Remember this Titan (6 page)

She suggested a book of philosophy. Actually it was a book of philosophers. They were
all there: Spinoza, Socrates, Bacon, Voltaire. The only one missing was Mr. Rogers.
I was teleported to different worlds. Plato said justice involves a balance between
give and take. Machiavelli told me to take all that I could get. Aristotle suggested
I let the smart guys call the plays. My brain burned as I tried to interpret how it
applied it to me.

Somewhere in the fog I was presented with the story of the Gordian knot. According
to Greek legend a peasant named Gordius arrived in the square of Phrygia in an ox
cart. A few years earlier an oracle had foretold that the future King would come to
town riding in a wagon. Seeing Gordius, the populace gave him the throne. In gratitude,
Gordius dedicated the wagon to Zeus and tied it up using a very intricate knot—the
Gordian knot. It was so complex no one could untie it. Many tried. Theories abounded:
pull it, push it, spank it, kick it. Some used oil and others tried spit. Untying
the knot resisted all. Another oracle predicted whomever solved the puzzle would become
the Lord of Asia.

Failure ensued until the year 333 B.C. when Alexander the Great came upon it. He took
a look. He wanted clarification. He asked a question. Did Gordius say the knot had
to be untied or undone? His interpretation determined his
course of action. He pulled out his sword and the knot was freed. A light went on.
Thanks to a sword-and-sandals guy I figured out, in life, there were options.

Over the years I’ve been asked to explain my coaching philosophy. I used to think
why would anyone care what I thought. I’m a country boy. Philosophy is for others.
If you want philosophy go to Greece. Then one day, someone pointed out to me that
experience is like a sponge. If you go down enough paths a bucket of stuff gets absorbed.
If you don’t use the lessons it’s trash but if you do, it’s philosophy. If that’s
the criterion then maybe I do have a philosophy.

A number of years ago I was watching an interview with one of the most successful
writers of all time. He had written a book that had helped millions of people examine
their life and find a better way. He was a bona-fide All-American “Thinkmeister.”

The interviewer asked him why we were here. My ears came alert. I always wondered
why they planted me in Alabama. I got goose bumps thinking about what he would say.
I myself had pondered that question on more than one occasion. The cotton field gave
me Mary. The student center delivered Betty. But why was I here? I sat up in my seat.
I wanted the skinny.

He hesitated, looked up at the heavens, took a deep breath and proclaimed, “We are
here to learn.” The interviewer collapsed with joy, that such profundity had been
uttered on his show. I took it in and initially thought he was right on the mark.
About ten seconds later I started to question the statement. Learning is great because
without learning there is no knowledge. But if all we are doing is
improving our own situation then isn’t that a self-centered exercise? Is that why
we are here? Is life about me? I don’t think so.

He was right on when he said learning was important but he was one rung short on the
ladder to fulfillment. We learn so that we can make a contribution. When a person
contributes, others benefit.

A while later, I was told a story about that author. He was still delivering thoughts
on how to get through life but his own life was in shambles. I wasn’t surprised.

Recently I was asked by an interviewer to discuss my philosophy. Sometimes I use my
words but every now and then I go back to that cotton field and channel what Mary
said. She wanted to contribute and her philosophy is never out of reach. I delivered
my sermon.

I looked in the interviewer’s eyes. There was no reaction. I knew why. Giving a pearl
to a pig was a waste of a pearl. I didn’t take it personally. I’d been rejected before.
I thought about explaining why those ideals were important. But I realized it would
be futile. I knew he didn’t care. I knew he would not embrace something he did not
value. For him, they were just words spewing from an old man.

In the course of living my life I have learned the hard way that there are lots of
people that don’t care. Early on I spent too much time trying to get them in the groove.
At some point I realized my effort could be better spent elsewhere.

Caring and character are inextricably linked and it is character that provides the
foundation on which a country,
a family or a team can be built. Some people are born with character, but more often
than not, character is developed by overcoming adversity. And that happens with behaviors
that I call Performance Drivers. They look like words: Integrity, Commitment, Determination,
Courage, and Enthusiasm. In reality, they are the building blocks of excellence.

There was a time in my life when I was swayed by appearance. Way back when, someone
once asked me what I looked for in a quarterback. My reply, “square jaw, thick hair,
good teeth.” I hadn’t learned yet that character was invisible.

Tracye Funn was blessed with character. She was a high jumper and hurdler on the T.C.
Williams track team and I was her coach. Some people need encouragement to raise the
performance bar but Tracye wasn’t one of them. She was always challenging herself.
“Get it up coach,” she’d shout. Initially, the result was always the same. She didn’t
clear the bar and more often than not it resulted in a bump or bruise. Her legs were
covered with scrapes. She understood they were the price of success.

Years later she took that same attitude into the business world. Raising the hurdle
might be painful but it was the only way to succeed. She did. She became the first
black president of the Prince Georges County Chamber of Commerce. I was the speaker
at her inauguration. At the end I asked her to lift up her dress and show the scars
on her legs. She respectfully declined citing that hurdle was a little too low.

Character is important and it blossoms when easy turns hard. If you want your team
to have character make it difficult
on them. If you want your kids to have character ensure the “rite of passage” is tougher
than a day at Disney World. Everywhere you look the people that we respect, we admire,
we honor . . . have character.

I was sitting with a friend shortly after a number of Wall Street scandals erupted.
The subject of character came up. We discussed it in detail. We agreed that character
was at the heart of the problem. If you looked at the track records of the most egregious
you would see that they had lived a pretty cushy life. Had they experienced how tough
it was to earn a shiny dollar they might have given it more respect. Had they spent
some time in a cotton field with Mary, we’d all be better off.

I can’t remember anyone I’ve known that had it tough and wasn’t grateful for the experience.
They overcame hardship and were proud of it. It’s character that turns bad into better.

If you’re looking to build a dynasty of excellence start with people who have a few
nooks and crannies. It’s not all that hard to spot. When someone walks through your
door and tells you they got kicked in the head, punched in the face, and pistol-whipped
while trying to get milk money for mom, smile, because you may have just discovered
a Titan.

I can tell you, in the course of getting to where you want to go, there are going
to be some potholes en route. As a matter of fact, something dark lies just beyond
the horizon and it’s waiting for you. The good news is character is waiting for it.
When sweet times turn sour and happy turns sad, when the ill wind blows with hurricane
force, if you’ve surrounded yourself with character you’re going to make it.

I’ve had teams that were big and fast and lost. I’ve had teams that were small and
slow and won. What made the difference? I can tell you it was intangible.

Life has a way of telling you when you are on the road to nowhere. Look for signs.
Starting out can be pretty scary. If you are smart enough, one morning you wake up
and scream. You just realized your mom and dad are going to sell your bed. When that
happens you’d better be able to answer the call. Figuring out the deal can be the
difference between having a meal or becoming one. It has always been a tough world
and it is going to get tougher. The good news is that if you have prepared yourself
properly your success is guaranteed. That’s right. The people at the top didn’t get
there by accident. They knew what to do and they did it. There wasn’t much wishing
and hoping.

I’ve always believed that the foundation to accomplishment started with knowledge.
I wanted players that were smart. There was a time when I thought information was
the key. It was all about facts, facts, and more facts. Later on I learned that information
without experience is like a wheel without spokes, a sail without wind, a person without
direction, a soul without values.

Experience is a great teacher. I’ve found nothing better than experience to teach
the lessons I wanted learned.

Someone once told me a story about a very successful old man. He was getting an award
for achievement. A young man approached him and asked how he had accomplished so much.
He replied two words: good decisions. The young man asked how do you make good decisions?
The man answered one word: experience. The young man inquired as
to how to get experience. The old man answered. Two words: bad decisions.

I’ve made a lot of bad decisions but I’ve learned from every one of them. I’ve seldom
been embarrassed twice. I guess I must have understood if I didn’t fix what was broken
someone was going to sell my bed. Too many people get stuck in a rut. And if you stay
in one long enough it can become a grave. Whether you are coaching a team, raising
a family, or holding down an emperorship, stay nimble. Things will never stop changing,
and if you don’t flow with the current you can get obsolete fast. The only way to
find out if the snake oil works is to give it a try.

Dreams come in stages. If you’ve done things right, your confidence grows and your
aspirations too. In the world of large dreams though, mine were pretty small. I never
thought about being President, Allied Commander, or CEO. I did once dream about eight
seconds on a bull. No way.

At one point in my life, my dream was to fill my belly. Thirty years later it was
to fill a stadium.

The rumors had been circulating for a while. Hammond High was going down. And George
Washington was too. A few years earlier a superschool had been built and its time
had come. It just made economic sense. If the plan went according to Hoyle, T.C. Williams
would have more kids than Peru. That was an opportunity and a problem—a problem because
at that moment in time, race relations had taken
a dramatic turn south. All over America the flames of racial hatred burned. And they
had made their way to 3330 King Street. In theory, the objective was noble but in
reality when you compress that many kids into that small an area you’re going to have
problems. Combining a predominantly black high school, GW, with its predominantly
white arch-rival didn’t help. And when trouble arrived it came with a vengeance.

I would have been more concerned but I had been dealing with racial issues all my
life. I’d gotten pretty skilled at getting people together. I was ready. One morning
the phone rang. “Bill,” the caller said. “It’s yours.” I was thrilled. Another dream
had been realized.

Shortly thereafter a number of catastrophic racial events took place. Some were local
and others were far away. It didn’t matter. When you have too many cooks, cooking
a plan, things can happen. A few days later I got another call. The voice was a friend.
He hemmed and hawed, took me in circles and then apologized and then took me in some
more circles and then apologized again. I asked, “Do you have something to tell me?”
“Bill,” the caller said “you’ve been replaced by another.” Already? I thought. The
season hadn’t started. Practice was a week away. I was o for o and getting the boot.
“It’s only temporary,” he added. “Don’t worry Bill, you’ll get it back.” At the time
I didn’t know what that meant. I asked who the new coach was. He told me. “He’s the
guy from North Carolina. He’s got a good record. He’s also black, Bill, and that might
be helpful for the situation.”

Black, white, pink, or green I didn’t give a hoot. All I knew was a guy named H-E-R-M-A-N
was taking my job.

A few years later, a reporter asked me how it felt to have
the brass ring in my hand and then have it taken away. I thought about the question.
I decided I would use a fishing analogy. “It’s like pulling in a fifty pound salmon
after a two-hour fight. You get it to the bank. You picture it on the grill and taste
it in your mouth. All of a sudden . . . it’s gone.” His face remained blank. So I
continued, “as you stumble back to camp, you get mugged, tarred and feathered, tied
to a cactus, and flogged.” I detected a tear in his eye. He was feeling my pain. I
went for the dunk. “And then I got to go home and tell my daughters their Head Coach
Dad had been demoted from a tuba to a second fiddle.

Did that decision by the school board hurt? You bet. And disappointment that great
can make you want to blame. I thought I had the right. Over the next few weeks I watched
the images of the hatred that was tearing America apart. At some point it dawned on
me. Bill Yoast was a minnow in a big sea. What I wanted was irrelevant. It didn’t
matter. On the world stage far greater people had been treated worse. Maybe the board
was right. The answer to our city’s problem was a guy named Boone.

I had a number of perceptions about the man who was going to replace me. Most of it
came from the grapevine. Detractors said one thing and supporters said another. The
air was filled with lies. I heard Herman got results with a gun. They said he was
mean and nasty. Wore spurs. Carried a blade. It got worse. They said his teeth were
false.