The new movie Glory Road — the story about the 1966 National Championship Texas Western University basketball team — opens this weekend, and the story of that great team reminded me of my late father‘s use of basketball to teach me one of my life’s most valuable lessons.
In 1966, I was a 13 year-old basketball-consumed youngster in the somewhat sheltered existence of Iowa City, Iowa, a lovely midwestern college town where the University of Iowa is located. That season, the NCAA Basketball Tournament’s Mideast Regional was in Iowa City and my father graciously decided to let me tag along with him to the tournament games. Little did I know that part of my father’s purpose in doing so was to expose me to one of the most intimidating examples of racism that I would experience during my youth.
The four teams playing in the Mideast regional that year were Michigan (the Big 10 champ and one of the Iowa Hawkeyes’ arch-rivals), Kentucky, Dayton and Western Kentucky. My father was a native of Louisville, Kentucky, so he had always followed UK basketball, although he was partial to his alma mater Louisville and to Iowa after watching Big 10 sporting events for many years while teaching medicine at the University of Iowa College of Medicine. As a big basketball fan, I knew all about Kentucky basketball and its legendary coach Adolph Rupp, but that did little to prepare me for the sociological experience that was about to take place in the old Iowa Fieldhouse over that weekend in 1966.
You see, each of the teams in that regional except Kentucky was integrated, and it became clear from the moment I set foot in the hot, dusty arena that the antipathy of racism was about ready to boil over at almost any point. As Kentucky defeated Dayton and Michigan beat Western Kentucky in the semi-final games, many of the numerous Kentucky fans openly hurled insults at the black players for the other teams. Moreover, most of the Kentucky fans refused to cheer for the neighboring Western Kentucky team in its semi-final game against Michigan because of the presence of black players on the Western Kentucky squad. Rupp — who was a daunting and imposing figure on the sideline — didn’t even attempt to hide his contempt for the black players of opposing teams. Inasmuch as the Iowa baskeball teams that I had followed had already been integrated with black players, I had never experienced anything close to the seething impulses of racism that were palpable in the Iowa Fieldhouse that Friday evening.
Throughout that entire evening and the following Saturday, my father never mentioned anything to me about the acrimonious atmosphere in the Fieldhouse. However, as Michigan — with its star black players Cazzie Russell and Oliver Darden — took on the all-white Kentucky team in the Mideast Regional final game on Saturday night, there was no doubt that my father and I were pulling for Michigan to pull the upset over Kentucky. Alas, Michigan lost a close game to UK in that regional final, which set up Kentucky’s journey to the Final Four that season and its eventual loss to that special Texas Western team in the National Championship game. My father and I took great pleasure the night of that championship game in seeing the mighty Rupp and his UK team brought to their knees by an unknown underdog from far West Texas, and I have felt an affinity for that Texas Western team ever since.
While golfing together many years later, I asked my father why he had said nothing to me about the open expressions of racism that we saw and heard during that weekend of basketball in 1966. He looked at me and — fully cognizant of my youthful disdain for Michigan — replied with a wry smile:
“There was nothing to say. When I saw that you were pulling for Michigan, I knew you had figured it out.”

