I thought I knew everything when I was a sophomore in high school, and all I wanted to do was throw a ball through a hoop. I really did not care for much else (OK, girls and baseball too) and I got pretty good at hitting what is a three-point shot in high school today.
But when I showed up for tryouts that year, I would meet a man that knew quite a bit about the game, and had a resume to prove it. Yes, it saddened me this past weekend to learn that Gene Haynes had passed on at the age of 81.
When he walked into the gym in 1975 and told me to cut my long flowing hair if I wanted to play basketball for him, I thought I had met a mad man. Little did I know he was simply an established veteran coach in the twilight of a great career, implementing the educational process for a cocky and gregarious boy, one who thought he could hit a jumper from anywhere in the building.
From day one I asked myself why they hired this guy, not knowing he had coached successfully throughout the state after performing at a high level as a player in both high school and college.
Just as talkative as me and determined to show me he was in charge, Haynes quickly made an indelible impression upon me when he told me I could be a good player if I would concentrate on defense as much as I did the girls. “So much for defense,” I thought. He really became distraught with me upon learning I had consumed a great deal of pie in the pre-game meal before a road trip.
After playing well and hitting from outside that night, I suggested to him on the bus ride home that everyone should have dined on pie before the game. He put his arm around me and reminded me of the defensive liability I was that night and asked if more pie might help that too.
Later that year, our relationship changed dramatically when the murder of my younger brother rocked the small community we lived in.
Coach Haynes was there for me, and as time went on, he would not allow me to feel sorry for myself and to be treated differently, as so many who meant well attempted to do. He also went with a roster that did not contain yours truly when I proved to be less than worthy academically. Through it all, I was hard-headed and reluctant to accept his old-school mentality, not realizing it was just what I needed to succeed.
Upon learning I had cheated on a history exam in the very class he instructed, he confronted me, which prompted a full confession. Upon receiving a failing grade in his class for the semester as a result, I asked why I was being made an example of so harshly.
Without hesitation, he explained how as a student, and not an athlete, I should have been ashamed of myself, as he certainly was. I never forgot that day, and it still resonates with me some 36 years later.
He would retire shortly from coaching but continued to teach U.S. history, a job that he felt was so much more important than his love for basketball.
When he finally hung it up as a teacher, he concentrated on his love for the game of golf. I bumped into him about three years ago and we reminisced about basketball, but more importantly life.
“How did you ever play basketball at IUPUI,” he asked me. “I didn’t,” I replied. “I sat the bench.” He laughed uncontrollably. It would be the last time I ever saw him.
So when I learned of his death, I paused and thought about those days once again. No responsibilities, a passion for hoops, and a guy who thought my hair should match his crew cut. You turned out to be right about everything coach – (except for the pie). Thanks, and I will certainly miss you.
Danny Bridges, who thinks every young person in school today could learn from a man like Gene Haynes, can be reached at (317) 578-1780 or at Bridgeshd@aol.com.
