PREFACE
In early 2025, my memoir Raising Giants was published. 383 pages chronicling my extraordinary two-decade journey with my TWO NFL sons. One might believe that within those pages I’d be able to tell every imaginable story. Lo and behold, that’s not the case. I believe somewhere around a handful were omitted. All but one could have been told in one or two paragraphs. But one would have consumed a full chapter, the number of pages unknown, likely catapulting the book to over 400 pages. It’s a story that might be considered tangential to the premise of Raising Giants, but it’s an experience that I feel compelled to share. Hope you enjoy.
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I fell in love with the game of basketball when I was around 10 years old. As a result, I’d spend countless hours on the weekends at our local elementary school . . . when one still had unfettered access to school playgrounds, unlike today where fencing and locks prohibit access . . . learning how to shoot and dribble. Jump shots. Hooks. Right-handed. Left-handed. Ultimately, my father engaged a handyman neighbor to install a hoop on the roof above our garage. That made life so much easier. Walk out the door, collect my basketball, drop the garage doors and have at it.
Growing up in Northern California it might have been assumed that my early college affiliation would lead me to follow a school like Cal Berkeley, Stanford or even the University of San Francisco (USF), which boasted legendary alumni Bill Russell and K.C. Jones, both of whom went on to be NBA Hall of Famers. But that wasn’t the case. There was a school 500 miles away in Southern California drawing my attention.
Being of mutant size as a youngster, like my offspring were to be, I was immediately positioned as a center on my 6th grade basketball team, my first year of organized hoops. I believe that’s why I began closely following those in college and pros who played the post position. In the NBA, it was Bill Russell and Wilt (The Stilt) Chamberlain. In college it was a freakishly tall and talented center from New York who chose to play basketball at UCLA. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, then using his birth name of Lewis (Lew) Alcindor, was my idol. Every opportunity to watch the Bruins on the tube I seized. (Back in those days, obviously neither cable nor streaming was available. As I remember it, there was but one game every Saturday afternoon.)
The timing of my initial love affair with basketball just happened to coincide with a run of success by UCLA that will never be repeated. Beginning in 1963, the Bruins were crowned NCAA Champions in 10 of the next 12 years. During that stretch, they went undefeated four times. Three other seasons they lost but one game. On the rosters during those early years of success were future NBA stars like Jabbar, Walt Hazzard, Gail Goodrich, Lucius Allen, Sidney Wicks and Henry Bibby.
I can’t say this with true certainty some 50+ years later, but I’m inclined to believe that my choice of colleges was influenced by my idolization of the UCLA basketball program. I applied to two schools – UCLA and a backup in case my worst fears were realized. Thankfully, an envelope appeared one day in the mailbox with a return address of “University of California Los Angeles.” My heart began to palpitate. I remember being told that the thickness of such an envelope was the key to knowing whether it contained an acceptance or rejection. Upon getting my paws on that envelope, it was obvious I was heading to the City of Angels.
My first day on campus was, to some degree, overwhelming. Daily population at UCLA, including students, professors, staff, etc., exceeded those living in my hometown of Santa Rosa at that time, but I jumped right in. Got settled in my dorm room, getting to know my new roommate. Wanting to find greater connections, I rushed a fraternity my first week of classes. Fortunately I became a pledge at Zeta Beta Tau, ultimately achieving brother status after my first full quarter on campus. (Great decision. Developed relationships that still exist today, including meeting my wife of 48 years!)
Being the jock I was, one of my first fraternity activities was attending a UCLA football game. Buses rolled up to the front of the fraternity house. We boarded for the 40-minute trek to the Los Angeles Coliseum, home base for the Bruins at that time. I attended all home games that season.
Before the football season came to its natural conclusion, basketball season tipped off. My first game at legendary Pauley Pavilion found the #1 ranked Bruins facing off against the #4 ranked Maryland Terrapins. What a beginning. There on the hardwood were future NBA stars Bill Walton and Jamaal (Keith) Wilkes for UCLA and Terrapins Tom McMillian and John Lucus. And seated on the UCLA bench was mythical coach John Wooden. These are all folks that I had watched from afar prior to attending UCLA and now here they were . . . in the flesh. (Didn’t know at the time that decades later my path would cross with two of these Bruins.)
The game itself was a memorable one. UCLA entered that contest on a 76-game winning streak. I presumed that number 77 was in the bag. As ESPN football analyst Lee Corso was famous for saying, “Not so fast.” That game was a squeaker, UCLA winning by a point, 65-64, after forcing Lucas into a game deciding turnover. I spent the closing minutes of the game wondering if I was to be a Bruin jinx, thinking, “My first game and they’re going to lose.” Fortunately that wouldn’t be the case, albeit their historic streak came did come to a crashing conclusion after 88 consecutive Ws.
From that game on, I don’t believe I missed one tip off at Pauley Pavilion during my four years. If memory serves, at that time students didn’t need to buy tickets for entry. Line up outside before the game and then simply show your student ID when the doors were thrown open. That was it . . . but yet not that simple. I learned early on the tricks of the trade. The earlier one arrived pre-game, the better the opportunity to grab prime seats. And so that’s what I did. I never slept overnight as others did but I was one of the early birds.
Walking around campus I would gawk at these larger than life . . . at least to me . . . hoopsters as I’d see them traversing the campus. But the one who always made me quiver with excitement was Coach Wooden. He had a daily routine. For his exercise he would stroll around the perimeter of Pauley Pavilion. One lap after another. Moderately paced. No idea how many he completed. But I would watch in awe . . . from afar. In my wildest dreams I couldn’t imagine ever approaching Coach. He was a deity to me. Simple unapproachable.
Coach Wooden began his tenure at UCLA in 1948. As I entered school in 1973, it never dawned on me that his coaching career might conclude during my time at UCLA. But, indeed, that’s what happened during my sophomore year, 1975. At 65, having led the Bruins for 27 years, Coach stunningly announced his retirement immediately after UCLA won their NCAA semifinal game and two days prior to the team cutting down the nets for their 10th national title. (UCLA basketball has never been the same since then.)
Fast forward a decade later. I was invited to join a group of guys hell bent on keeping alive their visions of past greatness . . . or at least a decent level of court competency . . . on the hardwood. We gathered at a local gym basically every Saturday morning for some 25 years. We developed relationships that morphed from casual friends to extended family. One of these guys, Bob Bennett, who played at North Carolina under Hall of Fame Coach Dean Smith and who had a brief tryout in the NBA, was a very generous sort. When a book hit the streets entitled Be Quick But Don’t Hurry (one of Coach Wooden’s many famous quotes), authored by former Bruin hoopster Andy Hill (1969-1972), Bob asked if I’d like a copy. Of course. (Apparently Bob knew Andy well enough to ask.)
One Saturday morning a week or two later, Bob arrived at the gym with a duffle bag full of books. He presented me with one, not willing to accept any payment. I opened the front cover to find these inscriptions – “Best Wishes,” signed “John Wooden,” and “To Lee Schwartz – A great Bruin fan . . . and a shorter member of the Saturday hoops game. BQ-BDH!” signed by Andy. (BTW, at 6’-1½” I wasn’t one of the shorter of the Saturday morning group, but compared to Bob, who stood at 6’ 7”, I was.) OMG! A book signed by Coach Wooden. I was in heaven. (BQ-BDH is a great read for those who might be interested.)
Let’s jump ahead again. I frankly don’t remember the exact date but it was likely several months before Geoffrey’s 17th birthday in 2013. I attended a professional networking event in the backyard of a huge Bruin booster, the yard overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Spectacular views. Walking around I was constantly looking at name tags. I passed someone with a familiar name penned on the tag. Andy Hill. I thought to myself, “Could this be the same Andy Hill who wrote the book about he and Coach Wooden?” At first I figured it wasn’t so. Why? My prejudice showing, I presumed that anyone who played basketball for UCLA and Coach Wooden would be tall. As I passed by it seemed to me that I was taller than this gentleman. So I continued to walk ahead.
A couple of steps later, I stopped in my tracks, thinking “But what if it is him?” If it was, I’d forever kick my backside for missing the opportunity. So I reversed course and walked back towards this individual. When face-to-face, I stopped and offered, “Excuse me. Are you the Andy Hill who . . .” I intended to tie him to Bob Bennett and the book, but he was having none of that. Instead of allowing me to babble on, he interjected, “You’re the father of the two football players, right?” You see, Bob had told Andy the story of Geoffrey and Mitchell, who at that time were playing football at Palisades High School and beginning to attract attention from college programs.
As fate would have it, that was Andy . . . and the beginning of a relationship that today finds him as one of my dearest friends. There’s a Yiddush word that to me describes the destiny of this chance meeting. “Beshert,” meaning “meant to be,” perfectly describes that day and what has followed. Spookily, Andy and I would find ourselves regularly crossing paths in a local supermarket. While up in Oregon for Geoffrey’s graduation ceremony, I’m in the crowd waiting for activities to begin when I hear from a distance, “Lee! Lee!” I finally traced the sounds and looked in that direction. It was Andy. He was there accompanying a friend of his who also had a student graduating. What were the chances? Slim and none?
As my relationship continued to develop with Andy and I began to understand the relationship he enjoyed with Coach Wooden, I took the liberty of asking a favor of Andy. Geoffrey’s 17th birthday was imminent. Thinking of a present, an idea came to mind. Through Andy I learned that Coach dined at the same restaurant in the San Fernando Valley almost every morning. I called Andy. “Andy, do you think it’s possible to arrange a breakfast with Coach as my present to Geoffrey?” He didn’t pooh-pooh the idea, but rather said he would check with Coach.
The response arrived a few days later. “Yes.” I almost fell off my chair. I knew that I would be more excited than Geoffrey . . . or Mitchell for that matter, as he would accompany us to breakfast . . . given my worship of Coach as I described earlier. We set a date.
One of the most memorable days in my life began with me and the boys arriving a bit early at VIP’s Café. We were standing in the lobby waiting for Coach and Andy when I saw Andy drive into the parking lot, Coach sitting in the passenger seat. My heart began to race. My body began to twitch from nerves. And I wondered, “What will it be like when Coach walks through the door? How would he introduce himself?” I speculated, “Coach Wooden.” “Mr. Wooden.” Something more formal than not.
Andy opened VIP’s front door for Coach to walk through. Coach immediately extended his arm to shake our hands and casually offered, “Hi, John Wooden. Nice to meet you.” Like he was just some schmo that walked in off the street. But this was Coach John Wooden, legendary UCLA basketball coach. That set the tone for the upcoming breakfast.
The five of us were escorted to Coach’s usual booth. Menus passed, although not for Coach. His order was routinely the same – No. 2: Two eggs, two hotcakes and two slices of bacon or sausage. I have no clue what I ordered that morning, nor Mitchell and Geoffrey’s selections. Conversation flowed so easily. Being this was the first occasion to spend time with Coach, I knew nothing of his personality. I walked away that morning observing one unexpected element of his character. He had a very wry sense of humor, which was targeted at Andy throughout. He would toss out his barb and then look at me winking his eye. What a riot.
As we ate our last morsels and the check arrived, Coach inquired, “How would you like to come over to my condo?” Wait. Did I hear right? The boys and I had a chance to visit Coach’s home and continue our time with him. Twist my arm. I believe it took a nano-second for me to say, “That would be great. Thank you.” We slid out of the booth, Andy saying, “Why don’t you follow me.” We jumped into our respective vehicles. I followed Andy to Coach’s condo. It was only blocks away from VIP’s. It was the same location where he lived when Andy played ball for him some 40 years earlier. What an extraordinary treat. I didn’t realize leaving VIP’s how extraordinary it would be.
I followed Andy into the subterranean parking lot. We all huddled in the elevator up to Coach’s floor. Walking through the front door immediately confirmed much of what I heard over the years about Coach’s living conditions. Memorabilia from his life was everywhere. On shelves. On tables. On the walls. I had heard about Coach writing letters to his wife after she passed in 1985. There on a bed clearly visible as we entered the condo was a row of envelopes containing those letters.
Once inside and after a quick tour, Coach forewarned us that his phone might ring but to pay it no mind. You see, it was back in the day when voice mail didn’t exist. Instead, he had an answering machine that would be audible to us. And that phone did ring. A couple of times. One was from Coach George Raveling, a colleague of Coach’s who helmed three collegiate programs and is a member of the Basketball Hall of Fame.
Then there was the call from Bill Walton. Bill and Coach had remained close since Bill played for him. They talked regularly. When the answering machine clicked on and Bill’s voice was heard, Coach announced, “I’ll let that one go to message. Bill could talk forever.” Bill and Geoffrey had something in common. They were stutterers. Bill’s was more extreme than Geoffrey’s but he overcame his challenges . . . just like Geoffrey has . . . to become one of the most active television and radio basketball commentators. Some suggested that Bill’s loquaciousness in his broadcasting career was making up for lost time from his younger days when stuttering inhibited his speech. 😊
With regard to Bill, thanks again to Andy, I spent a few special minutes with him at several UCLA basketball games and once at the famous outdoor amphitheater Hollywood Bowl, located in the Hollywood Hills area of Los Angeles, prior to a concert. It wasn’t unusual for Bill to be at Pauley Pavilion, as either a spectator or for TV commentating duties, but at the Bowl? Unexpected but not hard to identify. As I was scanning attendees, Bill’s 6’ 11” frame obviously stood out. And next to him was Andy.
Further setting expectations, Coach forewarned us of a package he was expecting. Coach lived on the first floor of his complex with a small patio outside a sliding door that was bounded by a sidewalk. Coach had arranged with delivery services to toss any package/envelope over the railing for him to pick up at a later time. Coach was expecting a delivery and wanted us to know he might need to take a moment to retrieve it.
We all ultimately took our seats. Coach sat at the kitchen table. I was nestled into a chair right next to those sliding doors. Geoffery, Mitchell and Andy found seats elsewhere. Our conversations from breakfast resumed rather naturally. While talking, I hear a plop on the patio. I presumed it was the package Coach was expecting. It was. Coach rose from his chair to retrieve what appeared to be, as I peered through the sliding door, a FedEx envelope. I asked Coach if he’d like me to pick it up for him. He politely declined and made a beeline to the sliding door.
Once back in his seat, Coach ripped open the envelope. He reached inside and began to pull out the contents. As a sheet of paper slowly emerged, I could see a black, round element at the top. Coach continued to pull. When completely removed, he began to read the contents of this letter.
The circular element was the back of the seal of the President of the United States. The letter, written on official Presidential stationary, was an invitation to Coach to visit Washington, D.C. to be honored with the Presidential Medal of Freedom (United States’ highest civilian award bestowed to those who have made “an especially meritorious contribution” to society) that would be presented by President George H.W. Bush. Oh my goodness!! Goosebumps still emerge on my arms when I think about witnessing this very unique moment in Coach’s life.
As the letter was completely removed from the envelope and Coach recognized the enormity of the moment, his emotions surfaced, but he quickly composed himself. I am convinced that if it were just he and Andy, tears would have flowed down his cheeks, but with three virtual strangers in the room, Coach was too prideful to cry.
After a brief moment of reflection, Coach shared (not exactly verbatim but close enough), “This is wonderful, but I won’t be attending. I’m not deserving.” My oh my. As I came to learn, this man was a humble person. He didn’t like such personal attention/ accolades. Andy interjected, “But Coach, how could you not attend?” (BTW, Andy knew what was coming that day as he was involved in triggering the honor and invitation.) Coach reiterated his position. Andy, reading the room, realized this wasn’t the time to engage any further. Instead, Andy offered, “Coach, let’s talk about this another time.” We returned to our general conversation, not another word about the honor uttered. (FYI, Coach did ultimately accept the invitation. He traveled to D.C. with his daughter Nan, accompanied by Andy and his wife, to have the medal draped around his neck.)
Time finally arrived for Geoffrey, Mitchell and I to bid adieu to Coach and Andy. What a truly memorable experience. I had just spent several hours with someone decades earlier I was fearful of approaching. I was so thankful to Andy for making this all happen. To this day I share my appreciation with him.
If my contact with Coach Wooden ended after that day, I would have been a happy and satisfied camper, but that wasn’t to be the last interaction with Coach.
For years leading up to this time, for my professional career development, I had been a member of a networking organization that I relied upon to generate business, comprised of attorneys, CPAs, consultants, financial advisors, insurance agents, etc. In addition to monthly group meetings, the organization would also arrange for special one-off events for the broader membership to attend. After visiting with Coach that day, a thought came to mind.
I approached the organization’s leadership with a suggestion. How about Coach Wooden speaking to the entire membership? After some back and forth, working through Andy, the Coach and the organization agreed to an event. The appearance fee was $10,000, but that money was not to land in Coach’s bank account. Instead, he had established a fund for all such fees that would go towards paying for his grandchildren’s college education. Another example of the character of this man.
The event took place in a vast ballroom at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel in Beverly Hills. As it turned out, good thing the room could accommodate a large audience. Over 300 people were present. At the time it was the most well attended program this organization had ever held.
I met Coach and Andy beforehand in the hotel lobby and accompanied them to the dais positioned on the stage at the front of the ballroom. In addition to Coach and Andy, a seat at the table was reserved for me. Lunch was served and then Coach was introduced for his presentation. He spoke about his philosophies of life and basketball, many incorporated into his Pyramid of Success, and shared numerous coaching related stories. He even recited poetry, which he loved and used as teaching tools. The audience was spell bound.
Once the formal presentation was over, a Q&A session began. Coach responded to every single question. And then he made himself available on the stage for attendees to come forward for a picture, an autograph or to share a personal moment with this icon. NO ONE was turned away.
The event concluded. It was time for Andy, Coach and I to leave. The sizable room had completely emptied as we began walking out, except for the wait staff, who were beginning to clean the room. At some point in the journey through all the tables, Coach stopped in place. With the support of his cane, he bent over. Andy and I looked at each other quizzically, both thinking, “What in the world is he doing?”
Coach had spotted a utensil resting on the floor. Instead of walking by and letting the staff pick it up, Coach chose to do so himself. Once laid on a table, Andy declared, “Coach, that’s what the workers are here to do.” With great nonchalance, Coach simply responded, “That’s OK Andy.” Another example of the outstanding character of the man I got to know.
Two unforgettable interactions with Coach Wooden. One very personal, the other shared with hundreds of others. Was there more to come? Indeed, there was.
When the weekend warrior Saturday morning basketball group had their bodies screaming, “No mas,” no one wanted to lose connection with one another. So instead of burning off calories, we chose to meet Saturday mornings at VIP’s for breakfast. There was a section that accommodated groups of up to ten, maybe twelve. We met there week after week. Typically sitting in his regular booth on the other side of the restaurant was Coach Wooden, accompanied by his caregiver, a long time UCLA trainer who worked with Coach during his coaching years at UCLA.
Often, with his bill paid, Coach would amble over to our neck of the woods. If a seat wasn’t available, one was made available in quick order. And then, as a group, with all other conversations silenced, we’d sit, sometimes for upwards of 45 minutes, and listen to story after story of decades past, absorbing every word. Can’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday morning.
At some point the VIP’s gatherings were just no more, and thus any direct connection to Coach vanished. Given that Andy remained in close contact with Coach, he became my conduit for all things Coach Wooden. Then, one day, June 4th specifically, word surfaced that Coach had passed, eight months short of his 100th birthday. Sad, sad news for so many . . . including me. For those who played for him. For all those that he touched in some way during his illustrious life. Like me.
His birthday remains on my calendar. Every October 14th I’m reminded of how incredibly fortunate I was to share a sliver of his life. I will forever be indebted to Andy Hill for opening that door. On those days I’m prompted to relive the stories I have shared throughout this piece. I think about the grace of this man, harkening back to days at Pauley Pavilion after his retirement. UCLA presented Coach with two season tickets to every game, situated on floor level opposite the UCLA bench at the very end of the section. That allowed attendees to line up pre-game next to Coach to take a picture, ask for an autograph, share a warm thought. No one was shooed away. Everyone was graciously welcomed. That was Coach Wooden.
Oh yeah, back to the title – “Me and the Wizard.” For me, the word “Wizard” suggests mystical figures, those who command legendary magical powers, like Merlin of King Arthur’s court or Aldus Dumbledore from the Harry Potter series. Coach Wooden earned the nickname “Wizard of Westwood” during his unprecedented, never to be repeated, run of NCAA championships, being credited with having almost magical coaching ability.
It might come as no surprise to those who knew Coach, knew of him or for those that have consumed this piece, Coach Wooden never liked the nickname. He felt that “wizard” implied trickery or magic, which was the absolute antithesis of his foundational principles of hard work and preparation.
Coach John Wooden was, in my eyes, one of the finest people to have ever walked this earth. And I somehow had the good fortune of being able to share precious moments with him. Doesn’t get much better than that.