I was very good when it came to not worrying about those things that
I could not control—Dad had taught me that. But Nell’s health was different. I just couldn’t stop worrying about it. How much it got to me I can’t say, but it may have been why my energy, vitality, and spirits had gone down through the year. I wasn’t really the same person anymore.
Even though I had a little heart problem in 1973, I felt great soon afterward. Something else must have been going on inside me. I really can’t give you a better explanation.
But for me, coaching was over.
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MY PERSONAL BEST
20
THE GREAT LOSS AND LOVE
N ell suffered under the stress and strain of being married to a coach.
The profession brings with it automatic criticism, and dear Nellie, my biggest fan, couldn’t stand hearing me criticized; it caused her such pain.
When you lose, you’re criticized for losing. When you win, after a while you’re criticized for not winning by enough. (Immediately following the f inal game of my career, UCLA’s victory over Kentucky for a tenth national championship, a fan shook my hand and yelled, “Way to go, Coach! You let us down last year, but you came
through this time.” I had “let him down” by not
winning another national championship.) The
criticism and impossibly high expectations really
hurt Nell inside, and she agonized through each
basketball season—even the winning streaks—
in a way I didn’t.
So retirement was just f ine for both of
us. I conducted coaching clinics, did some
197
Copyright © 2004 by John Wooden and Steve Jamison. Click here for terms of use.
play-by-play broadcasting, and Nell and I traveled and enjoyed life together. We were a couple of lucky people who loved being with each other more than anything. I recognized it the day I felt that spark back in high school, and I have told friends my greatest personal accomplishment was the day Nell Riley said, “I do.”
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
We enjoyed our days together very much, but Nell’s health continued to worsen in the next few years. In 1984, she entered the hospital for surgery that was complicated by emphysema and heart trouble. Shortly 198
MY PERSONAL BEST
afterward she went into a coma, and doc-
tors told me she’d never come out of it.
I spent all of my days at her bedside
and slept many nights on a small cot
next to her in the hospital room. The
specialists held out little hope, but
they said it wouldn’t hurt to talk to her
even though she couldn’t hear me.
So I held Nell’s hand while I recalled
our life together—the malteds at Shire-
man’s Ice Cream Parlor and silent movies
at the Grace Theatre; avoiding Coach Curtis
on dates during basketball season; the $200 Cliff
199
Schnaiter gave us to get married and then being apart our
f irst week of marriage so I could earn money at Piggy Lambert’s bas-LOVE
ketball camp; the excitement of moving to Dayton, Kentucky, and set-AND
ting up house together; and the arrival of Nancy Ann, our beautiful, LOSS
sweet little daughter.
T
I reminded Nell how proud she was—me, too—when our son,
GREA
Jimmy, was born a few years later. And I talked about our friends in THE
Centerton, Martinsville, Dayton, West Lafayette, South Bend, Terre Haute, and Los Angeles. I recalled our little ritual before each basketball game—she’d give me the thumbs-up sign and I’d give her the OK
sign. I said the Good Lord was watching over her and that I was pray-ing she would get better. I told Nell how much I loved her.
But there was never the slightest response from her—nothing. So I just kept talking.
One afternoon after weeks and weeks of sharing my memories, I stopped for a moment and took a little break. As I sat there in the ster-ile room staring out the window and holding Nell’s hand, there was a tiny little squeeze —almost imperceptible. I couldn’t believe it, and I thought it was my imagination. But I started talking again, and every now and then my hand would get another little squeeze from her. It wasn’t my imagination. Nell was slowly coming out of the coma. It had lasted for ninety days.
200
MY PERSONAL BEST
My joy was indescribable—the girl I loved, my sweetheart of sixty years—had come back to me. It may have been some kind of miracle, I don’t know. Our family arrived, and a few days later Nell was home.
Although her condition wasn’t good, Nell’s laughter and Irish sense of humor were intact and our house, dark and cold for months, was now f illing up with love. I was looking forward to the years ahead.
But on Christmas Eve she got terribly sick again, and I rushed her to the hospital. Nell was a good little f ighter and fought long and hard, but this time it was different. On the f irst day of spring—Thursday, March 21, 1985—the Good Lord released my little sweetheart from her pain.
MY GREAT SORROW
201
If you dropped a small pebble into the deepest part of the ocean on the darkest night of the year—that was me without Nell. Her death LOVE
brought grief down on me in a terrible way. I was desolate, unable to AND
function day after day, week after week; I was alone, immobilized by LOSS
what seemed unendurable.
T
Family and friends, coaches and former players tried to bring com-GREA
fort, but it was useless. I’m ashamed to say that I even questioned my THE
faith. I became almost a recluse and didn’t care to do anything or see anyone. This went on for months; it seemed like years. I was just unable to come out of it, inconsolable without Nell.
Later I was told by those closest to me that they feared for my life. I don’t know, they may have been right.
A DOOR CLOSES, ANOTHER OPENS
Although I didn’t recognize it at the time, that same year, 1985—the one that brought such sorrow—also brought my survival, the birth of Nell’s and my f irst great-grandchild, Cori. Initially, I hardly took notice of the blessing, because I was too deep in grief. But she is the reason I began recovering.
The Good Lord f irst took Nell, but then sent the love of Cori and great-grandchild after great-grandchild until their love and the love of all our grandchildren was everywhere around me like a f ield full of flowers. And then a very special gift was sent, a great-grandchild named Cameron, most severely handicapped in every way except his unlimited capacity to give love and create it in others. Slowly I began getting 202
back my old self as I saw in their smiles, laughter, and love Nell’s own smile, laughter, and love. She is them and they are her.
All of this was, and is, amazing and wonderful.
A GREAT DAY IS COMING
MY PERSONAL BEST
Certainly the old must make way for the new, however painful that may be. Nell was taken, but my life was renewed when I recognized and accepted the love of Cori and her little brothers, sisters, and cousins.
Everywhere I look, then and now, I see Nell. Everywhere I look, I see the Good Lord’s plan.
The deep sense of loss I feel without my sweetheart has never gone away, not for one single day. But the spirit of love I’ve regained is
203
LOVE
AND
LOSS
T
GREA
THE
The sorrow started to leave when Cori arrived.
stronger than ever, and it gets stronger each day. I was never preoccu-pied with dying. But perhaps like most people, I feared it. Losing Nell has cured me of any fear of death because I believe that when I’m ca
lled, when the Good Lord beckons according to his plan, I will go to heaven and be with her. Knowing this gives me peace.
EACH DAY OF THE JOURNEY IS PRECIOUS.
WE MUST STRIVE TO MAKE IT A MASTERPIECE.
Mind you, I’m in no hurry to leave, but I have no fear of leaving.
204
When the time comes, it will be a very good day—Nell and I will be together again. In the meantime, each day of the journey is precious, yours and mine —we must strive to make it a masterpiece. Each day, once gone, is gone forever.
My father’s words and deeds—his wisdom—taught me that and
more. He gave me a direction I continue to try to live up to. His advice MY PERSONAL BEST
was good and his example even better. My mentors, Earl Warriner, Glenn Curtis, and Ward “Piggy” Lambert shared their knowledge and wisdom as all great teachers do. Their interest in students went beyond the basketball court or even the classroom. They wanted to help us have good lives.
I’ve tried to live up to my mentors’ examples in teaching those young people who’ve made my life so rich along the way. My goal has always
been to help them become not only better basketball players or English students, but better people. That’s the most important thing a coach or teacher can do, and I have given it my personal best.
And as I hope you f ind in your own life, none of it amounts to a hill of beans without the love of family and friends. I’m a very fortunate man who has much to be thankful for. Love is the most important word in the English language, and my journey has been f illed with so much love. I pray that yours is too—that your own journey is full of love.
And that along the way
you never cease trying to
be the best you can be —
that you always strive for
your personal best.
205
That is success. And
don’t let anybody tell you
LOVE
otherwise.
AND
LOSS
T
GREA
THE
Cam is a special child
whose gift is love.
These players I coached—all of them—are like members
of my extended family. And my love for them is strong.
When UCLA gave the great honor of renaming the
court at Pauley Pavillion the Nell and John Wooden
Court, many, many of those players were there. Those
who couldn’t attend were there in my heart. Somewhere
Nell was smiling.
CREDITS
Sports Illustrated: p. x; p. 102 (©Neil Leifer); p. 120 (©Hy Peskin); p. 128 (©Rick Clarkson); p. 129 (©Neil Leifer); p. 143; p. 149 (©Neil Leifer, ©Rick Clarkson,
©James Drake); p. 162 (©James Drake); p. 171(©Sheedy & Long, ©Rick Clarkson,
©Carl Iwasaki); p. 188 (©Neil Leifer); pp. 206–207 (©John W. McDonough) AP Wide World Photos: p. 83; p. 90; p. 91; p. 153; p. 158; p. 167; p. 183; p. 184; p. 190; p. 192
ASUCLA: p. 89; p. 94; p. 97; p. 99; p. 100; p. 105; p. 109; p. 121; p. 122; p. 126; p. 130; p. 132; p. 137; p. 139; p. 144; p. 151; p. 152; p. 155; p. 160; p. 164; p. 165; p.166; p. 172; p.
173; p. 175; p. 176; p. 189; p. 191; p 195; p. 198; p. 200
Tom Casalini: p. iii
Bob Poppino: p. 20
208
Purdue Sports Information Off ice/Special Collection Library: p.38; 39; 42; 43; 44; 46; 48; 53
CREDITS
Indiana State University Archives—Athletic Photograph Collection: p. 71; pp. 72–73; p. 78; p. 81
Terre Haute Star: p. 82
South Bend Tribune: p. 62; p. 64; p. 65
The Queens Borough Public Library, Long Island Division, New York-Herald Tribune Collection: p. 148
NCAA: p. 133 (©Rick Clarkson); pp. 134–135 (©Rick Clarkson); p. 148; p. 163; p.171; p. 188 (©Rick Clarkson); p. 193 (©Rick Clarkson)
Roy Stark: p. 80
Los Angeles Times: p. 203 (©Anacleto Rapping)
All other images courtesy of John Wooden
Copyright © 2004 by John Wooden and Steve Jamison. Click here for terms of use.
Document Outline
Contents
Preface
Acknowledgments
1 Indiana Farm Boy: Lessons from Long Ago
2 My First Coach: Principal Earl Warriner
3 High School Hero: Coach Glenn Curtis
4 True Love
5 Integrity, Team Spirit, and Piggy Lambert
6 A New Job for a Terrible Coach
7 Back Home in (South Bend) Indiana
8 The Sycamores, Speed, and Segregation
9 The Pyramid: Defining and Achieving Success
10 Welcome to California: A Rude Awakening
11 Glorious Without Glory: The Education of a Coach
12 Championships: The Beginning of the Beginning
13 The First National Championship: Understanding People
14 J. D. Morgan: A Helping Hand
15 The Age of Alcindor
16 The Team Without?
17 The World of Walton: Never Before or Since
18 A Meaningful Record: A Meaningless Streak
19 The Final Buzzer at UCLA
20 The Great Loss and Love
Credits
My Personal Best Page 12
