Viewpoint Opposition from the coach
By MARK NEILSEN
Amid the praise for
philosopher-coach Al McGuire after his death last month, I found myself
pondering the only time Al and I were ever on opposite sides.
An avid basketball fan as a Marquette University student in 1967,
I traveled from Milwaukee to New York City in a car with no heater just to see
the team play in the finals of the National Invitational Tournament. Ten years
later, when Al cried into his towel after securing the NCAA national
championship in his final coaching appearance, I wept into my pillow that same
night.
But as Al himself noted, Theres more to life than a
bunch of guys in short pants running around a basketball court. That was
certainly true on the Marquette campus in the spring of 1968. Politically
sluggish by 60s standards -- a major student concern in 1967 was trying
to bring football back -- Marquette was not completely isolated. Fr. James
Groppi and the local chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of
Colored People occasionally took a route through campus as they demonstrated
for open housing. A kid from an exclusively white suburb of Chicago, I watched
them with only a stirring of curiosity and vague sympathy.
Nor was Marquette immune to the shock wave sent out by the
assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. in early April 1968. The university had
a total of only 40 black students, a situation a handful of campus activists
had been trying to address. After the King murder, hundreds of students,
suddenly galvanized for action, showed up at a rally in support of increasing
the numbers of minority students, minority faculty and courses in
African-American studies.
The Respond Movement, as the student-led protest came to be
called, was an appeal to conscience. In the view of many students and faculty
alike, Marquette had the resources, the personnel and even the vision to end
institutional racism. All that was needed was motivation. Against
the backdrop of national crisis, university administrators inaction
seemed unconscionable. In an escalating confrontation, most of the black
students -- among them six basketball players -- abruptly quit school in
protest, and the stakes suddenly shot up.
Enter Al McGuire. Al threw himself into the contest with
characteristic energy. In a late-night session with his players, he challenged
them not to throw away this opportunity. To quit playing basketball, he warned
them, would be like cutting off your arm. But his most potent venom
was saved for the student activists, one of them a former player.
In an early morning session in an apartment off campus, McGuire
confronted student leaders. Sports Illustrated reported, The
smooth-talking theorists he screamed at. The tough guys he ridiculed. He
suggested to an idealistic white coed that she should take one of the black
players home to her suburb for Thanksgiving. To a priest, he snarled,
Dont come after these kids from the Jesuit house. You never bought
a pound of butter in your life, and youre asking them to be kamikaze
pilots.
While Al was trying to save his basketball team and livelihood, I
was caught up in my own soul-searching. Should I risk arrest or quit school in
protest to bring further pressure to bear on the administration? What about the
future of my career?
Unlike McGuire, I am no street fighter, and the memory of even so
nonviolent a confrontation as Respond touches a raw nerve. Just how much of our
own comfort and security ought we risk on behalf of a vision of social justice?
On the other hand, how do we manage to turn away from obvious suffering and
need? The atmosphere bristled with a compelling urgency to commit oneself to
action.
Within hours of McGuires intervention, the players had
rescinded their resignations. At the time, Al seemed to have won a decisive
victory. But events would show that the black students, all of whom eventually
returned to school, had themselves achieved a significant goal as university
officials agreed to consider their demands. The following summer a committee,
including students, administrators and faculty, came up with a plan to hire
Arnold Mitchem, a talented and charismatic African-American doctoral candidate,
to develop and direct the universitys Equal Opportunity Program. Over the
next decade and a half, the program under Mitchem would become a national model
for recruitment and retention of minority students.
Still, many of us felt betrayed as word of Al McGuires
comments circulated on campus. In retrospect, it is easier to see that he was
not simply protecting his own interests. It would have been a disaster for such
gifted athletes as these to have sacrificed an opportunity for advancement: the
powerful and determined George Thompson, the graceful and quick Dean the
Dream Meminger, the athletic leaper Joe Thomas.
What is less evident is that it would have been equally disastrous
for Marquette to have lost out on the chance to establish the Equal Opportunity
Program and help kids who couldnt bounce a basketball. In view of
Marquettes accomplishments on and off the basketball court, hurt feelings
and rhetorical excess no longer seem important.
In the end, my argument is really not with McGuire at all, but
with my own desires, on the one hand, for entertainment and ease, and on the
other, for social justice and the sacrifice it demands. These days, when it is
so easy to get caught up in managing our portfolios, worrying about tuition for
the next generation or long-term care for the previous one, I gratefully
celebrate many wonderful memories of Al McGuire, and of the student activists
of Marquette University, where once in a now distant springtime, things changed
for the better.
Mark Neilsen is associate editor with Creative Communications
for the Parish Inc., in Fenton, Mo. His e-mail address is
mlneilsen@aol.com
National Catholic Reporter, March 2,
2001
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