“He topped it off with the biggest chocolate cake I’ve ever seen, and we had a big ‘500’ on top of it. Rick raved about it. He loved everything, but on the way back to the Marriott, he says, ‘Look, we got to stop at Graeter’s, too.’ He went there every time he came to town.”
Donoher laughed about that Monday, but then grew quiet:
“That’s the last I saw him.”
Saturday, Majerus died of heart failure. He was 64 and waiting for a heart transplant in Los Angeles.
Now a lot of folks around the college basketball world — and especially here in Dayton, where he had some special ties — are left with their own heart problems. They’re all heavy. Donoher’s especially.
The legendary Flyers coach and Majerus had known each other since the early 1980s. Majerus was the coach at Marquette, and UD played the then-Warriors in a home-and-home series each year.
The two men became close once Majerus took over at Ball State and then moved on to great success at Utah and, for the past five seasons, at Saint Louis.
“One time when he was still in Milwaukee I met him in Chicago and we drove together to a testimonial for (heralded DePaul coach) Ray Meyer,” Donoher said. “We were going along Fullerton, I believe, and suddenly Rick goes, ‘Mick, stop the car! Stop!’
“He had spotted some guy who had set up a grill on the sidewalk and was selling ribs. We each had a little plate full, then got back in the car to go to the banquet. Finally Rick said, ‘You know those ribs weren’t very good.’ I said, ‘You’re right,’ and he goes, ‘But we had to stop, cause they might have been good.’ That’s how he was with food.”
Majerus — at 300-plus pounds — was bigger than life, but not so much because of his girth as for the way he embraced living.
He was one of the best coaches in the college game. He had a 517-215 record, was the national coach of the year in 1991, took Utah to 10 NCAA tournaments in 13 seasons and led Saint Louis to 26 victories last season and its first NCAA Tournament in 12 years.
Away from the game, he was a complex man who lived alone in hotels, was well-read, loved the theater and movies and was politically astute.
As a boy he had accompanied his dad to Civil Rights marches in Selma, Ala.
“He loved his parents and just worshiped his dad who had been a strong union man back in Milwaukee,” Donoher said. “He told me once how Jack Kennedy called the night he was elected to thank Mr. Majerus for his support.”
Majerus was also king of the one liners. Before a Sweet 16 game in the 1996 NCAA Tournament, he listened to Kentucky coach Rick Pitino insist that Utah should be favored, and then he begged to differ:
“If you put the two of us in a sumo ring, I’d crush him. On the basketball court, I think we’re in trouble.”
Majerus revered no coach more than Donoher. One of the last times he was here, he talked to me at length about his Flyers’ friend. He told me how his ailing mother would always tell him to, ‘Say hi to Mick.’ She appreciated what Donoher had done for her son and later for her two granddaughters, both of whom attended UD thanks, in part, to recommendations by the UD coach.
“I can’t tell you how much Mick has influenced me,” Majerus said. “The way I coach and try to run a program, a lot of that comes from him.”
Over the years Majerus often had Donoher come out to his practices — in Utah and Saint Louis especially — and work with his players.
Donoher tried to defuse that praise Monday: “He overstated the case sometimes … to the point it was embarrassing. I learned more from Rick than the other way around. He was just a tremendous coach.”
And yet some people didn’t realize that.
My favorite Majerus story comes from the time he was staying in the same hotel as several movie stars. The lobby was filled with autograph seekers all waiting for the Hollywood types. One person recognized Majerus and came over for an autograph.
That triggered a stampede of autograph fans all clamoring for his signature. Finally he heard one guy whisper to another, “Who is this guy anyway?” The fellow responded, “I think it’s the guy who used to be Curly in The Three Stooges.”
Those in basketball world who knew him best will tell you Majerus was a perfectionist when it came to preparing his team. He was forever tinkering with his schemes, and he was always demanding of his players.
Majerus was consumed by basketball around the clock, and he loved to eat day and night, as well, and that combination couldn’t have been good for his heart. He did try to swim every day, but his weight was always a struggle.
He had a septuple heart bypass 23 years ago. This summer his condition worsened. He called Donoher and told him what was happening but swore his friend to secrecy. This fall, Saint Louis announced Majerus would take a leave of absence.
With his passing, I’m reminded of a time Majerus talked about his burial.
Three years in a row his Utah team had been knocked out of the NCAA Tournament by Kentucky — in the Sweet 16 in 1996, the Elite Eight a year later and in the 1998 national championship game after leading the Cats by 10 at halftime — and Majerus was exasperated.
“When I die, they might as well bury me at the finish line at Churchill Downs,” he said. “That way they can just run over me again.”
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