Two former college coaches who never received their due, passed away last week. Although they didn’t bring championship banners to their esteemed schools they were nevertheless positive influences on and off the football field.
John Robinson and Gerry Faust were both 89 when they died. In the 1980s and 1990s, they were college coaching peers, gracing the campuses of two perennial, legendary football powerhouses: the University of Southern California (USC) and Notre Dame (ND). Both would later coach at other schools. Their paths intersected briefly for two years and then diverged. Robinson and USC won both contests.
Robinson was an “efficient torchbearer” of the USC brand but an underrated coach. His record in two stints at USC was an outstanding 105-35-4 (.736 pct), a remarkable 7-1 in bowl games with four wins in the Rose Bowl, college football’s most prestigious game. He also guided the Trojans to numerous finishes in the college football Top Twenty polls.
Robinson actually had two separate stints at Southern Cal, with his first time there light years more successful than his second stay. However, both times, he had winning records. In his first tour, Robinson continued the success of his predecessor, coaching legend John McKay, who rebuilt the Trojans back to their Howard Jones level of excellence. In fact, after his first two seasons at the helm revamping the squad, McKay won as many Rose Bowls as Jones (five), but doubled the number of Jones’ national championships, winning four titles.
Robinson never accomplished any title wins, even though doing so is expected at a football powerhouse. Instead, he finished second or runner-up for the title three times. That miss tarnished his brilliance.
Robinson found it most frustrating in 1978, when his Trojans bested legendary coach Paul Bear Bryant’s Alabama Crimson Tide by ten points on their turf. Nevertheless, he finished behind Bama in the final poll.
By 1982 Robinson left USC to try his hand in the NFL, where he was named head coach of the Los Angeles Rams. Once again, he was the bridesmaid, finishing as the runner-up a couple of times to eventual NFC rivals who would go on to win the Super Bowl.
Robinson’s problem, despite his successes, was that he followed a “legendary” coach, and was never able to fill those shoes. However, taken on its own merits, he had a great career.
Gerry Faust’s college career, on the other hand, was tragically frustrating. His dream job, head coach at Notre Dame, the school in college football history, was a nightmare…on the football field. Like Robinson, he followed a coach, Dan Devine, who won. And while he was never truly embraced by the ND faithful, he nevertheless led the Irish to the number one spot at season’s end.
To reach South Bend was arduous for Faust. Realizing he could never play on the team as a student-athlete, Faust achieved his ND dream by working his way via the high school coaching tract. He built a Catholic prep school in Cincinnati, Moeller High, from the ground up, turning the team into a local, district, regional, and state power and then a national power. He did so with an indefatigable faith and work ethic.
However, all the hard work, enthusiasm, spirit, and love for his childhood alma mater could not vault Faust or his teams to the legendary status “Golden Domers” expected. True, his Notre Dame squads won (.535 winning pct.) and played in a couple of bowl games, even winning one. He even recruited some future NFL players, including the school’s last Heisman Trophy winner, Tim Brown. Yet, his level of success was mediocre compared to other ND coaches, such as Ara Parseghian (.836), Frank Leahy (.864), and their greatest Knute Rockne (.881).
Tragic and frustrating as his tenure was in South Bend, Faust holds a special place in the hearts of many honest, ardent Notre Dame fans, including the “Subway Alumni.” This group is composed of generational fans with some percentage of Irish ancestry who come from major cities throughout the Northeast and Midwest. They, like Faust, developed a love, commitment, and devotion not just for the football team but for the mission of the small Catholic school in the northwest corner of Indiana.
Faust embodied all the kids deeply devoted to their faith, those altar boys who served daily 6:15 AM mass, led class prayers, proudly articulated the Baltimore Catechism Confirmation, and played for the parish CYO teams in between funeral masses and weddings, all the while praying a “Hail Mary” or two for another ND victory.
He fulfilled his dream, their dreams, and our dreams, too.
Faust, a daily communicant, never wavered in his confidence in his Catholic faith. Showing true class as well as the ability to put ND’s needs ahead of his own ego, he resigned when he was unable to make Notre Dame a powerhouse. He was never critical of or bitter toward the press, the team’s fans, or Notre Dame itself. After leaving there, he continued his coaching at Akron for a number of years before finally leaving the game behind.
Many would argue that Faust’s “failure” at ND was proof of the “Peter Principle.” Maybe. However, others believe he left a better “winning” legacy, one of deep religious beliefs and practice, fair play, and grace under enormous pressure. He handled the challenges with dignity, integrity, and conviction. He never blamed others, wavered from Catholic doctrine, cursed his situation, or pitied his plight.
Most importantly, he never questioned God. Instead, he embraced the miracle of life, his life, and the belief that God put him in a place and for a place and purpose to spread the Gospel through his thoughts, words, and actions.
As Heisman Trophy winner and NFL Hall of Fame receiver Tim Brown stated:
As I get older, I know these things are going to happen, but it doesn’t make it any easier,” “Today, we lost the man that had the nerve to offer a kid a scholarship who was on a team that won four games in three years in high school. When no one else saw anything in me, he offered me a scholarship.”
And that is why Faust ultimately succeeded.
Image by Will O’Toole (whose work can be found at Otoons Cartoons).
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