My Personal Best
Page 4
, TEAM SPIRIT
years as I’ve come to recognize his authentic ability to transform individuals in a positive way, both for their own good and for that of the INTEGRITY
team. He genuinely cared about those under his supervision. For me, he is the model of what a great coach and teacher can be.
FROM ENGINEERING TO ENGLISH
My hopes for a civil engineering major at Purdue were derailed because part of the requirement included attending engineering camp each summer. June, July, and August were moneymaking months for me—
and money was hard to come by in the Depression.
In high school I had washed dishes at the Elks club, packed tomatoes at the Van Camp canning plant, worked the pea pack, laid gravel, and dug sewers. At Purdue, I got hired on as a crew member of the Indiana highway department each summer.
I switched to an English major, which allowed me to pursue a love of reading that included Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Walt Whit-man, Lord Byron, Sir Walter Scott, and, of course, William Shake-40
speare—an entire semester on Hamlet, another on Macbeth. All of this was under the supervision of an eccentric scholar at Purdue by the name of Professor Liddell, an international authority on Shakespeare and Chaucer.
Although Professor Liddell was born in Pennsylvania, he attended Oxford University. While there, he adopted many British affectations, MY PERSONAL BEST
which he continued at Purdue. Professor Liddell wore a bowler hat and high-buttoned shoes, and carried a tightly rolled black umbrella even in the middle of winter. He drank tea and cherished the classics, but he also loved baseball because it reminded him of cricket and his beloved England.
Each semester on the first day of class, Professor Liddell would stand behind his podium and announce sternly with a trace of a British accent, “If you pay attention and listen day by day, you’ll receive an A
or a B. However, if at any time during this semester any one of you disturbs my trend of thought, I won’t ask you to leave, I’ll throw you out the door and you won’t get back in. Are there any questions?”
And he meant it—if you were expelled, you did not get back into his classroom. On the other hand, if you made it through the year without interrupting his “trend of thought,” you’d do fine because he was a great teacher of the classics.
CONDITIONING
Coach Lambert, like Professor Liddell, also had demands, a much longer and exhausting list that included running us ruthlessly and relentlessly in the gym. He seldom paused to give instructions to the group, but 41
instead pulled individual players out for specific instructions while the others continued pounding up and down the court. Most drills were designed with the dual purpose of perfecting a skill while increasing our conditioning. In fact, the only time he addressed the whole team was just before a game, because he wanted near-constant physical activity during every practice.
, AND PIGGY LAMBERT
Nevertheless, even though his drills were punishing, no player would ever voluntarily take a short breather. If you did, Piggy Lambert would give you a long breather: sitting on the bench watching whoever had
, TEAM SPIRIT
taken your place. It was his way of encouraging toughness and conditioning. Knowing this was important to him, I not only worked myself INTEGRITY
extremely hard in practice, but also avoided alcohol and tobacco and tried to behave off the court.
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Before you can be a good leader, you must be a good follower.
MY PERSONAL BEST
I recognized that at five foot ten I was not as tall as many others.
“Stretch” Murphy, the player who was such a big part of Marion High School’s victory over Martinsville in the 1926 state championship and was now the Purdue center, was almost a foot taller than me. There was nothing I could do about height.
Conditioning was another matter. Although it wouldn’t make me taller, conditioning gave me a distinct advantage as the game wore on;
specifically, my opponents wore out. Being fit meant more than being tall when a game was on the line in the final minutes. Eventually this became a trademark of the UCLA Bruins.
During my senior year, Coach Lambert told a faculty meeting
he’d never seen a better-conditioned athlete for basketball than John Wooden. It is one of the finest compliments I’ve ever received.
FUNDAMENTALS
Coach Lambert was a brilliant creator of competitive drills such as simultaneous shooting and rebounding practice. Most players love shooting and hate the physical pounding of rebounding. But Coach Lambert wouldn’t let you have the fun of shooting
until you fought hard and occasionally bloodied
elbows and noses under the basket fighting for
rebounds—a great way to motivate players
to hone what they hate. Only then
would he move you out to shoot
with the shooters.
There was no frivolity in his
method. I wouldn’t say he was stern, but Ward
Lambert was very serious all the way through.
He was also a constant chatterer who moved
up and down the sidelines barking out instruc-
tions and advice on precisely what to do and
exactly when to do it. His focus on the details
of execution—fundamentals—was as relentless as his conditioning drills.
The results were good. Coach Lambert’s exciting fast-break style produced a perfect record in the Big Ten during my sophomore year, 1930, and Purdue was considered by many to be the national champion.
Stretch Murphy was the star of that Boilermakers team and my best friend both on and off the court. He also helped me pay for some of my college education by bequeathing his “Walk to Chicago” to me.
PAYING MY WAY
Each year the Purdue football team played the
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University of Chicago coached by legendary Amos
Alonzo Stagg. It was a fierce rivalry that attracted so
many Boilermaker fans that the Monon Railroad
ran a special train out of Lafayette to Chicago
for the big game at Soldier Field.
Stretch had the unofficial rights to sell
MY PERSONAL BEST
concessions on the trip, and he passed them
down to me when he graduated. That’s
when I started telling friends that once a
year I “walked” to Chicago and back. Of
course, I was doing the walking on
board the Monon Hoosier Express to
Chicago—going up and down the aisles
hawking sandwiches, soft drinks, and cig-
arettes to excited and often inebriated
alumni. Prohibition was the law, so I’d wait until they’d had a little bathtub gin and then make my rounds.
One of my biggest moneymakers was something I manufactured
myself. I’d go to local department stores that donated gold and black ribbons. They’d throw in a big box of safety pins, and I’d spend several hours cutting and crossing the ribbons to create little lapel pennants in the Purdue colors. They cost me nothing, and I sold them for ten cents each. And I sold plenty.
During the basketball season, I also published and sold the official Purdue program—wrote the copy, sold the ads, and mimeographed it myself. Since I was on the court during games, I enlisted high school kids to sell the programs for a dime apiece. Afterward we’d get together and split up the profits.
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During the football season, I made money as a “taper” who wrapped ankles, arms, and legs and then on weekends, I helped paint the football stadium for thirty-five cents an hour. All of this allowed me to pay my way at Purdue.
Nevertheless, it was a struggle and I’m not sure I could have made it without Nell’s support and encouragement. While I was at Purdue, she
, AND PIGGY LAMBERT
was waiting for me back
in Martinsville, sending cards and letters about our future together. I knew that future would be a lot better if I got my degree.
, TEAM SPIRIT
INTEGRITY
INDIA RUBBER MAN
The Boilermakers were national champions in my sophomore and
senior years and twice won the Big Ten Conference championship. My
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MY PERSONAL BEST
nickname was the “India Rubber Man” because I seemed to bounce up off the floor immediately after being knocked down. And I got knocked down a lot. Coach Lambert, fearful that I’d get hurt driving hard to the basket and then into the stands, would often put members of the Purdue football team at the end of the court to catch me before my momentum carried me into harm’s way.
In spite of the bumps and bruises, cuts and scratches, his fast-break style suited me perfectly. In my senior year, I led the Big Ten in scoring with 154 points. That doesn’t seem like much today, but back then it was a lot of baskets. Ward Lambert was changing the game—in those days the kind of speed he was putting on the basketball court was almost rad-ical. Later when I took it to UCLA, it was responsible, in part, for some immediate and surprising success.
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THE RIGHT PRIORITIES
Ward Lambert’s priorities in basketball were simple: conditioning, fundamentals, and team spirit. His priority as a person was more direct and demanding: stand up for what you believe —even when you stand
, AND PIGGY LAMBERT
alone. My college coach was a great builder of teams and men. Ward Lambert knew there was a direct relationship
Stand up for what you
between what it takes to be good basketball
believe—even when you
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player and the requirements for being a good
stand alone.
person.
INTEGRITY
When I started coaching and teaching, I tried to make his priorities my priorities. Coach Lambert’s picture hangs on the wall in my den
right next to the photographs of the ten national championship teams I coached at UCLA. He belongs up there.
THE BEST HONOR OF ALL
In 1932 when I graduated from Purdue, I was nineteenth in my class and was awarded the Big Ten medal for scholarship and athletic prowess. The university president, Edward Elliot, personally presented the medal to me.
As a basketball player at Purdue I’d been voted All-American three years in a row and won the scoring title my senior year when Purdue My Boilermaker buddies. I’m standing second from the left.
was the national champion. I’d also been elected captain of the team in both my junior and senior years. The Big Ten scholarship award, however, meant more to me, because in many ways it honored my father, 49
Joshua Hugh Wooden.
When I was a youngster, Dad’s
guidance always emphasized the
value of books, knowledge, and
education. The Big Ten scholar-
ship and athletic prowess medal
, AND PIGGY LAMBERT
belonged to him, for those many
cold winter nights when he lit
the coal-oil lamp and read books
, TEAM SPIRIT
to his four sons next to a glowing
potbelly stove.
INTEGRITY
Young people need good models, not critics.
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A NEW JOB FOR A TERRIBLE COACH
N ellie and I got married on August 8, 1932, at a little church in Indianapolis where Nell’s older sister had gotten married—Nell wanted the same preacher. I was twenty-one, Nell was twenty, and we were head over heels in love. In fact, I may not have been able to see straight.
Many years later, someone pointed out
that on our marriage certificate under
“Occupation,” I tried to write “basket-
ball coach” but misspelled the word bas-
ketball. This from an English major,
honor student, and All-American basket-
ball player.
That was of no consequence compared
to the financial catastrophe that had
struck two days earlier. The Martinsville
Trust Company—where I had put my
entire life’s savings, exactly $909.05—
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went bust. When the bank went broke, so did I. At 6 p.m. on August 6, 1932—two days before Nell and I were supposed to get married—I had exactly two dollars to my name, the same two-dollar bill Dad had given me as a graduation gift at Centerton Grade School. I remembered him telling me, “Johnny, as long as you have this you’ll never be broke.”
Technically he was right, but on that particular night I felt broke.
A local businessman took pity on us and helped out. Mary Schnaiter’s father, Cliff, invited me to his office for a chat—I had no idea what he had in mind. As we were talking, Mr. Schnaiter slid an envelope across his desk and said, “Johnny, this will get you and Nell started. Pay me back when you’re able. No rush.”
The two hundred dollars inside the envelope allowed Nell and me to 52
begin our new life together. We were married the next day and even spent a small sum celebrating in Indianapolis listening to the Mills Brothers at the Circle Theatre. Many years later, I kidded them about their performance on my wedding night: “I thought you guys would never get done singing.”
The next morning, Nell and I got up early, walked a half mile to the MY PERSONAL BEST
bus station and caught a 6 a.m. ride back to Martinsville. Coach Lambert met us at the station, dropped Nell off at her parents’, and drove me to Vincennes, Indiana, for a basketball clinic where I was paid twenty-five dollars to be his demonstrator for a week. So for the first seven days of our married life, Nellie stayed at her parents’ home while I bunked at Coach Lambert’s basketball camp ninety-two miles away. It seemed a lot farther than ninety-two miles and longer than seven days.
Only afterward, did Nell and I
head to my new job at Kentucky’s
Dayton High School where I was
an English teacher, athletic director,
and coach of baseball, football,
track, and basketball. My start-
ing salary was $1,500—$1,200 for
teaching English, $300 for coach-
ing. I may have been overpaid for
my coaching abilities.
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A TERRIBLE MISTAKE
The Green Devils football team had a big lumbering lineman who bullied other classmates and even teammates; he was the kind of player who did only as much as he wanted to do and no more. On a swelter-ing Kentucky afternoon during the first week of football practice, this young man decided he’d had enough of my whistle blowing, directions, MY PERSONAL BEST
and drills. When I told him to get back to work, he challenged me. He stuck his chin right in my face and snarled, “You’re not man enough to make me do it.” The whole team was watching us.
I responded emotionally and without thinking, and I am very
ashamed of what happened next—a brief but physical altercation. It was terrible behavior from someone trying hard to follow the examples of my coaching mentors. Even more, it went against my father’s teaching.
One of his favorite quotes was from Abraham Lincoln: “There is nothing stronger than gentleness.” Now, as a brand-new coach—two weeks into the job—I had quickly lost my temper
and stooped to violence. It troubled me very
“There is nothing stronger
deeply.
than gentleness.”
These days I’d be fired, rightfully, but on
—ABRAHAM LINCOLN
that hot humid afternoon we just moved on
and continued practice.
I quickly came to understand I wasn’t a good foot
ball coach (the stubborn lineman, however, was not the reason) and asked my predecessor, Willard Bass, to come back. As the weeks went along, I heard through the grapevine that whenever one of the Green Devil players gave him any trouble, Coach Bass would warn sternly, “Please don’t 55
make me tell Johnny Wooden about this.” He was kidding, of course, but I didn’t think it was very funny.
COACH
A GOOD PLAYER, A BAD COACH
TERRIBLE
A
Coaching basketball presented its own challenges, many of which I FOR
wasn’t prepared for. I not only saw my temper flare up, but I was too JOB
critical, impatient, eager to fill players full of information, and quickly NEW
irritated when they couldn’t absorb it. Since everything had come eas-A
ily for me as a player, I didn’t understand why these young men couldn’t do the same. It was extremely upsetting to demonstrate something correctly only to watch them do it incorrectly—over and over. Patience is
a most valuable asset for a leader. I lacked it, just as young coaches and teachers usually do.
I was not a yeller or screamer, but I’d complain to others at school about how disappointed I was in the Green Devils. Of course, this got right back to the boys, who in turn became even more dispirited. I had yet to learn that the greatest motivator is a well-deserved pat on the back from someone you respect. Instead, I was quick to criticize, slow to commend.
PATIENCE IS A MOST VALUABLE ASSET FOR A LEADER.
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Our results were predictable. As a player at Centerton, Martinsville, and Purdue I’d never been on a team with a losing season. In fact, usually we were fighting for a state or national championship. The Dayton High School Green Devils introduced me to coaching with a losing season. To my credit, I was smart enough to admit the biggest reason we weren’t any good was me—I was just a terrible coach.
MY PERSONAL BEST
The high school yearbook reported our results: “Dayton’s Greendevil (sic) basketball team went through a discouraging season in 1933. They completed their schedule with only six victories, but suffered eleven defeats. Dayton will attempt to make a better showing next year under the able direction of their coach, John Wooden.” At least, they were hoping I could offer “able direction,” having seen little of it during my first attempt at coaching.