I was in high school and on our family's almost-annual trip to the NAIA National Tournament. My dad is a Hall of Fame coach at Columbia College in Columbia, Mo., and my sister and I were more or less raised in the gym and around NAIA basketball, highlighted most seasons by a "family vacation" to the national tournament.
On this occasion the four of us - my mom, dad, sister and I - were eating dinner in the hotel lobby. During the course of the meal I caught eyes with an older man sitting alone across the room. He was backed into a corner booth, able to survey the entire dining room and I noticed he kept careful watch on specifically our table. He was a burly man with his shirt opened at the top button, gold jewelry around his neck and wrist and a gold briefcase sitting on the table. As a cautious teenager it was a bit creepy but I tried to ignore it and enjoy the time with my family. When we finished eating and stood to leave, the man cut us off on our way out the door. He offered a brash greeting, briefcase in hand, and off he went: "Hi, my name is Ian Naismith, grandson of the man who invented the whole thing. Just wanted to say it is great to see a family eating together. We don't get that enough these days." The words came out of his mouth so fast they went in one ear and out the other. My parents looked stunned when he walked away and I eagerly asked them to translate what just happened. "Who was that?" Ian Naismith (pronounced "Yon"), grandson of James Naismith, the inventor of the game of basketball, passed away last week at age 73. The Kansas City Star wrote a nice obituary here worth reading. This was my first of several encounters with the man who traveled the country promoting the values of the game with his grandfather's original hand-written 13 rules of basketball handcuffed to his wrist. The NAIA National Tournament is played in one location, all 32 teams and all 31 games over the course of a long weekend from 9 a.m. to sometimes past midnight that evening. I was a bit disappointed that my tied tongue in the hotel restaurant cost me a chance of a lifetime to interact with living history, but the next day I learned Naismith had a booth set up at the arena to display memorabilia from the Naismith Foundation's collection. When I arrived at the arena I immediately went in search of his station hoping to redeem myself. The planned redemption turned into a two hour visit with Ian about his grandfather, the history of the game, story after story after story, and Ian's mission to maintain the integrity of his grandfather's dream. He was hesitant to open the briefcase to show me the original 13 rules, but the more I watched him interact with tourists I understood it was just part of his mystique. He always opened it. An opened briefcase isn't quite as reverent as one locked and handcuffed to your wrist. Taking a picture with the rules required a bit more persistence - he was in negotiations to sell the rules to the Smithsonian, after all, and flash photography damages artifacts, of course - but he relented on that one too. He wasn't the gruff, burly man I labeled him as in the restaurant. He was always willing to share a story and seemed to give the most attention to kids, hoping to extend the legacy at least one more generation. I asked him about carrying the rules with him everywhere he went and he admitted it was a burden, hence his desire to sell them, but he also told me a story about the one time he nearly lost them. He thought he left them in a Hooters! We shared a laugh about the potential headlines regarding the mistake. I also told him about Dorsey Gymnasium, Columbia College's original gym - still standing - with the running track 10 feet above the floor where his grandfather nailed peach baskets. Before I left he pulled out his business card, wrote his cell number on the back and gave it to me, hoping to visit the gym someday on his travels. I still have that card today. I never did call his number and he never visited Dorsey Gym, but our paths crossed a few more times in subsequent years at the NCAA Final Four. Each time I made a point to visit his booth and remind him of our visit at the NAIA tournament. He always said he remembered. Good with faces but not so much with names was his explanation. Whether he did or not, I don't know, but he always engaged in conversation and baited visitors to ask about the briefcase. It took a couple years but I finally summoned the courage to ask him the question that had baffled me for as long as I can remember: How could his grandfather, the inventor of the game, be the only coach in the history of the University of Kansas with a career losing record? I had my own theory, but he explained that through the final years of his stint as head coach at KU, Naismith's wife was battling cancer and he missed most of the road games. I can't remember which Final Four I last saw Ian, but every time I saw him on TV or read about him in the paper he was presenting a character award or promoting sportsmanship and the original values of his grandfather's dream. It was something he felt strongly about and always brought to the forefront of conversations. My heart sank when I heard of his passing, partly over the heartbreak of death, but also over the fear that we are one more generation removed from the origins of this great game. I sincerely hope today's caretakers will continue what he spent much of his lifetime pursuing and pledge to be a part of that connection to the past moving forward.
1 Comment
3/26/2012 07:57:22 am
Thanks for sharing your story. It is sad to learn of Ian's passing, but I suspect he connected with many people like you and will live on in their memories.
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