by Dan Doyle
As far as Frazier’s ability as a recruiter, the three prospects had not yet been tested against college competition, and thus no objective case could be made about his capacity to judge talent. Finally, as Jim admitted to his wife, “I certainly can’t prove insubordination. As you know, record keeping is just not part of my world.”
He continued, “It’s funny, Edna. The only resolution to this situation is that Frazier gets an offer from another school. But as we both know, coaching is a profession with a pretty lively grapevine. I’m sure our competitors realize that he had much of the say in the three recruits and that none of them can help us. I should have listened to Bill Laverty several months ago, especially when he told me that not one of the three have any other firm Division I offers.
“The irony is amazing. I’ve got an assistant who, while he knows the game, is not a good judge of talent, is certainly disloyal, and was forced on me. And disloyal assistants, who are also poor judges of talent, sure as heck aren’t in great demand. So I have to keep him!”
Yet in making the determination that Frazier would have to stay, Jim also resolved to get personally involved with recruiting next year’s class. There were many fine prospects in New York City, Jersey, and Philly. Jim would mark out a ninety-mile radius on the map and make day trips to look at recruits, thus allowing him to be home by late evening. Frazier would handle overnight scouting of players who resided out of the immediate area. And any prospect under serious consideration for a scholarship would have to be evaluated by Laverty.
Finally, because he felt he had no other choice at this belated date, Jim would authorize Frazier to sign the three recruits.
Despite the late hour, Jim called Frazier and got his answering machine.
“Robert, please come in tomorrow at 10 AM. We need to meet.”
The next morning, sleepless and tense, Jim made coffee, then received an unexpected gift. Generally, the pain-killing pills that helped Edna sleep also brought on early-morning incoherence. But on this particular morning, she was lucid, and the timing was opportune to ask for her advice.
“You’ve heard most of my grumbling about Robert Frazier, love,” he said. “What’s your view on it?”
“Jim, you know as well as anyone that there are certain relationships when it’s not 50/50. With Robert Frazier, it sounds like it’s going to have to be more like 95/5. But . . . you’re good at that kind of giving,” she added gently.
Her eyes welled defensively, not in lament over her own state, but in a gesture of silent benediction in response to her husband’s unconditional love, as reflected so tenderly in his care of her.
Edna then said, “My best advice is to approach him as a colleague rather than an opponent. And no matter what, don’t lose your temper in any conversation with him.”
Jim left for his office, committed to following Edna’s counsel by starting the meeting with some mollifying words. But on the ride over, he found himself focusing on another weak point of Frazier’s character that bothered him: Never once had Frazier asked about Edna. Jim was certainly not a man who sought sympathy, but he knew that members of a real “team” cared about those problems that trespassed upon the lives of other team members. Bill Laverty and graduate assistant Bob DiMello had consistently shown their concern over Edna’s plight and the pain it caused their head coach, but Frazier had never expressed the slightest interest in the burden confronting Jim.
Jim knew that he must push these thoughts aside and be positive at the meeting. But when Frazier showed up twenty minutes late, with no apology, his tardy arrival and sullen expression quickly fired the old coach’s competitive coals. While not showing any anger, Jim decided to get right to the point.
“Robert, I’ve been coaching for more than three decades and never—ever—has anyone questioned me in terms of my fairness as it relates to racial issues.”
Frazier’s expressionless silence chilled the office.
“We’re almost into April,” Jim continued directly, “and there are no other players that we’re going to be able to get involved with at this late date. So you go ahead and sign those three kids and let’s do the best we can with ‘em.”
Frazier remained silent, offering not even a nod of acknowledgement.
Jim added more force to his words.
“You’ll still be in charge of recruiting, but there will have to be some changes in next year’s plan.”
The veteran coach paused to let his words take effect. Frazier continued to sit in silence and avoided eye contact.
Without mentioning Edna’s illness, and how it related to the new plan, Jim moved to his main point.
“I’m going to work with you on kids in New Jersey, New York City, and Philly. You can handle the kids out of the region,” said Jim. “Also, next year we’ll have a policy that before we sign any kid, Bill will have input and I’ll have the final say.”
Frazier continued to withhold even the hint of a response. But while annoyed with his assistant’s lack of common tact throughout the meeting, Jim tried to end the session on a positive tone by offering some genial words.
“Robert, I want you to be happy in this position. I want you to feel part of it and I want to be supportive of you. But it seems as if things aren’t clicking. Tell me, what can I do to make it better for you?”
Frazier shook his head and then he stared out the window for a grating twenty seconds. Without even looking back at Jim, he finally said, “Coach, whether I’m happy or not doesn’t matter. It’s whether the kids are happy.”
Bullshit, thought Jim. Here’s this young assistant, convincing himself that he’s taking the high road by using the old ploy of “it’s not my happiness, but the happiness of others that counts”
But Jim remained composed.
“And how can I make the kids happier? I really want to do that, and I want your help.”
“You have to respect them more; they’re young adults.”
Jim seethed, but kept his outward calm.
“And how would you suggest I respect them more?”
“Treat ‘em like men, coach. Let’s get rid of some of the silly rules. As I said, these are young adults, not kids.”
Jim’s response was reflexive and physical. He stood up and walked to the window.
College athletes need rules, he thought. They need structure. It’s not a racial thing, it’s not something discovered last week, it’s just a fact. My rules aren’t that strict, and they certainly aren’t silly. And this guy has never once questioned the rules—never even brought the damn issue up—until today!
But Jim kept his thoughts to himself. The start of practice was seven months off; there would be ample opportunity to react to Frazier’s comments. A harsh exchange at this time would serve no purpose.
He turned back toward Frazier and said, “I appreciate your points, Robert. Let me think about them. Let’s talk about this again.”
Frazier got up and nodded and, without saying good-bye, left the room.
Jim Keating slumped unsatisfied in his chair. His chest felt heavy, and worst-case scenarios crowded his mind.
10
Jim followed through on his resolution to take an active role in recruiting. In mid-July of ‘86, four months after he made this plan known to Frazier and the other staff members, the NCAA “live recruiting period” opened up. This meant that for the next four weeks, the NCAA would allow Jim and his staff to evaluate players. In Jim’s case, he would remain committed to limiting his travel to a ninety-mile radius.
On those July days when there was a nearby summer league game of interest, Jim would prepare an early dinner for Edna, go down the checklist with the visiting nurse, then set out for the game, always returning before midnight.
Jim soon found that recruiting had taken a U-turn from the process he’d known in his earlier years at St. Thomas. He became fully enlightened of this transformation on a hot night in south Jersey. An assistant from another university, who had acquired a reputation as a
top-flight recruiter, came over to introduce himself to Jim. The young coach spoke at a staccato pace about how, growing up, he had admired Jim, considering him to be a true leader in the profession. As Jim began to respond in a cordial manner, he noticed that the young man was looking past Jim, obviously trying to find someone else more important and losing focus on what the veteran coach had to say.
Minutes later, Jim took a seat in the stands several rows behind this same assistant, who was now regaling others with his stories of recruiting.
“We have a system that finds kids as early as the eighth grade and then we track ‘em. By the time they’re juniors, my ‘US Postal Plan’ kicks in. I send ‘em somethin’ in the mail every day—a postcard, letter, story from a newspaper—anything that shows ‘em we’re interested. By their senior year, it’s my ‘Fed-Ex Attack!’ I overnight ‘em stuff. Makes ‘em feel real important.”
“What about faxing, Coach?”
“Never! Any kid rich enough to own a fax isn’t good enough to play for us. Now, my girlfriend, who’s a real computer geek, keeps tellin’ me about new technology that’ll soon replace the fax and make it even easier to communicate with recruits. She’s keepin’ an eye on it for me, so I guess I better keep her around!”
Jim sat quietly, galled at what he was hearing. At St. Thomas, he had recruited from strength—top flight players actually sought him out because of the program’s excellence. It then became a matter of several phone calls, an appointment at the young man’s home to meet the family, and then a weekend visit by the player to St. Thomas—that was it. Now this: a recruiting policy named after the postal service and developing technology that Jim knew nothing about— and did not care to learn.
But despite his distaste for some of the new elements of recruiting, the summer evaluation program was successful. Jim was able to identify several “sleepers”—players who would not be recruited by the high majors, but who had the potential to really improve and thus help State. Laverty was impressed with Jim’s keen eye and with the promise of the recruits. Frazier was non-committal.
Jim also used the summer months to try to enhance staff harmony and improve his own relationship with Frazier. He held several meetings with Frazier and Laverty both present to encourage the two to work more closely together. He also made it a point to take Frazier to lunch whenever their schedules allowed. But at the meetings and private luncheons, the most cooperation Frazier could muster was a polite nod at Jim’s entreaties for more teamwork among the coaches. Jim knew he was making little headway with his assistant and remained wary of the potential ramifications of the poor relationship.
“Maybe when practice starts in October, he’ll get caught up with what we’re trying to do,” he said unconvincingly to Edna.
Jim also met regularly with Athletic Director Bill Connors to keep him abreast of the program’s progress, including the situation regarding Robert Frazier. When Jim had first told Connors about the potential problem with Frazier, the athletic director had stridently expressed his concern.
“This is something you must handle, Jim. Frazier is an alumnus . . . a number of people like him. More importantly, while I’m sure he can be difficult, the last thing the president wants to hear, especially with our record of minority hiring, is that we have a problem with a black assistant.”
When practice started in October, it was well-known that State’s ambitious step to Division I status forced them to play a tough schedule. The team had to book many away games for large guarantees to help pay the bills and build a formidable slate that would appeal to recruits. In Jim’s second year, State’s first eight games would be on the road—all for substantial guarantees and all against opponents that would, at least on paper, appear better than State.
Only two days into the pre-season practice, Jim could see that his instincts about Frazier’s three recruits were correct. One of the three, 6’2” guard Jim Atkinson, impressed Jim with his work ethic and positive attitude. But he was a marginal Division I player at best. The other two, both spidery 6’6” forwards, would need to add considerable bulk to their upper bodies to successfully compete at the Division I level. Because he needed players, red shirting these three young men was out of the question. Jim’s words to the media were guarded.
“We’ll be young and the schedule is challenging. I think we’re at least a year or two away, but we’re certainly making progress,” he said.
Jim was more candid with his athletic director. “The three recruits Robert signed are borderline at best—just as I was afraid of. They’re all good kids, but they’re not first-rate players. The positive side, though, is that we do have some fine prospects on the line for next year.”
“What about this year?” asked Connors. “Can we make .500?”
“Very doubtful . . . the talent is so poor that I’ll have to include at least one of those freshmen in an eight- or nine-man rotation.”
“And how about the Frazier situation—how’s that coming along?”
“To be honest, it’s hard to say. He’s been somewhat cooperative, but it doesn’t seem that he’s got his heart in the program. He was upset when I took some of the recruiting away from him and, at times, it seems as if he almost doesn’t care.”
“What’s the make-up of your team,” Connors asked, frankly. “You know, how many black kids, how many white kids?”
“We have ten blacks and two whites, same as last year.”
“What about the starting five, the first seven or eight?”
“We’ll start five black kids. The sixth and seventh men are both white, the rest of the team are all black kids. As I mentioned, I’ll probably go with an eight- or nine-man rotation.”
“How does Frazier feel about all of this?”
“ He seems fine about it. We’ve had a number of discussions about our rotation. Frazier hasn’t voiced any disagreement.”
“Jim, you must contain this Frazier thing,” Connors said.
The second season began on Friday of Thanksgiving weekend on the road against the powerful University of Memphis. New Jersey State was beaten by 35 points in the opener. In the following four weeks against top-flight competition away from home, the team lost its next seven games by an average of 23 points. Morale was low, and the fingers of the players started to take aim at others on the team—and at Jim Keating. For his part, Robert Frazier grew increasingly aloof, as if he was distancing himself from the entire debacle.
The one thing that seemed to keep the team’s focus was that after those first eight games, the schedule would lighten.
On a Friday night in early January, after eight lopsided losses and a break for exams, New Jersey State would finally play its first home game.
Better still, the opponent would be Cornell, one of the few Division I programs that did not grant full scholarships, but instead followed the Ivy League rule of awarding need-based financial aid to its student body, including its student-athletes.
Cornell was well-coached and had several fine players, but with the absence of full basketball scholarships, it lacked the overall talent of State’s first eight opponents.
“A winnable game” was the way one of the local sportswriters described State’s chances. Both the players and coaching staff agreed.
Due in large measure to Robert Frazier’s statement about “too many rules,” Jim had slightly pared down the list for this season. A standard procedure that remained, and one that was agreed upon by the team and coaching staff, including Frazier, was that players must report to practice and team meetings on time. If any player was late, it was understood the player would not start the next game and his playing time in that game would be limited.
The day before the Cornell game, with the team’s state of mind already at low ebb, two starters showed up late for practice with no valid excuse. Without raising his voice, Jim told them they would be benched the following night. Starting in their places would be the squad’s sixth and seventh men, the two white players. Because th
e rules had been made clear to the entire team, Jim gave no thought to any racial implications. In his mind, it was a simple matter: The two starters had not adhered to a guiding principal, and both subs had worked hard enough to merit the starting assignments.
When he patiently announced the changes to the team, out of the corner of his eye, Jim noticed that Frazier was shaking his head in disagreement. Jim had certainly been told of his assistant’s backbiting, but until now, Frazier had never been so openly insurgent.
By showing his dissent with his head coach in front of the team, Frazier had committed a cardinal sin in the coaching profession. Jim was furious, and after practice he called Frazier into his office. Behind a slammed shut door, he confronted him.
“Robert, what the hell was that all about?” he asked angrily.
“I felt we should have discussed your decision,” said Frazier.
“Discussed my decision!?” Jim railed. For the first time, Jim Keating was losing control in a conversation with his assistant coach. Recalling Edna’s advice about the importance of composure in dealing with Frazier, Jim tried to calm himself, with little success.
“We reviewed the rules with the team in November,” he continued. “All the team members signed off on the rules, including you. How the hell could you do such a thing today?”
“I don’t want to discuss it,” Frazier answered, contradicting his point about the need for discussion.
“Well, damn it, I want to discuss it!”
Frazier glared at Jim and then got up and left the room. This time, the walk-out would quick-step him to a state of severe consequence.
Athletic Director Connors was away at the NCAA annual convention. He was expected back the following night and was likely to be at the Cornell game. Jim decided he would phone Connors’s secretary and schedule a meeting with him as soon as he returned.
The subject of the session would be Jim Keating’s intention to fire Robert Frazier.
After a night of careful, albeit fretful, reflection, Jim Keating remained firm in his decision to terminate Robert Frazier. At 8:30 AM, Jim called Bill Connors’s secretary, Doris Flanders, only to find that Connors had changed his travel plans.