Red Auerbach - Let Me Tell You a Story: A Lifetime in the Game

Copyright 2004 by Red Auerbach and John Feinstein

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Little, Brown and Company

Hachette Book Group, USA

237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroupUSA.com.

First eBook Edition: September 2007

ISBN: 978-0-316-03010-6

Caddy for Life

Open

The Punch

The Last Amateurs

The Majors

A March to Madness

A Civil War

A Good Walk Spoiled

Play Ball

Hard Courts

Forevers Team

A Season Inside

A Season on the Brink

Running Mates (A Mystery)

Winter Games (A Mystery)

This is dedicated to the memories of

Dorothy Auerbach and Zang Auerbach...

who knew every one of these stories

IT BEGAN WITH an extremely awkward situation.

I had been asked by a local TV station to discuss the upcoming NCAA basketball tournament on its weekly sports show. Years of experience have taught me that television people never tell you when they are actually going to put you on the air. They ask you to arrive early so they dont have to worry that you might be late. The conversation usually goes something like this:

What time will I be on?

Well, wed like you there by seven oclock.

Thats not what I asked. What time will I actually be on?

Well, the show starts at seven-thirty.

And Ill be on at what time?

It could be as early as seven thirty-five.

Or as late as?

I dont know.

This was one of those deals. The producer told me he was almost certain I would be in the shows second block at 7:35. He suggested I get to the station no later than 7:00, although they preferred 6:45. I said Id be there by 7:20.

I arrived on time and was taken to the greenroom. Youre the first one here, the makeup woman said to me. The first guest is running a couple of minutes late.

First guest?

Yes, someone named Red Auerbach.

Great. Not only was I not in the second block, but the absolute last person I wanted to share a greenroom with was Red Auerbach. It wasnt because I had grown up in New York, living and dying with the Willis Reed-Walt Frazier-Dave DeBusschere-Bill Bradley Knicks, and as a result hated the Boston Celtics. It wasnt even my filmy little-kid memories of him lighting up that damn victory cigar.

It was something he had said a few years earlier to my friend Dan Shaughnessy when Shaughnessy was writing a book about him. When Shaughnessy first approached Red to ask his permission, Red had said to him, Okay, Ill do it. But just dont do to me what that SOB did to Bobby Knight.

That SOB would be me. Shaughnessy, after gleefully reporting the line to me, used it in the book. I figured Reds line to Shaughnessy still accurately summed up his feelings about me.

I was sitting on a couch, pretending to read something, trying to think of what to say, when Red walked into the room. I rarely get nervous meeting people. Im too old and have met too many people for that. Now I was nervous. I stood up, offered my hand, and said, Hi, Coach. Im John Feinstein.

Would he refuse to shake hands? Would he call me an SOB? Red is legendary for many things, one of them being his bluntness.

Hey, John, howre you doing? he said, smiling and shaking hands with surprising firmness for someone who was eighty-one. You on the show too?

He then began apologizing for being late. I felt myself relaxing. Maybe, I thought, hes forgotten who I am. Red went in to get made-up. The producer came in to tell him theyd be ready for him in ten minutes. Yeah, yeah, fine, whatever, Red said.

Red came back into the greenroom, sat down, lit a cigar (of course), and gave me another smile.

So, he said, taking the cigar out of his mouth, you talk to your buddy anytime recently?

My buddy?

The grin was now what I would later understand to be wicked, when hes about to nail someone.

Yeah, your buddy, Bobby Knight.

Oh Christ, he hadnt forgotten. Now I was nervous again.

Coach, we dont exactly speak too often, I said.

Now he was laughing. Yeah, no kidding. Dont worry about it. He hates a lot of people.

He loves you, though. I had spent a good deal of time listening to Knight talk about Auerbachs genius and generosity.

He puffed on the cigar. Thats just cause I never wrote anything about him.

Now I was laughing too. We spent the next few minutes talking about the upcoming tournament and how overrated he thought number one-ranked Duke was (he was proved correct by Connecticut in the championship game). By the time they came to take him to the set, I was hoping the show might be delayed for another hour.

He smoked the cigar the whole time he was on the air. Naturally, no one dared to tell him there was no smoking in the building. When it was my turn to go in, Red paused on his way out. It was good to see you, he said. Keep up the good work.

The wicked grin returned. Ill tell your buddy you said hello.

Knowing Red, he probably did just that.

Jack Kvancz, the athletic director at George Washington, and I have been friends since his days as the basketball coach at Catholic University in the early 1980s. Jack got out of coaching in 1983 and became the AD at George Mason, and then in 1994 got the job at George Washington. Whenever I went to GW games, it was impossible not to notice Red, the most famous GW grad of them all (class of 1940), sitting ten rows up from the floor.

He never misses a game, Kvancz had told me one night when I asked how often Red came to see his old school play. Getting to really know him has been one of the great perks of this job.

You spend time with him?

I go to lunch with him every Tuesday. Not just me, a group of guys. Morgan Wootten [the legendary DeMatha High School coach] goes most weeks; Sam Jones goes; some of Reds buddies from Woodmont. Its a whole crew. He sits there and tells stories the whole time. Its unbelievable.

He still remembers stuff?

Remembers stuff? Are you kidding? He remembers everything.

Driving home from the TV show that night, I remembered what Jack had said about the Tuesday lunches. At the time, I was writing a column for the Washington Post Magazine. If, in fact, Red didnt think I was an SOB, maybe he would allow me to sit in on one of the lunches and write a column about it. If nothing else, it would be fun to listen to him.

So I called Jack. I told him what had happened at the TV show Saturday night. What about lunch? I wondered.

I dont know, he said. I can ask him, but that lunch is a pretty closed society.

Just as I was about to write off the idea, Jack added a thought. You know, if Morgan were to ask him, Ill bet hed say yes. Me, he might say no to. Not Morgan.

So I called Wootten, a longtime friend dating to my early days at the Post, when I had covered high school ball. Id be delighted to ask, Wootten said. The worst thing he can do is say no. Ill ask him at lunch tomorrow.

I was actually nervous about this now. If Red said no, it would make me think that our entire conversation Saturday night, which had felt so warm and real, had just been him being courteous. Dont push it, I said to Morgan. If he seems uncomfortable at all, let it go.

Dont worry, Morgan said. Nobody pushes Red.

The next night he called back. Youre on, he said. Be at the China Doll at eleven oclock next Tuesday.