John Thompson must have left this life proud of a legacy he bequeathed black athletic figures standing up for racial justice.
The fabled Georgetown basketball coach passed away Sunday at age 78. He was a Hall of Fame coach whose Hoyas dominated the college game for the decade of the 1980s and into the early 90s. Imposing, the six-foot-ten-inch Thompson feared no one in taking on racial discrimination and in championing his predominately black athletes.
He was willing to take his team off the court if there were racial insults and didn’t know the meaning of backing down. Dean Smith, the University of North Carolina basketball coach, once told me that John Thompson was “the most principled man I know.”
In 1973 when he took over, the Georgetown program was terrible. By the 1980s his was the dominant team in college basketball. He coached Hall of Famers Patrick Ewing, the current Georgetown coach; Alonzo Mourning; Alan Iverson, and Dikembe Mutombo.
His teams reflected their leader: tough, aggressive, fiercely competitive and an us-versus-them mindset. Critics called it “Hoya paranoia.” Thompson reveled in it.
My pal Mark Shields and I became avid fans and season ticket holders for more than three decades through an unusual route: In early 1981, at a Washington dinner party, I mentioned to our friend and argumentative rival, Bob Novak, himself a fanatical Maryland fan, that Georgetown and Thompson were interesting.
“He’s a communist,” Novak shot back.
The coach was a devoted Catholic, endorsed sneakers and had an undisguised love for money. Novak, not be taken literally, called me a communist too.
So Mark and I decided we needed a hobby and bought season tickets to watch this “commie coach.” About a week or two later, Georgetown signed the high school basketball sensation Patrick Ewing, and the team — and the Big East conference — took off!
The memories of great games and players are etched forever. It was a hot ticket and we parlayed it, taking guests ranging from Dick Cheney to basketball great Bill Bradley.
Once when a Georgetown player took a foolish shot, I loudly asked “Why did he do that?”
“He’s a 19-year-old kid,” Bradley replied.
Another time, I marveled at Mutombo swatting opponents’ shots deep into the stands. Bradley cited Bill Russell who usually kept the ball in play when he blocked shots. (Thompson was Russell’s backup center for two years with the Boston Celtics.)
Sitting behind the bench a couple times, I heard Thompson take profanity to a new level. I asked a friend how he spoke around Father Healy, the great Georgetown President: “He says Tim Healy taught him most of those words.”
There were classic games as Thompson took his team to NCAA tournaments, three final Fours and a national title. My favorite may have been the 1985 game in Madison Square Garden against St. John’s who had beaten the Hoyas in Washington.
They were the number one and two teams in the nation, and there was concern the tense rivalry could erupt into a brawl. Thompson brought his team onto the court to a resounding chorus of boos from 19,000 New York fans. Then he opened his jacket, displaying a replica of the multi-colored, hideously ugly sweater worn by St. Johns coach Lou Carnesecca. The tension eased; Georgetown went on to win, 85-69.
At the Big East tournaments, in the Garden, you could see Thompson’s pleasure when fans for all the other teams shared one trait: they hated Georgetown. These games attracted the New York glitterati. Once sportscaster Howard Cosell motioned me to ask if Judy Woodruff was my wife. I said yes. He said he was a big fan — and as I continued the conversation, he turned away.
No coach more ferociously defended his players. Thompson’s academic assistant was a former nun, whom players feared more than the coach; almost all graduated. When the city’s biggest drug kingpin, who attended the games, hung out once with his players, Thompson summoned him: All contacts ceased.
At a game at Providence, there was a sign insulting Ewing. Thompson took his team off the court until it was removed. He later said both “a person who holds up a sign needs to be prayed for,” and “sooner or later I’m going to tell my players to go up and get the sign and then see what happens.”
He continued to take on an issue that made those who viewed basketball as only a game uncomfortable. The American dilemma of race was on full display in what was becoming a game dominated by black men, and Thompson was among the few athletic leaders at the time who openly talked about and aired racial grievances. Critics called him a racist, reflecting more themselves than Thompson.
The Thompson basketball legacy is extraordinary. Even more extraordinary is his personal and social legacy — a gift to people like Doc Rivers, Lebron James, and belatedly, Michael Jordan, as they stand up for racial justice.
Al Hunt is the former executive editor of Bloomberg News. He previously served as reporter, bureau chief and Washington editor for the Wall Street Journal. For almost a quarter century he wrote a column on politics for The Wall Street Journal, then the International New York Times and Bloomberg View. He hosts 2020 Politics War Room with James Carville. Follow him on Twitter @AlHuntDC.