Coaches
come and coaches go and you remember them mostly for their X's and O's, and sometimes,
if you get close enough, for qualities that transcend the arena. That'
s how we remember Frank McGuire. It really started the year after his North Carolina
team won the NCAA championship (1957). We were in Chapel Hill on business, and
Frank invited us to his home for lunch. There
were just the four of us: Frank, his wife, their little boy, and us. His son had
been born with cerebral palsy, but he sat quietly in his chair alongside of us,
apparently oblivious of everything around him…until we opened a magazine
to check out a point with Frank. The
movement appeared to agitate the boy. He began making gurgling sounds and then
suddenly flung an arm out at us, knocking the magazine out of our hands. It
shocked us and we looked over at Frank for help. He was smiling. He reached over
and patted the boy gently on the head. “"
Frankie can't read," he told us. "But he likes pictures. That's why
he reached for the magazine. He wanted to see the pictures." We
looked at Frank and his wife and we marveled at the gentleness and love we saw.
We picked up the magazine and moved closer to the boy and started turning the
pages to let Frankie see the pictures. Frank
told us that everyone had questioned him about trying to raise the boy at home.
They told him that the boy would be better off at an institution, especially as
he aged. I would give him the care he would need. “"
We considered it," Frank said. "But every time we would visit one of
those places, we would look at all those poor little lost kids and know we could
never let go of Frankie." And
so the McGuire's brought up their son until he needed the kind of help they could
no longer provide. Our
visit taught us much about Frank McGuire, the man. And we went on to learn all
about his incredible generosity to his friends, players, and family. We
have always wondered how many people were aware of the relationship he had with
the quiet, grey-haired man who always sat beside him on the bench during McGuire'
s entire coaching career. His name was Buck Freeman. He had coached Frank at St.
John's and before that he had coached maybe the greatest basketball team in the
country-the St. John's Wonder Team of the late 1920's that later became the Brooklyn
Jewels, the greatest professional team in the east. Buck
coached the Jewels throughout the '30s and then dropped out of sight. Always a
heavy drinker, he had become an alcoholic, and it was Frank McGuire who eventually
rescued him from the gutter. Frank made him his top assistant and watched over
him for the rest of his life. It
wasn't always easy. Buck would have his bad times and Frank would have to seek
him out, dry him out, and work him back into the line-up. That
was the pattern of their relationship until the day Buck died. It worked because
of Buck's genius and his understanding of himself. He
always knew that if you have one friend like Frank McGuire, you'd never have to
worry about where your next meal, next set of clothes, next pillow on which to
lay your head, and the next warm, encouraging word would come from. Frank
McGuire won a lot of big ones in his time, including conference titles, the NCAA
championship, coaching in the NBA, Coach of the Year honors, writing books, and
the Basketball Hall of Fame. And
wherever he is now-and the odds are 10,000 to 1 that it's somewhere Upstairs-he'
d be delighted to know that his winning streak is still going strong. The
people who knew him best have established the perfect monument to him. It is called
the Frank McGuire Foundation, and it is dedicated not to the big winners, but
to the high school coaches in his beloved New York and metropolitan area who have
had the greatest impact on young people's lives. Nobody
gets a trophy, a plaque, or a loving cup. The proceeds from the annual dinner
go right into the athletic programs of the winners'schools. The
millennium has arrived-in more ways than one. |