About a thousand of us filed into Fellowship Chapel on West Outer Drive in Detroit. Recognizable faces like George Blaha, Greg Kelser, Pistons President and CEO Tom Wilson and Hall of Fame broadcaster Frank Beckmann were sprinkled in amongst the pews. Ray Scott, the first African-American to win NBA Coach of the Year, also came to pay his respects to Robinson, the first African-American to coach Division I basketball.

But it was the faces I didn’t know – the dozens of old men Robinson had coached and mentored, the former Miller High School faculty members he had worked alongside in the 1940s and ‘50s – that made me realize I could not grasp the significance of this gathering.

Some of Robinson’s former players looked like athletes, like 6-foot-9 Detroit icon Spencer Haywood and the towering Randy Henry, who played for Robinson at Illinois State. Henry was an 8th round draft pick of the Pistons in 1976 – Robinson’s first year as a Pistons scout. Many more looked like ordinary men who had lived full lives; men for whom the game of basketball had been tangent on their life course and Robinson’s influence ever-present.

“Coach connected all of us,” said Lem Barney, the NFL Hall of Famer that Robinson scouted and signed for the Lions when Barney was a senior at Jackson State. “We have something in commonality: he touched all of our lives. He gave us something to shoot for, something to accomplish, something to achieve, something to be proud of.”

On Saturday, black men and women shared pews with white men and women, and famous faces resided next to anonymous ones. Together, they celebrated Robinson’s life and mourned his passing this Monday at the age of 96. It was a fitting tribute to a man who changed a segregated world.

“Greatness is about what you have done for others”

Retired Col. Aaron Z. Gordon, Ph.D, mentioned the importance of Robinson’s arrival at Miller amidst the aftermath of the 1943 race riots. Gordon, who ran track for Robinson at Miller, called reading his obituary “the single most important thing I’ve done in my 78 years.” It contained a single line about Robinson’s scouting for the Pistons, with whom he spent 28 years. His time with the Pistons was not overlooked. There was simply so much more to talk about.

Ofield Dukes never played a sport for Robinson, who coached five of them at one time or another. As a student manager for Robinson, Dukes said his coach prepared him for later challenges in life. Dukes hurdled them to lead a successful life in Washington, D.C., where he ran a successful public relations firm and worked for U.S. Vice President Hubert Humphrey in the 1970s. Even now, he calls Robinson’s legacy “a compelling and daily reminder” to live a meaningful life. “Coach Will Robinson believed that greatness is not about what we have achieved,” he said, “but greatness is about what you have done for others.”

Blaha touched on Robinson’s sense of humor and passion for the game of golf – and how the two sometimes came together. “When it came to golf, a sport he loved, Will would tell a golfer that was struggling, ‘Hey, take a few weeks off, rest … and give up the game,’” he said, which drew a roar from the crowd. When it came to that particular sport, Robinson was too far ahead of his time. Blaha reminded everyone that “Coach Rob” was a pretty accomplished athlete in his own right. “Will lived long enough to see Tiger Woods dominate golf and given the chance, Will might have been able to be the Tiger of his day,” he said. “I wouldn’t bet against him, would any of you?”

Blaha’s polished, eloquent tone turned somber as he finished his remarks, speaking about one of his last visits to the nursing home where Robinson had resided for over a year. “One of the aides said, ‘You know, you two are just like brothers from different mothers,’” Blaha said. “And to me, that was the ultimate compliment.”

Haywood also was Robinson’s family, by bond if not blood. As a youngster he traveled from Mississippi to Detroit to try out for the legendary coach. Robinson adopted Haywood so he could pursue a life away from the fields where he picked cotton as a teenager. Haywood recalled his mother’s words upon meeting Robinson. “The reason I signed those papers over to him is that he has got God in his eyes,” Haywood said. “… So you stay close to him and you stay close to his word, and he will never lead you astray.” Robinson helped Haywood parlay his basketball talents into an unprecedented career, first as an Olympic gold medalist in 1968, then MVP of the American Basketball Association and finally the NBA as the first underclassmen to enter the league, via a landmark 1971 case before the U.S. Supreme Court.

During the case Haywood discovered that Robinson, who just a year earlier had broken the Division I color barrier at Illinois State, had made a friend in a very high place. “I’m sitting here in front of Thurgood Marshall (the first black justice on the U.S. Supreme Court), and Thurgood Marshall says to me, ‘Come over here, son, for a minute,’” Haywood said. “I came over and he said, ‘Make sure you say hello to you dad Will Robinson.’ I said, ‘Oh, I got this case won!’”

“Dad, you’re a genius.”

William Robinson, Jr., followed Barney’s remarks. He spoke of the “only whipping” his father ever gave him. He was 14, and he had ditched his best friend, even though they always did everything together. Robinson heard about it and taught his son a lesson. “The lesson was, ‘You don’t mistreat your friends,’” he said.

Another enduring lesson came as a senior in high school, when the 17-year-old came home with a poor grade in pre-calculus. “I was under house arrest for six weeks. Longest six weeks of my life,” he said. “Best C I ever got. Education is the priority.”

Robinson, Jr., earned his doctorate and has spent his adult career in education, so he knows a good teacher when he sees one. “The older I get, the smarter my dad becomes,” he concluded. “Dad, you’re a genius.”

Reverend Wendell Anthony’s passionate eulogy, replete with booming crescendos, captivated the audience. At one juncture Anthony bellowed the names of the seven halls of fame that have enshrined Will Robinson, Sr., and said, “The hall of fame we’re talking about (today) is eternity.” He said it was time for Will to put down his basketball, put down his whistle and come home.

This is how I’ll remember the day I met Will Robinson.