Originally published on 09/08/2008

Adios, Coach.

Don Haskins cast a shadow over El Paso so much larger than the Franklin Mountains. He never knew it. And never cared.

Haskins was just Haskins. He was just Coach. He loved to coach, loved to compete, loved to work with young men and loved the game of basketball. He retired in 1999. But he never, never left the game. He never offered unwanted advice. But he was always there, willing to listen and talk to all the coaches who followed him -- from Jason Rabedeaux to Billy Gillispie to Doc Sadler to Tony Barbee.

Two years ago, when a UTEP road game was not televised, Haskins had his radio blaring, had Billy Gillispie's Texas A&M game on one TV and Doc Sadler's Nebraska game on another television. His appetite for basketball -- as it was for life -- was huge.

It was Bear-like.

We all will miss the man. He roamed this area in his truck and knew every nook and cranny of it and embraced every person in this old desert city.

More than one person said they threw away the mold when they made this man. The thought of waking up in the morning without Don Haskins in this world is hard to fathom. It reminds one of a Bruce Springsteen song:

"They say you can't take it with you. But I think that they are wrong.

"All I know is I woke up this morning and something big was gone."

So many people in this city have treasured memories of the man ... a friendship, a chance encounter, a vision of the fiercest of them all prowling the sidelines.

He touched all in this city, one way or another.


Dan Wetzel, who wrote "Glory Road," once listed the top basketball coaches of all time. He ranked Haskins No. 1. Why? Because he could take UTEP and win and he could have taken North Carolina or Duke and won. But could have Dean Smith or Mike Krzyzewski won in El Paso? We all know Haskins could.

But we will all miss so much more than just the basketball coach.

This tough, ornery, fierce man had the biggest, softest heart in the west. He was forever loyal and unflinchingly honest and the funniest man I have ever met.

He had an endless array of stories. They always made you laugh and he would punctuate each and every story with that big laugh, that laugh you could hear all the way to Van Horn.

When a daughter goes away to college, phone calls are not important. They are imperative. I once told my daughter that if I did not answer the phone, I was either in the shower, in the pool or talking to coach Haskins. In the cell phone directory, it just says Coach. There is, after all, only one Don Haskins.

We all were able to enjoy his company even more after his retirement. He had a little more time and he was a little less fierce. Oh, he still was pretty intimidating. But he also was charming, in his rough, tough John Wayne way. Sometimes we could gather most of the sports staff for lunches at the Ranchers Grill on Mesa and Coach would hold court. We would get there at noon, have some lunch and laugh and listen. It would usually be 4 o'clock before we reluctantly headed for the door.

His heart might have failed him in the end, but it was not because of its size. His heart was huge.

People still remember the story of him spotting a family in an old car, broken down on the interstate. Coach stopped, got them a hotel room, got their car fixed and sent them on their way. He only told a friend or two. He did not do it for publicity; just because it was right.

Once he and some hunting buddies wandered across the river and found a small village in Mexico. It was the poorest place he had ever seen. For years after, he and his friends loaded their pick-ups with food and toys for the children and took it to the village just before Christmas. When I said, "That must have made those people feel good" he countered with, "Not nearly as good as it made me feel."

It was so gratifying to see this gruff, wonderful old character get all the national attention toward the end of his life. He coached some basketball and changed history just a bit. But he was just Don, just Coach, just amazing.

Toward the end of his life, he had trouble walking. But he never lost his love for the game. The cell phone might ring on press row in the middle of the game: "Bill, what's the score? What are they doing? Are they running anything? Are they playing man?" And you had better know the answers.

Sunday mornings were special. He would call and we would talk football and basketball and life and you could always listen to a few more stories. He was always concerned that he might be bothering you. Coach, you never did. It was always fun, always an honor.

Just before hanging up, he would always say, "Adios."

Adios, Coach.

Bill Knight may be reached at; 546-6171.

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