A Man of Substance

Which of this country's greatest sports legends is clenched-teeth against the Iraq war and the death penalty and is for gay rights?

Bill Bradley? Jim Brown? Bill Walton? Try Dean Smith.

In today's scandal-dripping land of college basketball, couldn't we all use a little Dean Smith? He wasn't just the winningest coach in history, he was one of the cleanest. In 36 years at North Carolina, he never had an NCAA violation. He was and is a man who stands tall for what he believes -- fans, talk show hosts and his accountant be damned.

Smith is Abe Lincoln in a sports world of Stepford Jocks, where speaking out on social issues is likened to a Class A felony, where taking a stand is a good way to blow your car dealership endorsement, where somebody pressed mute on the social consciences of Michael Jordan and Tiger Woods.

Take the Toni Smith issue. She's the Manhattanville College guard who turned her back to the flag to protest what she calls the "inequalities that are embedded into the American system." Dean Smith would fight to the death to protect her right to do it.

"I'm sure it took a lot of courage," says Smith, who won 879 games at UNC. "Just as it took a lot of courage for Tommie Smith and John Carlos to [make their gloved-fist protest against racism in the U.S.] at the '68 Olympics."

Would he have let Jordan turn his back on the flag as a Tar Heel? "An individual has rights," says Smith. "You don't give them up when you put on a basketball uniform."

Smith has always thrown snowballs at top hats that way. He helped desegregate Chapel Hill restaurants in the early '60s by walking into one with a black theology student and sitting down to eat. He spoke out for a nuclear freeze in the early '80s. He allowed a player to skip practice to protest against the UNC cafeteria workers' low wages.

The son of a coach and a teacher, he always included a Thought of the Day at his practices, in which he'd offer a quote from, say, Martin Luther King Jr., and then start a discussion among the players. Imagine that: a coach interested in the mind of an athlete. No wonder Smith's program always had one of the highest Division I graduation rates.

In a state that gave us Jesse Helms, Smith's is a rare voice speaking out against the madness of a war in Iraq and the hypocrisy of the death penalty. It's a spiritual thing for him. "One doesn't kill," he once said. "I heard that in church."

Though he served in the Air Force, Smith was proud to see two of his daughters march in Washington against this war. "This is not a just war," he contends. "I certainly hope we don't go. This would be horrible."

In a state that sends thousands of Marines to the Middle East, that's a big target to paint on your shirt. But Smith has never scared easily. Speaking out against the death penalty, he once pointed at the governor of North Carolina and declared, "You're a murderer. And I'm a murderer. The death penalty makes us all murderers."

This is a coach who took his players to prisons and had them meet death-row inmates in their cells. He even phoned men on the eve of their executions, reminding them that they weren't forgotten, wishing them peace. One told him, "I'll be cheering for the Tar Heels." Were his players taking all this in? Hard to say. But when Jordan's father was murdered, his family didn't push prosecutors to seek the death penalty. The two killers are serving life sentences.

"It hit me the other day what we should do," says Smith, who still lives in Chapel Hill. "People should get a letter in the mail, like a jury duty notice, that says, 'You've been selected to carry out the execution of so and so. You'll kill him at noon.' That might wake some people up."

It's not something you'd expect out of the mouth of an old basketball coach, but Smith doesn't really care what you expect. He is more politically active than he's ever been. He wants to ban gambling on college sports. He wants newspapers to stop printing point spreads. And he wants college athletes to be paid by the NCAA. "From 1952 until 1973 the NCAA gave athletes $15 a month," he says. "Today, that would be about $250. Why not bring that back, especially when you see the enormous size of the TV contract?"

What gives Smith's words power is his humility. Ashamed of his smoking habit, he refused to be photographed holding a cigarette and finally quit smoking 15 years ago. Careful not to overshadow his successors, he doesn't attend televised North Carolina games at the dome that bears his name, because he doesn't want the cameras focusing on him and the commentators musing, "Gee, I wonder what Coach Smith would do in this situation?" Despite Carolina's miserable showing under Matt Doherty -- 8-20 last year and 16-14 entering this week's ACC Tournament -- Smith has not let out so much as a sigh of discontent. Nowadays, Smith seems to care more about saving lives than beating Duke.

When Dean Smith retired at 66, I never thought I'd meet a man I respected more.

Then I met Dean Smith at 72.

Issue date: March 17, 2003

Sports Illustrated senior writer Rick Reilly pens the weekly Life of Reilly column in the magazine.

 

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