January 31, 1997
Bill Knight
El Paso Times
Don Haskins can pierce a hole through you with those pale blue eyes.
There
is a fire in there that scorches ... a fire that has driven him through
an exceptional athletic career and a Hall of Fame caliber coaching
career.
Haskins has always had that fire. Maybe that is why he
has not only prevailed but excelled in the ultimate
what-have-you-done-for-me-lately business.
Or maybe that fire
came from a time long ago, back in Enid, Okla., when he was only a year
old. As infants do, he rolled over one day. But on this day, he rolled
onto a sizzling hot iron and it almost crippled him. His left calf -
from ankle to knee - was gone. Just lost.
The little Haskins
limped along with his father on hunting trips, never one to be left
behind. His father fashioned him a crude, homemade weight. He wore it
on those hunting trips, hiking as much as 20 miles ... hunting from
daybreak to sundown ... limping all the way.
Haskins could play baseball with the limp. He pitched, so he didn't have to run. Unlike the other kids, he couldn't.
"It
just almost killed me that I couldn't run," Haskins said quietly,
thinking back on those childhood days. "I worked so hard at basketball
because I was so bad at it. I just couldn't run."
Haskins was cut
from his seventh grade basketball team. He was dropped again in the
eighth grade. And again in the ninth. But those who know Haskins today
know that would hardly deter The Bear. It just led him in a different
direction.
There was a dirt road in front of the Haskins house in
Enid ... about a mile and a half from Phillips University. More
importantly, it was about a 11/2 miles from the tiny Phillips gym.
Every day after school, Haskins would find a different way to sneak into that gym and play.
Smiling
- and making those pale blue eyes twinkle - Haskins said, "There was
about a million ways you could get in. My mother would be worried to
death. I'd go after school and not come home until 10 or 11 at night.
All I needed was just some little light in there; just anything."
Occasionally,
Haskins would get caught. The coach at Phillips paddled his behind
pretty good once. Another time, the coach chased the young Haskins up
to a small running track, 15 or 20 feet above the playing floor.
Haskins jumped off to avoid the coach and his paddle, spraining his
ankle, but limping safely home.
By his sophomore year in high
school, Haskins not only made the varsity, he started. But his extra
work was far from over. The fire in those eyes was merely beginning to
sizzle.
The young Haskins no longer had to sneak into the little
Phillips gym. His high school coach gave him a key to their gym. So day
after day, night after night, Haskins would play basketball. Sometimes
with friends. Most of the time, all by himself. Playing and playing.
Working and working.
Again, Haskins' father stepped in to help.
He built his son a smaller rim; the kind they use today for rebounding
drills. And the young Haskins spent hours shooting on that, too.
By
his senior year, he had caught everyone's attention with his uncanny
shooting touch, once making 54 straight free throws in competition. It
was in all the local papers.
Again thinking back, again making
those pale blue eyes twinkle, Haskins said, "I remember when I finally
missed; I really choked. That's all anyone was talking about. And the
more I got to thinking about it, the tighter I got."
No matter.
By the end of his senior year, Haskins had basketball coaches coming to
him. Even the guy at Phillips ... the one with the paddle. He wanted
Haskins and his shooting touch to come play for him. He could use the
gym legally; anytime he wanted.
But Haskins had bigger things in
mind. He went over to Stillwater, to play for the legend, Hank Iba, at
Oklahoma A&M. By that time, he was a 6-1 firebrand who could leap
high enough to dunk a basketball. His left calf - the one that was
painfully erased by that iron - was an inch-and-a-half bigger than his
right.
No more limp. No more frustration and pain from not being able to run like the other kids. Just a young star.
Don
Haskins is no longer young, just over a month shy of his 67th birthday.
But those pale blue eyes will still pierce a hole right through you ...
just as they would when he was a determined little boy, trying to keep
up with his dad on those hunting trips, trying to find a way into
Phillips University gym, trying to make himself into a basketball
player.
Bill Knight covers UTEP basketball for the El Paso Times.
Don Haskins photo gallery
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