Johnny Bach

Sam Smith

Great coaching is more than winning; it's also about educating, guiding, passing on values. It's helping to develop the individual not just as a player, but as a productive member of society. It's pursuing success, but not at the expense of morality, justice and ethics. It's, of course, about achieving excellence, but also with sacrifice and respect. Which does lead to the ultimate goals.

It's why former Bulls longtime assistant coach Johnny Bach was a great coach, if not always identified in the pantheon of NBA coaching elites. Other than a brief tenure as head coach of the Golden State Warriors in the early 1980s, Bach, who died in January 2016, was a man who guided some of the best ever coaches, like Phil Jackson and Doug Collins, and who nurtured the youngsters who became champions on the court and in life.

Which is why Fordham U. in New York City, where Bach after graduating became one of the youngest head coaches in NCAA history, Monday presents the annual John Bach award. This year's recipient, posthumously, is longtime New York broadcaster John Andariese, who played at Bronx' Fordham under Bach.

"John received the media award from the Naismith Hall of Fame a few years ago," said NBA broadcaster Marv Albert, a longtime partner with Andariese on Knicks broadcasts who will speak at the Monday ceremonies. "This would have been such a huge night for John because of what Johnny Bach and Fordham meant to him. He and Johnny were close for years and John stayed active with Fordham. It would have had a great deal of meaning."

Particularly because of what the Bulls assistant meant not only in the basketball world, but in the spirit of Fordham and its Jesuit heritage.

Coaches like Bach, unfortunately, are becoming rare in the NBA, the knowledgeable veteran who not only guides the young coaches with experience and a comforting assurance, but who is a father-figure buffer who can help offer life's lessons to the kids who have gotten so few, especially today with limited time in college.

"Johnny talked about it lot," said Bach's widow, Mary Sweeney-Bach.  "He was very proud of being the product of a Jesuit education because he believed in the importance of intellectual honesty and every other type of honesty, being spiritually honest, intellectually honest. He believed in the importance of education. That's part of what made him the kind of coach he was. It wasn't just rah rah, go get ‘em. He was so much into teaching the basics, the fundamentals, the values; it was the basics of life as well as the basics of basketball."

Among the previous recipients of the award are Jackson, P.J. Carlesimo, Patrick Ewing and Doug Collins, the latter whom Bach coached in the 1972 Olympics and went on to work with for three NBA teams.

Collins is now a Bulls advisor and he says he hears Bach's voice every day.

"I remember he used to call me Paul Douglas (Collins' full name), he'd say, ‘Paul Douglas, that bad decision you are getting ready to make, I've already made it. So let's think about it before you do that.'

"The older I got, the more he meant to me," said Collins. "When you are young and hear wisdom, sometimes you don't absorb it all. The older you get you realize how smart, how much he did in the game and how much he meant to me as a person. He was very much a father figure in my life. Johnny was looked at as that tough military guy, but people also didn't realize what a compassionate heart and spirit he had.

"You see these guys and how important they are in winning championships," said Collins. "He helped Phil win titles with his work with the young players; sometimes assistants get lost like that, but these guys bring so much to the game, guys like John, Tex Winter and what they did with Phil and throughout their careers. How many lives did you touch? How many people were better because they were with you? I know I am a better person for the time I spent with Johnny."

Bach, a Brooklyn native like Andariese, had one of the more remarkable careers in basketball. He played professionally with the Boston Celtics and guided Fordham to the then more prestigious NIT and the NCAA tournament as well as a young coach. He had almost 400 collegiate wins at Fordham and Penn State. He was an NBA head coach and assistant on three Bulls title teams, architect of the team's famed defense. His paintings earned a show after his retirement and he was a decorated World War II veteran.

NBA commissioner Adam Silver also will speak at the event Monday at the Water Club in New York City.

"He wanted to be somebody who took care of these guys, who taught them," said Sweeney-Bach. "What was giving back to him was when he saw people developing into better people. One of the things he admired about Michael (Jordan) was the way he elevated people around him as far as the game was concerned. Johnny wanted to do that as something more than the game. The idea that Fordham and the Jesuits are giving an award in his honor was something that meant a great deal to him. Those are the kinds of things he wanted to be remembered for."

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Coach Johnny Bach was a rarity in the NBA

childukich

In October of 1987, I joined the Chicago Bulls coaching staff as an assistant. The staff consisted of Doug Collins (a young 37-year-old head coach), Tex Winter, Johnny Bach, and myself. I was hired to get out on the road and scout the league, while the two "older" coaches were to stay with the team during training camp and preseason games. Tex Winter was a personal friend of the GM, Jerry Krause, for many years and had been hired to be the "coach's coach" according to Jerry. Johnny Bach was on Doug Collin's Olympic coaching staff in the 72' Olympics. Bach was knowledgeable about the East Coast game and could tell a great story. He was fascinating and vibrant—an evangelist. Winter, on the other hand, was knowledgeable about the West Coast game and knew all the educators of the game. Tex would go to bed at 10pm on an off night, while Johnny would stay at the bar and tell stories late into the night. Tex was dogmatic about the game and the way it should be played, whereas John was about "let's get this hand to hand conflict on". I was their student for 2 years. I thought I knew the NBA game, which I did, but I didn't know the history of the game of basketball.

Johnny Bach and I had the job as video recorders to set up the pre-game tapes for our next opponents. These video recorders were new devices that would let us cut and paste tape into 7-10 min videos of the coming opponents. We would get competitive about our product trying to outdo each other's edits. Johnny would end his tapes with an ace of spades on a rifle butt signifying an enemy kill. He talked in WWII terminology. My generation protested the Vietnam conflict and I'd end mine with Jimi Hendrix's anthem at Woodstock or Talking Heads “Stop Making Sense”. One day John was preparing a video of MKE Bucks and called me over to the video editor. "Check this out", he said. "Del Harris has started using Horst Pinholster's Pinwheel offense." There wasn't much you could put by John Bach and he loved defense. Many people don't know that when I was given the job as the Bulls coach I named John as the defensive coordinator, but knew Tex was the offensive coordinator. That early Bulls team was a terror on defense with Pippen, Jordan, and Grant as the Dobermans of D. We had 3 types of presses besides a full court man-to-man press that put teams under duress. John was the defensive teacher of that first 3-Peat team.

Johnny Bach was an identical twin. This brother was lost to him during WWII. He was a pilot in the Pacific and one day, did not return on a mission. John, a gunner ensign, would get his pilot's license and wear his brother's wings as a bracelet on his wrist. He loved to fly. One day when the team was in Pittsburg for a preseason game, John was out all afternoon—he was a man, who loved to explore. That night at the game he took off his shirt and proudly showed us his full fighting eagle tattooed on his chest. Tonight I'll think of him and that spirit he embodied, especially his motto after a late night on the road. "What? You can't be tired, you can sleep in the grave." Sleep well, Johnny.

phil-jackson-on-johnny-bach

Phil Jackson on Johnny Bach

It does, inevitably, for everyone, but it's probably never had to fight like this. Johnny would have sneered and his friends would have smiled.

Johnny Bach, one of the truly great Americans of the 20th Century, the prototype for the Greatest Generation, died Monday. He was 91.

I know when people die we are quick to praise and perhaps exaggerate their accomplishments. There's a bit of guilt involved. After all, we're still alive and they aren't.

I'd exaggerate Johnny's accomplishments if I could, but I'd only end up falling short.

This was truly a remarkable and skilled man, principled in his commitment to his nation and his profession, articulate and endearing, tough and scholarly with a passion for learning and sharing.

Johnny reached the apex of pretty much every profession and discipline he encountered.

He was a military hero, a professional baseball and basketball player, a major college, professional and Olympic team coach, an artist who commanded his own show, a pilot and perhaps above all great American.

The ace of spades is one military sign of death soldiers place on the battlefield.

There are no niceties or political correctness on the front lines.

Not that many in our generation face combat like they did in Johnny's, and certainly few of the basketball players Johnny taught for more than five decades. But Johnny's message transcended the reality and brutality of war. It was a metaphor for life for his students. You may not face death on the battlefield like I did, like his twin brother did in World War II. But life is hard and you have to be tough, and you have to be strong and relentless in your vocation. Even if it is a game for there are no games. Excel in your arena.

I remember traveling with the Bulls during the first Gulf War in 1990 and the teams were trying out all sorts of patriotic stunts. Bach always stood at attention, erect and rigid and in full salute for the national anthem, his thick, flowing gray hair almost at attention as well. Once a team had someone come out and whistle the anthem. The hairs on Johnny's neck were becoming as stiff as the fury flashing in his eyes for the disrespect of the flag. "Are they going to have someone fart it next!" he spat.

You didn't mess with America in front of Johnny Bach.

Johnny was a Bulls assistant from 1986 through 1994 and in a later stint in 2003. He was even invited back this past fall by the coaching staff as a consultant. He was the architect of the so called "Doberman defense," the aggressive defensive effort led by Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen and Horace Grant that was truly the cornerstone of the Bulls' success even with all the attention to Jordan's dunks and Phil Jackson's triangle.

Johnny would draw an ace of spades on the board after wins to depict an opponent erased.

But that also was the point he was trying to make with the players. Though players use the term "war" too easily without experience, Johnny had been there and understood. He knew the difference between a basketball game and a day of life and death, but he also understood the commitment, focus and resolution required for success. The Bulls players needed that to win their battles.

Johnny was fond of splicing scenes from movies like Full Metal Jacket into the Bulls advance scouting tapes, a practice Phil Jackson popularized with those Bulls teams. There was no reveille, but he always was up at 5. He'd march into practice at the Deerfield Multiplex and later the Berto Center, back stiff and erect, and announce in his best drill sergeant's voice, "Men, today's a great day to die!"

We're not here for fun and games. Anything you do, take seriously, was Bach's message. It's how you become great.

Jackson often credited Bach and his military references and war imagery for helping grow that in Pippen and Grant, two country kids a bit overwhelmed even by the big city. The Bulls would not succeed until they did. And Bach was there every step of the way, especially against the brutal Detroit Pistons, getting them to put their basketball left foot on front of their right and their backs straight and minds committed.

Bach always taught those young players the lessons learned in the military that were most important, that they were men, they were now responsible; their teammates and more were depending on them.

Like when he became a naval officer aboard that heavy cruiser in a war zone, navigating, gunnery work.

"That's what the military does," Bach explained. "It wasn't a school kids' outlook anymore. There wasn't time for that. The frivolousness of youth was gone."

Stand up, accept and embrace your responsibilities.

It was one of Bach's proudest days when Grant and Pippen could see that ace of spaces between the toes of those Pistons.

Johnny was born in Brooklyn and I know the neighborhood; it's where I was born as well, East New York, an immigrant mix, hard workers, straining to share in a part of that American dream, the children of refugees escaping and seeking shelter, grateful for the welcome but not about to take anything for granted.

His father, J.C., was a lieutenant colonel in the Navy. Brother Neil was a Navy pilot lost at sea during the war. Johnny afterward always wore a bracelet for his brother. Johnny served as a naval officer in the assault on Okinawa and was on the ships headed for Tokyo when the atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Bach was among the American force occupying and policing Nagasaki after the bombing.

Johnny was also an exceptional athlete, a lean 6-2 who remained strong and hearty until past 90. In some respects he was a victim of American society's lack of veneration and respect for its senior citizenry.

Age isn't just a number; it was the way Bach lived his life. But American society, in particular, makes judgments about that number. Johnny remained mentally razor sharp and intuitive well into his late 80s and 90. I'd still consult him in recent years about defenses teams were running and the intricacies of the systems. He wasn't a fan of the simplistic isolation and pick and roll game so many teams play, though warmed more to the flow that the Bulls with Fred Hoiberg have talked about.

The game is meant to be played with passing and movement, unselfish and relentless like in the military, to combine the elements of teamwork with fierce effort.

But Bach could not get jobs, though the Bulls eventually brought him back yet again in recent years as a consultant and scout. So Bach would volunteer to help coach at places like St. Ignactius High School, Fenwick High School or the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago, the latter where he coached a wheelchair basketball team that played at the United Center at halftime of Bulls games. He'd try with the local colleges, but NCAA rules would not permit him to work for free. Imagine that.

"People are whatever age they believe they are as far as energy, vitality and ability to meet a challenge," he would say. "I just wanted chances to compete and help."

Johnny was good enough to play minor league baseball as a catcher and for the Boston Celtics in the 1948-49 season and in the Eastern League, then a powerful basketball minor league as the NBA had about 10 teams and some on the verge of bankruptcy.

He'd played in high school for Vince Lombardi and played against the legendary Harlem Rens, among the pioneers of basketball. There may have been no one throughout the entirety of the 20th Century with more first hand knowledge of the game and more experience from high school, to college, to international to the pros.

Bach attended Fordham and got a degree from Brown. After his season with the Celtics following his military discharge in 1947, Fordham asked the 25-year-old to start as one of the youngest head coaches in big time college basketball. And New York was the heart of college basketball back then until betting scandals rocked the game. Johnny spent 18 years coaching Fordham to among the top programs in the country and then went to Penn State, somewhat in the shadow of football legend Joe Paterno, but bringing success to the previously ignored basketball side.

During his time at Penn State, Bach was asked to join the staff for the 1972 Olympic basketball team that "lost" the infamous multiple replay game in which Doug Collins made the two free throws that should have won the game until rules officials allowed multiple replays until Russia finally won. The U.S. players voted to reject their silver medals, which they never accepted.

Not long after, Bach left Penn State to follow his dream of flying. He became a pilot and was in training for Allegheny Airlines before he felt the call to the game he loved as an assistant coach for Al Attles with the Golden State Warriors. Bach eventually replaced Attles briefly in 1979 and was Warriors head coach later for three seasons.

When Collins was hired as Bulls coach in 1987, Bach was added as his top assistant and went on to combine with Tex Winter as the veteran offensive and defensive sages for rookie coach Phil Jackson. I'd remember Bach and Winter sitting side by side for years debating the finer elements of the offense and defense, both with the wisdom and passion of their experience and first hand knowledge from their efforts.

When Winter had a stroke seven years ago, Bach began writing him weekly letters about basketball, about his life, about what he's been seeing in the game and what they experienced in lifetimes in sport and hardship, Winter a refugee from the Depression Dustbowl. Bach never heard back, but until being incapacitated only recently Bach continued to write a letter to Winter every week.

He took up watercolor painting after he died.

Bach left the Bulls after the 1993-94 season and went to become an assistant for the Hornets. He suffered a heart attack and was medically flat lined. Of course, he had driven himself moments before to the emergency room.

He recovered and took a step back in life, though just small enough to take a closer look at everything around. He painted seascapes and ships, lots of ships, and portraits of military men he admired, Native American chiefs.

"I know there is an art to the game," I remember him telling me. "You see as a coach the spacing, the movement, the positioning, the flow. In basketball, I'm impressed when I see team movement, spatial relationships. The artist also must stay with certain things, where to bring the lighting, the colors, background."

Bach was good enough that the Sevan Gallery in Skokie did a show with 32 of his watercolor paintings. They said the basketball court was a canvas for Michael Jordan, the Michelangelo of the basketball court. Johnny painted his life with a broad brush.

Johnny went on to rejoin Collins when he coached the Detroit Pistons and then when Jordan returned to basketball in 2001 as an assistant for Collins with the Washington Wizards.

Whereas Bach had to be stern for players like Grant and Pippen, he would be the reassuring voice for someone driven like Jordan. It was to Bach whom Jordan confided about suffering from racist incidents in his childhood and the frustrations of working with teammates who didn't demand as much. Michael would sit with Johnny for long bus rides and talk about the pain and the frustration and the fight it took to succeed. Johnny understood. Because he always fought, fighting for his team, for his players, for his country.

There hardly have been any like Johnny Bach.

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Johnny Bach: Ace of Spades

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