A short while later it was time to go. There were two doors leading out of the classroom. John stood at one door, and every student stood in line to exit through that door. He shook every student’s hand as they left and asked, “Did you enjoy class?” Each and every one lit up and replied, “Yes!”
When John and I got back to his office, we plopped down in our usual chairs by his desk—he behind it and me in front. I asked him why some of his assistant coaches have worked out better than others. He thought for a moment and replied, “The best coaches have usually been guys who played for me, and they not only understood my system, but they believed in it. Also, my better coaches have been guys who were good teachers and could clearly explain things; I think that’s a gift. Some coaches tried to change things, and they didn’t fit in well here. That doesn’t mean they were bad coaches. They just needed a system that fit them.
John diagrams a play for Craig Muyres, Ken Roering, and Bernie Beckman prior to the 1963 national championship game. Courtesy of Gagliardi family.
“That’s also why I don’t recruit players that hard. I want a guy who first of all wants to come to Saint John’s, because the school attracts a certain type of guy. I want to know he will fit in here before we think about him playing football here.”
As usual, John redirected the conversation back toward me. “Remind me why you chose Saint John’s.”
I told him how I had it narrowed down to Saint John’s and Trinity Christian, a college in the suburbs of Chicago. Trinity’s football coach at the time was Leslie Frazier, a defensive back on the legendary 1985–86 Chicago Bears team. When Coach Frazier called my home one evening to offer me an athletic scholarship, my dad suggested that we check out the school.
I remember that when I arrived on campus, I was separated from my dad and escorted to a player’s room. Although I was told that the player would soon arrive, he didn’t show up for nearly an hour, during which time I simply stood in his room. After a mildly entertaining evening hanging out with other football players at the student commons, I mentioned that I should get some sleep because I had an early meeting with Coach Frazier. My host began to walk me back to the dorm room. Then he stopped, handed me the room key, pointed in the general direction of the room, and said, “You know how to find it, don’t you?” Too shocked and timid to be truthful, I nodded and eventually found my way back to his room.
After we met with Coach Frazier the next morning, my dad and I started the six-hour drive home. Dad asked me to take out a sheet of paper and list the positives of Trinity on one side and the positives of Saint John’s on the other. After I finished, the list of positives on the Trinity side was much longer— significantly cheaper, closer religious affiliation, promise to play right away. My dad said, “Well, it seems like you’ve made your decision.”
But then I looked at the list on the Saint John’s side and saw the phrase, “Really enjoyed the guys I met.” And I thought back to my recruiting visit at Saint John’s: from the moment I stepped on campus, prominent players were by my side the whole time, showing me where to go and what to do, and introducing me to many female students. The players had learned this from John, a coach who prohibited hazing of younger players and required that seniors seek out freshmen in the dining hall and sit with them.
“But Dad,” I replied, “I want to go to Saint John’s.” John smiled and nodded as I told him my story.
A few months later, John was in his office when his phone rang. “Gagliardi,” he answered as always.
“Hi, John. This is Leslie Frazier with the Minnesota Vikings. I want to invite you to come down and be our guest at one of our mini-camp practices.”
John went to the event and later told me, “I was eating lunch with Leslie after practice, and I was tempted to tell him your story. But I decided against it.”
“Good restraint,” I said with a smile.
CHAPTER 5
A good amount of John’s success on the gridiron happened because players believed in themselves, in each other, and in John’s system. On many occasions, such as the 1963 national championship game against Prairie View, the Johnnies were less physically talented than their opponents. However, the team trusted that if they followed John’s plan, they would win the game. The players knew that John would not put players in position to fail—he only asked them to do things he knew they were capable of. He put his players in position to win, and as a result, they trusted him and played with confidence. With this confidence, the team generally played together far better than its opponents.
I asked John if he was always confident that his team would execute well enough to win. “Well, not totally,” he replied. “I know we always have the ability to win, but so many things can happen that are out of your control. But I have to pretend to be confident so that the players will be confident.”
John Quinlivan was one of John’s best friends. When I met him at his home on a hot summer day, he cited many reasons for John’s success. “One reason he is successful is because he loves coaching so much. His hobby is watching film. It seems that whenever he is bored, he watches film. And I know first-hand how much he loves football. We e-mail and talk all the time during the offseason, but once the season starts, John asks me to hold off. We pick up our friendship after the season is over. One thing I have noticed is that he has the ability to talk to kids and to have them do exceptional things in tough circumstances. He knows how to motivate them and make them confident that they can do things well.”
Noel Meyer was a defensive lineman on the 2006–09 teams. Initially a reserve, he recalled that, during his junior year when the All-American in front of him was injured, John pulled him aside. “He told me he had watched film from the previous year, and that he had no doubt that I was ready to start. This affirmation gave me much more confidence in the weeks ahead, and his encouragement did not end with that point. Take a look at John sometime during pregame stretches. While most other head coaches are in the middle of the field talking with their own coaches, opposing coaches, or the referees, John is making his way up and down the sea of red or white jerseys, shaking every player’s hand. Although he isn’t one for a ton of words to get you ‘hyped up,’ when he looks you in the eye and shakes your hand, you know that it is time to play.”
John exudes confidence in front of his 1954 Chevy Bel Air. Courtesy of Gagliardi family.
Noel continued. “John isn’t big on motivational speeches or hooting and hollering. Instead, he usually ends his pregame speech with, ‘Let’s go out there and just do it. We’ve done it in practices and games all year, and now is your time to do it again.’”
Al Jirele played on John’s very first Saint John’s team in 1953. “Shortly after practice began that August, we were timed while running wind sprints. This skinny guy who looked like a student manager remarked, ‘Way to run, kid!’ I couldn’t believe it when I found out he was the head coach. A few days before the opening game of the season, we were running a punt return drill, pitting the varsity against us freshmen. No one touched me as I ran for my very life! When I headed back to the freshmen group at the other end of the field, I