For more than an hour and a half, Steve Lavin, alternating between humor and admiration, spoke about his mentor, John Wooden.
He fondly recalled three of the “meals of wisdom” he had at one of Wooden’s favorite haunts, Carrows, where a tight cadre of friends celebrated with Wooden on his birthday every Oct. 14, Vip’s and Fromins Deli:
It was at breakfast at Vip’s in 1996, when Lavin learned to add oatmeal to his diet, that the interim tag was removed from his title. Now he walked in Wooden’s footsteps as UCLA’s coach, a path no coach could ever successfully traverse.
“He said, ‘Steve, all you can do is stay in the moment,’ ” Lavin said. ” ‘Have both feet in today. That’s what this group of players deserve.’ ”
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At a late lunch at Fromins in 2003, one week after he was fired, Wooden said, “Steve, only a former UCLA coach appreciate this.” There was an awkward pause, as Lavin waited to learn what mistakes he had committed, despite making six NCAA Tournament appearances in seven years, to warrant dismissal. “You’re much better off,” said Wooden.
“That was his sense of humor,” said Lavin. “He was also providing encouragement and perspective. And he was being the prophet. I had a great second career at ESPN, and now I’m here at St. John’s with a chance to return this program to its rightful place as the jewel of college basketball in New York City.”
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At another Sunday breakfast in April 2006, Lavin was on the verge of accepting the N.C. State job but he had doubts.
Wooden, a voracious reader and studier of the human struggle to succeed, said, “You can’t discount or discard your passion, heart or emotion yet you must be sure your mind and reason are driving the decision.”
Lavin called N.C. State the first thing Monday morning and declined the job.
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During the retelling of all those memories, Lavin showed no signs of the emotions roiling under the Mets jersey draped over a St. John’s T-shirt.
“The thing you can’t focus on, because it just knocks the wind out of me, and Mike Krzyzeski told me this after his mother died, he still took out his phone after every game to call home but there was no one to call,” said Lavin, repeating Wooden’s number by heart.
Suddenly there was a slight catch in Lavin’s throat. He jerked his head toward the entrance of AQ Kafe on Columbus Circle, as if looking for a friend to pass by.
The first tear squeezed out of the corner of his right eye. Then he blinked and a torrent of tears rolled down his cheeks.
He took a deep breath.
“One of the first things I learned from him was this,” Lavin said. “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.”
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Those who knew and cared most about Wooden will honor his remarkable life today. The 99-year-old Wizard of Westwood died on June 3. No coach will win 10 NCAA titles or 88 straight games as Wooden did.
No coach will be able to balance the professional with the personal like Wooden did. The last time Lavin visited Wooden at his home he noticed several books on various religions laying open on a coffee table with index cards filled with notes.
“He was studying the common ground, the Golden Rule that is common in all religions,” said Lavin. “He was in love with life and with people.”