re the best we can get.” His tone made it clear that he did not consider their potential to be a matter of discussion.
All of these elements concerned Jim, and so did the fact that he had not taken enough time to watch the three recruits play. He was so overwhelmed coaching his team while caring for Edna, however, that he felt he had no choice but to rely on Frazier’s judgment. Ten minutes into the high school AllStar game, Jim was certain he’d made a critical mistake. At halftime, he discreetly ushered his assistant to a quiet corner of the outer lobby. At this late stage in the recruiting process, he knew he must be forthright.
“Robert, I don’t think these kids can help us.”
“What do you mean they can’t help us?” replied an exasperated Frazier.
“Look . . . I know you’ve worked hard on these kids, but I don’t think they’re Division I players.”
Frazier’s reaction was not what Jim had hoped. The assistant coach was silent for the second half and then sulked on the ride home. Jim remained outwardly composed but was inwardly distressed. He also wondered if Frazier had any idea—or concern—about how his boss felt. At a meeting the next day, things got worse.
Bill Laverty had been a heavily recruited high school star in New Jersey who had chosen St. Thomas only to find, several weeks after he committed, that Jim was leaving for the Pistons. Jim had always felt guilty about not fulfilling what he perceived was an obligation to Laverty, and he had followed the young man’s progress in life with interest. After a fine playing career at St. Thomas, Laverty became a successful high school coach at Archbishop Sullivan High School in Newark, New Jersey. He was known as a great tactician, and, more importantly, he had good contacts throughout the state. Sixteen years after Jim had jilted him, Laverty received a call from the head coach with an offer to become second assistant. Without hesitation, Laverty accepted the offer. He had hoped to play a key role in recruiting, but Frazier, in his capacity as top assistant and recruiting coordinator, would not have it.
As a result, there was immediate friction between Laverty and Frazier. It had brewed during the season, especially because Frazier avoided consulting Laverty on recruiting, and i
t boiled at the morning meeting after the All-Star game.
Bill Laverty looked at Robert Frazier as a guy with mediocre ability, someone who carried a large chip on his shoulder and who was, in his own way, a racist.
“Everything to this guy is a matter of color,” Laverty had confided to his wife, Meg, while venting about Frazier’s many shortcomings.
“Hell, I’d have killed for a college job at his age. It’s like he thinks he’s owed the position. . . . He doesn’t respect me, and, as incredible as it sounds, he doesn’t respect Jim. In fact, I’m pretty sure that in subtle ways, he’s undermining Jim behind his back, talking to the players. A couple of the kids have made comments to me about Coach Frazier not seeing eye-to-eye with Coach Keating,” he said. “And I’m supposed to have a voice in recruiting, but any time I bring a kid up, he acts as if he can shut me right off.”
“Have you talked to Jim about this?” asked Meg.
“He knows I’m concerned, but he’s in a tough spot. I’ve heard people around the Athletic Department say that Frazier was forced on Jim by the President. We’ve got ten black players on the team and Frazier has gotten close to most or all of them. He kisses up to the two white players, too. All twelve of ‘em are decent kids, but put any kid in a losing situation and he can be vulnerable. And I’ve talked to enough high school coaches to be pretty sure that the three players he wants to sign aren’t that good.”
Laverty sighed. “You know, Meg, I’ve always thought of myself as fair-minded. I mean, I hate racism. But here I am, talking about this guy—and frankly thinking about this guy—as a black man instead of as a man. I know plenty of other black people who I don’t think about or talk about in this way. But, damn it, this guy makes you do it.”
“What about—in a nice way—approaching him about the problems?” asked Meg.
“I’d like to. I’d really like to have an open discussion with him. But to be honest, I’m afraid he’d twist things, try to make me look like a bigot.”
For his part, Frazier looked at Laverty as less of a bigot and more as just another member of the old boy system, a system that still allowed white coaches to look after each other, especially when it came time to employ either head coaches or new assistants. The “Caucasian Coaching Mafia” was the term he employed.
“I get sick about hearing that Laverty is this great tactician,” Frazier railed to his fiancée, Lynn Safford. “How tough was it for him to win at that Catholic high school? Look at the talent he had. Anyone could look good with that kind of talent.”
He continued, “So in this program, he’s the X-and-O guy and I’m the recruiter. When Keating did the assignments, I’m sure he figured that the white guy knows the game and the black guy can get the kids to play the game. Tell me that’s not a racial thing!”
Lynn knew that reasoning with her partner, at least in this matter, was not an option. They had recently argued about his constant complaining over what he perceived to be injuries to his soul from growing up black.
“Look, Robert,” she had said forthrightly, “I’ve grown up as a black woman, so I, too, have an understanding of prejudice. I also know that not every non-African American is a bigot, and I’ve gotten away from trying to look into every white heart to try to figure out where they really stand.”
As she spoke, Frazier stared into space.
“But you . . . you dwell on it . . . constantly. You’ve got all this potential. So what if you didn’t get the head job? You’re twenty-nine for heaven’s sake. Even if you don’t like Bill Laverty . . . even if you don’t like Jim Keating . . . you’ve got a good job and a great future.”
Annoyed with her fiancés lack of interest in her words, she raised her voice and said, “Robert, will you please look at me?”
Frazier turned his head in her direction, but offered only momentary eye contact.
“You know I love you, Robert, but you’ve got to grow up. And, by the way, in my view, you could actually learn a lot from Coach Keating, because you know what? I see the value of his ‘old school’ ways.”
Frazier’s reaction was just as Lynn assumed it would be; he didn’t speak with her for several days.
During this impasse, Lynn feared that a confrontation between Frazier and Laverty and, perhaps, even Jim, was coming, probably soon. When the coaching staff gathered in Jim’s office for the morning meeting, Frazier affirmed her foresight by throwing the first grenade.
“Jim,” he said in an angry tone, “you’ve only seen these kids for one game and yet you’re saying they can’t play. They can play, maybe a different game from the one you want—or like—but they can play!”
Incensed at Frazier’s lack of respect for the head coach, a man whom Laverty looked upon as a legend, the second assistant thundered, “Robert, the only game we like is winning!”
“Oh . . . is it we, Laverty?”
“Bullshit, Frazier,” roared Laverty. “Forget the semantics crap. You know damn well what I mean. You haven’t listened to me about recruits and now we’ve got a real problem. And Jim’s the head coach. He has the final say on all recruits.”
Frazier felt the crunch of a double-team, and Jim was confronted by a situation ready to explode.
“Bill, let’s calm down. Both of you need to calm down,” Jim said firmly.
In a conciliatory voice, the head coach continued, “Robert, these young fellas are probably great kids. But, in my opinion, they can’t help us against the kind of competition we’re going up against next year.”
Instead of taking his head coach’s words as constructive criticism and as being for the good of the program, Frazier interpreted them as questioning his ability as a recruiter and as a judge of talent. He then tossed another grenade.
“Because they’re black?”
Jim and Laverty sat in their chairs, feeling electrocuted. Finally, Jim said, “Coach! Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m not kidding,” raged Frazier, who then rose from his chair and stormed out of the room.
Jim and Laverty sat quietly for a moment. Their minds raced through the possible consequences of the flare-up and neither could find one with any promise.
Laverty broke the silence.
“I’m sorry, Jim . . . I blew my stack . . . I blew it.”
“No need to be sorry, Bill. But we’re well into March, too late for us to get involved with any real good prospects. We’ve obviously got a real problem here.”
They both knew that the problem went well beyond the three recruits, and Jim Keating felt cornered.
9
Jim lay awake, grimly aware that the good recruiting class he needed was not on track. He was repulsed by Robert Frazier’s racial accusation, yet wondered if the guilty verdict he attached to Frazier’s conduct was completely fair. “Am I being racist for thinking this way?” Jim asked himself, fighting off what he hoped were not malignant sentiments.
But his record of fair treatment of minorities had been consistent and his private mindset did not permit discrimination of any kind. Upon further late-night reflection, Jim concluded what he already knew: His assistant was an immature young man who defended each of his missteps by impeaching others for their prejudice. While he abhorred white racists— and still saw plenty of them—he was also rankled by blacks who intemperately used race as a knife-edged weapon. Jim felt that such a tactic reflected selfish, if not cowardly behavior. “I’m not sure which I dislike more,” he confided to Edna, “white bigots or black people who unfairly indict white people as bigots.”
Jim carefully considered his options.
He could go to the athletic director, or even the president, and ask for Frazier’s dismissal. After all, he had made it clear from the beginning that he wanted final say on all assistants. But he did not feel secure enough—not yet at least—to bring either of his superiors into this quandary. He also knew that neither the president nor the athletic director would allow him to discharge Frazier without reasons far more compelling than he could offer at t
his time.
“Why weren’t you more involved in the recruiting?” would be the first question. In the hard-line world of Division I basketball, the coach would not have a satisfactory answer.
“We need the basketball program to win and win big,” President Mahon had said to Jim. “We need the revenue, and we need the exposure to attract other students to this school. Don’t break any rules, but get players. As long as they qualify by NCAA standards, we’ll get them through.”
Of course, in the same breath Mahon had demanded that Jim retain a coach who, as it turned out, would actually hinder the president’s objective of achieving basketball success.
But to fire an assistant for reasons other than NCAA violations, especially a minority assistant, was extremely difficult. If the dismissal was to be based on incompetence or insubordination—or both—then the head coach needed detailed documentation, not to mention virtual unanimity of opinion among those who closely observed the assistant.
On this count, Jim had no hope for success. Aside from game stats, recruiting, and scouting, he did not keep records, and, to Jim’s knowledge, Robert Frazier had broken no NCAA rules. Also, Frazier had gained the trust of most or all of the players on the team. Jim knew that members of a losing squad often bonded with an assistant. The assistant is not the guy taking them out of a game or, in most cases—including this one—disciplining them in any way. While Jim tried to be forthright with each one of his athletes about playing time and other team matters, Frazier appeared to be of the “tell them what they want to hear” school, even if that included subtle disagreement with the head coach’s strategy.
Jim was sure that few, if any, players would view Frazier as incompetent, and most would probably see his politic second-guessing of his boss as evidence of his concern for the team rather than the stealth maneuver it really was.