The class laughed as he continued. “As a coach, when evaluating players, you have to find a guy who knows what to do and then has the ability to get it done. And we only have one rule, the golden rule. Treat people how you would like to be treated, and that takes care of almost everything.”
When he said that, I thought about one of the first changes he made when he took over as coach of his high school football team back in 1943. Conventional coaching wisdom at the time was to not allow players to drink water during practice, as it would make them “weak.” In his first practice as a coach, John wanted a drink, so he got one. The other players watched to make sure he didn’t die, and then they got drinks themselves.
John told the class what their homework was. “One assignment for today is to compliment your mother on her cooking. That is important for two reasons. First, to be nice. But also because then she will keep feeding you.
“But that brings me to a critical problem in my life. When I first started dating the gal who became my wife, she wanted to impress me. She knew that I was an Italian guy, so she made me some spaghetti. I don’t think this Irish-German gal had ever made it before in her entire life. I think she used a can of tomato soup. And then she asked me how I liked it.
“Now, I could be nice and tell her it was really good, but then I will get it the rest of my life. So I had a problem.”
He solicited advice from the class, asking one of his defensive linemen, “What would you have done, Evan?”
“Um. I would probably tell her we should cook a meal together, and then I’d show her how to cook Italian.”
“But I don’t know how to cook Italian! I’m not smart like you. And you’ve got a beard,” John exclaimed as he pointed at Evan’s scruffy face. “And here I was, no beard and not very smart, but I kind of liked this gal and didn’t want to screw it up.
“Well, it was a tough choice. So I said ‘Peggy’”—John got quiet before continuing—“‘I appreciate this, but it isn’t too good.’ So Peggy went to my mother and learned how to make spaghetti better than her.” And with a grin he added, “At least that’s what I tell Peggy.”
As class was winding down, John called Luke up to see how many of the sixty-two other students he could name. Before Luke began, John inquired, “What is your grade point average?”
“3.85,” Luke replied.
Not to be outdone, John retorted, “Pretty good. But I had a 4.0 in college—one point each year. That’s a 4.0, right?”
Luke smiled in agreement and then went about his task, correctly identifying the first eleven students in class. When he finally got stumped and decided to skip a student, John corrected him. “Introduce yourself.”
Luke worked his way through the classroom and introduced himself to each student he didn’t know. He always said, “Nice to meet you,” upon learning someone’s name for the first time. He ended up knowing forty students by name and introducing himself to twenty-two new friends.
After encouraging the class to applaud for Luke, John noticed that it was after the class’s ending time of 2:10, and he said simply, “That’s it.” In no rush to go anywhere, I watched a class full of people walk out with big smiles on their faces, fairly certain I had never seen that before.
After the students cleared out, John and I walked down the hallway of the Palaestra and back to his office.
“So, how did you think the class went?” John inquired.
“Very well. I like the way you use humor and examples to make your points.”
John nodded, seemingly satisfied. I asked if he had any guest speakers coming up this year. “Maybe a couple,” he said, “but I hate to give up any time.”
That comment really struck me. Watching him smile during class made it clear that he absolutely loved teaching. And if he loved that class, he must have loved his football team even more.
“How did you like my story about not knowing what you might be doing twenty years from now?”
“I think it’s a fun attitude,” I told him. “Over spring break, we packed up the minivan and just started driving. We called it a no-destination road trip.”
“Yeah, we used to do those as well. I’d drive my wife crazy when we took vacations. I’d tell her that we didn’t need to book a hotel in advance, we’ll always find something. It especially drove her crazy when we would get to a crossroad and I’d ask her and the kids if we should turn left or if we should turn right.
“Once we were heading back from Virginia, and when we got to Arkansas, I called up school to see if anyone was missing me. The answer was no, so we drove out to my hometown in Colorado.”
As much as I was enjoying our conversation, I knew I had a long road ahead with John and didn’t want to wear out my welcome on day one. I abruptly stood and said, “Well, I better be going now. See you again in a couple days.”
When I got home that evening, my wife greeted me with a kiss and asked how my first day of class went.
“It was great. You should see the way he commands the class and the complete attention that the students give him. He was really on fire.”
“I’m so glad,” she replied.
I sank into my favorite recliner and began to catch up on e-mails from students. “Hi, Boz,” the first one began. I long ago decided that if John wouldn’t go by “Coach,” I certainly wouldn’t go by “Professor.”
CHAPTER 2
After spending time with John and also sorting through comments from his former players, it is evident that one of his keys to winning is creating an atmosphere of high expectations. Sometimes he did this with his words, and sometimes he did so with his actions.
In the classroom, without demanding that his students show up early, John set the expectation by arriving early himself and by starting class early. Also, he wanted students to get to know each other, so he held them accountable by calling on them regularly and asking questions about their neighbors. He did not let Luke off the hook when he didn’t know students in the class.
John had high expectations of himself. He wouldn’t just compare his success to that of other Division III coaches; rather, he would compare his win percentage to those of all-time greats like Bear Bryant, Woody Hayes, and Tom Osborne. He arrived at campus before eight o’clock every day. He took blame when a play went wrong due to a coaching mistake. He avoided alcohol, as he wanted to set a good example for his family and his players.
It was the same thing on the football field: he had high expectations for his players and wanted them to have high expectations for their own performance. Jay Conzemius was a senior running back when I was a freshman. While I was putting in time on the scout team, Jay was rushing for seventeen touchdowns and more than 1,200 yards en route to All-American honors.
But it wasn’t always easy for Jay. He recalled a powerful teaching moment during his freshman year. “I made a mental mistake on what seemed like a meaningless play,” he explained. “When the time came to review the play during films the following Monday, John almost skipped over it, and I felt some relief for a second. However, he rewound the tape and replayed my missed blocking assignment for all to see—probably a dozen times. Fortunately, I used the experience to get focused on what I was supposed to do. From this point on, I asked a lot of questions and tried to anticipate potential problems. I tried to be perfect in practice and games after this misstep. Fortunately, my hard work paid off and I was able to gain the trust of John.”
Mark Smith was an Academic All-American defensive back in 1995 and had this to say about John’s high expectations: “He was able to capture