An ordinary man who did extraordinary things

Just about every sports fan old enough to remember the era, has an enduring vision of John Wooden.

Mine has nothing to do with him coaching 10 NCAA basketball champions in 12 years.

Nor in my mind is Wooden sitting on the bench clenching a rolled-up program, imploring his UCLA players to "be quick but don't hurry" or sniping at a referee.

No, my vision is of John Wooden squeezing cantaloupes in some Los Angeles grocery store.

OK, so maybe that requires an explanation.

Mr. Wooden's death Friday at age 99 flashed me back to the day in 1980 when, not as old and twice as bold, I had the audacity to phone him.

Actually, this was less daring than it sounds because college sports in those days were more fun than formal. The best in Wooden's profession were people, not pitchmen and corporations.

Wooden retired in 1975 with UCLA never having paid him as much as $40,000 a year. He was a common man who just happened to do something better than any other common man could.

Even then it was hard for any college basktball coach to be saintly, and John Wooden had his faults. For example, he was suspected of ignoring a wealthy booster provided illegal aid to UCLA players.

No sticky situation stuck to John Wooden for long, however. A life coach as well as a basketball coach, there were more than enough positives to obscure the negatives.

Anyway, I decided to phone Wooden early in 1980 after wire-service polls elevated DePaul to No. 1 in the nation.

I mean, wouldn't asking Wooden for tips on how a college basketball program can manage the pressure of being top-ranked be like asking the pope how to pray?

UCLA's sports information director provided me with a phone number that I assumed was to Wooden's office in the athletic department.

A woman who happened to be his beloved wife Nell answered with a pleasant, "Hello." It was their home number, and the next thing I knew coach Wooden was on the line.

We talked like you and I are right now. He put me at ease even though I was a writer he didn't know from a newspaper he never heard of.

The conversation went so well that a year later I phoned Wooden again about something or other, probably just to hear him speak.

Mrs. Wooden answered again. Paraphrasing her from memory she essentially said, "I'm sorry but he's at the grocery store at the moment."

My goodness, perhaps the most successful coach in the history of team sports was out food shopping. I recall his wife saying, "If you would like to try later, he should be back in a half-hour."

All I could think about during the wait was John Wooden buying fruit. Maybe it was deoderant or toilet paper, but I kept thinking fruit.

When I did reach him the conversation went as well as it had the previous year. It wasn't so much what Citizen Wooden said as that he took the time to say it to me.

You know, just as it wasn't so much that Coach Wooden won so many games as the dignity with which he won them.

Three decades later, in my mind John Wooden remains the ordinary man/extraordinary coach squeezing cantaloupes at the grocery store.

mimrem@dailyherald.com