Rows of TV satellite trucks, their diesel engines spewing out soft puffs of black smoke, stood guard outside the house that Dean Smith built. In less than 90 minutes, every local station in the Research Triangle would interrupt its regularly scheduled programming for the end of an era.
A sign on the glass entrance read, “The Smith Center will be closed Today, Thursday October 9 for a private function.”
A private function? A cocktail party on the clubhouse veranda is a private function. This was a national event and a regional wake. Scrawled in yellow chalk in front of one of the doors was a message of desperation.
“We love you, Dean. Please don’t go.”
Too late. Smith confirmed what close friends, former players and newly committed North Carolina recruits had leaked a day earlier. After 36 seasons as the Tar Heels’ head coach, Smith, 66, was leaving on his terms, which is what he had said he would do for years.
Despite the repeated warnings, nobody here could quite believe he would do it. Wednesday night, in the Four Corners bar on famed Franklin Street, a packed house watched in stunned silence as news of Smith’s resignation flashed across the TV screen. When the report ended, someone raised a glass and said simply, “To Dean.” Glasses clinked in heartfelt agreement.
Smith leaves with 879 victories, the most by any coach in college basketball history–and all won at the same school. He led the Tar Heels to two national championships, 11 Final Fours, 27 consecutive 21-victory seasons, 33 consecutive years of top-three finishes in the Atlantic Coast Conference.
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But those are numbers, nothing more. Smith’s legacy is defined more by his impact on the players who won him those games, rather than by the games themselves. Adolph Rupp sat atop the NCAA victories list for years until Smith surpassed him last season. But Rupp wasn’t beloved. Smith, all squinty eyes and nasal Kansas twang, is.
Then-chancellor Bill Aycock hired Smith to succeed Frank McGuire after the 1960-61 season. Aycock gave him a contract worth $9,500 that first year and a promise not to judge Smith on his won-loss record.
Many years later, after Smith had survived seasons of 8-9, 15-6, 12-12 and had been hung in effigy, Aycock received a present. It was a framed photograph of Aycock and Smith. On the back Smith had written, “This is the only picture of me in my office.”
Smith conceived the four-corners offense, the finger-pointing for a well-thrown pass, the free-throw huddle, the clenched-fist signal for a player who was tired. He was a master of a well-crafted game plan.
But his players remember him for much more than chalk talks. Smith still sends handwritten Christmas cards to each of his Carolina players and to players who almost signed with the Tar Heels.
Michael Jordan, so the story goes, sat spellbound on the living room floor when Smith first made a recruiting visit to his parents’ Wilmington, N.C., house. And in the summer of 1993, it was Smith who met a grieving Jordan at the Wilmington airport as Jordan prepared to bury his murdered father, James. Jordan hadn’t wept until Smith embraced him in a tender hug.
Smith’s relationships with his players and staff were forged in respect and love. President Clinton called Thursday to wish him the best, but an earlier conversation in the week with Jordan was probably more meaningful to Smith.
As Thursday’s news conference began to inch toward an hour, Smith glanced at his watch. He never has enjoyed talking about himself, nor has he been comfortable as the center of attention. But midway through an answer, a half-dozen students appeared outside at a window overlooking the hall. They cupped their hands against the glass in hopes of catching a glimpse of the great Smith. That done, they held a white bedsheet up for all to see.
“We Love U Dean”
At one point, Smith recited the support he had received through the years from friends, players and students. His voice grew husky with emotion, his eyes welled with tears.
“What loyalty I’ve had,” he said.
Smith had to stop for a moment. As he composed himself, there was a smattering of applause from several staff members. Some were seen dabbing at their eyes. Smith seemed embarrassed by it all.
Later, when the hour was up, Smith disappeared behind a pair of baby blue doors. From Coach Smith to Citizen Smith. Just the way he wanted it.