While the throat cancer he died of last week at 57 was in remission in September, Jack Scott summoned the ridiculous variety of people he'd touched or taught or cured or saved from federal gunfire to a reunion at his house in Berkeley, Calif., and introduced us, amazed, to one another, over vegetarian lasagna. So author and trainer Lynda Huey said Wilt Chamberlain was packing to visit Scott when Wilt died. And so scholar Richard Lapchick and Olympic champions Lee Evans and Tommie Smith and bronze-star-winning Marine officer Judd Blakely observed that Scott's greatest talent was filling his life with equally heroic friends.
Scott grew up "a libertarian jock," in Scranton, Pa., sprinted for Stanford, graduated from Syracuse in 1966, got his Ph.D. in sports psychology from California and with his wife, Micki, founded the Institute for the Study of Sport and Society. In his books Athletics for Athletes and The Athletic Revolution, Scott decried authoritarian coaching, ripped performance-enhancing drugs and the commercialization of our games, and called for including more women and minorities.
Labeled by some as a militant nihilist, Scott was about as revolutionary as Abraham Lincoln. "I'm not trying to do anything radical," he'd say. "I'm just trying to be fair." Of course, nothing is more irksome than a fair man in a world that needs some work on the issue.
In 1972 Oberlin College hired him to be athletic director. Scott tripled funding for women's sports and brought in three black head coaches, when few non-all-black colleges had even one. All Scott's coaches won. The Oberlin faculty objected anyway, saying Scott was causing divisions in the student body and the faculty. Scott resigned after two years.
Back in Berkeley in 1974, Scott began writing a book about the Symbionese Liberation Army (SLA) radicals who'd kidnapped Patty Hearst. After a shoot-out in L.A. that left six SLA members dead, intermediaries took him blindfolded to meet Hearst and Bill and Emily Harris, armed to the teeth, craving nothing but to die in a blaze of glory. Scott said, "Maybe we can get you out safely."
A deal was struck: Hearst and the Harrises disarmed, and Jack and Micki drove them across the country, eluding one of the biggest manhunts in U.S. history, all the while urging the fugitives to surrender. After two months the group split up. Hearst and the Harrises were arrested and served their time. Scott was, rightly, never charged with anything.
In 1975 he moved to Oregon and mastered the use of microcurrent therapy, which increases circulation and promotes healing. Over the years the world caught up to Jack. Tide IX made women in sports commonplace. Free agency and the Amateur Athletic Act secured athletes' rights.
And so Scott could leave us, too soon, yet having savored the fruit of his activism and the true, tested friends it won him. "The secret of Jack is no secret at all," said Blakely. "He learned to forgive the blows of being vilified and the equally horrible blows of being idolized. He was always faithful. Semper fidelis. Always faithful."