Round Two: The time I interviewed the legendary Lou Holtz

When I heard the news earlier this week that Lou Holtz had passed away at the age of 89, my mind immediately drifted back to a spring evening 32 years ago.

I had been working at the Record-Courier a little over a month when I was assigned to cover a speech to be given by Holtz – at that time the head football coach at Notre Dame – at the Kent State University Student Center Ballroom. And, if possible, I was to get a one-on-one interview with him as well.

It was April 1994. I had just turned 26, and my closest brush with celebrity up to that point had been a telephone interview with Hal Naragon, a backup catcher on the Cleveland Indians’ 1954 World Series team, during my days as sports editor of the Barberton Herald weekly newspaper. I had also covered a speech by then-Cleveland Cavaliers point guard Mark Price at Barberton High School’s Greynolds Gymnasium, but I didn’t get the chance to speak with him.

But Lou Holtz was going to be a different story in more ways than one.

First of all, it was, well, Lou Holtz. By 1994, the man was a living legend. In just his third year as Notre Dame’s head coach, Holtz had led the Fighting Irish to a perfect season and the 1988 national championship. From there, Holtz’ Irish steamrolled their way to three one-loss seasons in five years, a threat to win it all in any given season. Holtz had woken up the echoes and turned Notre Dame into a national power once again.

Secondly, Holtz was going to be on his home turf. He had played college football at Kent State as a 165-pound walk-on linebacker in 1956 and 1957, earning a varsity letter in the latter campaign. By 1994, Lou Holtz was one of the most famous names associated with Kent State University.

And finally, Holtz was going to be in his element: standing at the head of a room full of people, microphone in front of him, holding court. He was a naturally gifted speaker, able to captivate an audience with his aw-shucks, down-home delivery that was direct, inspiring and, most of all, entertaining.

And he was in rare form that night at the student center ballroom.

As I sat in the balcony of the ballroom watching the early parts of the night’s program prior to Holtz stepping to the podium, it occurred to me that getting an interview with him may not happen— mainly because, short of storming the stage at the conclusion of his speech, I had no idea how I was going to get anywhere near him. Nothing had been set up between the Record-Courier and Kent State prior to the event as far as arranging an interview, so I was working without a net that night.

Gauging the time, I decided to step outside the ballroom for a quick break before Holtz started his speech. As I returned, I saw a guy standing by himself just outside the door to the ballroom.

It was Holtz. It caught me by surprise — the fact that Holtz was actually alone and not surrounded by a throng of people, and the fact that he happened to be directly in my path — more accurately, blocking my path because he was standing right in front of the door.

He watched me approach, probably expecting me to simply exchange a quick hello on my way inside the ballroom. Instead, I stopped when I reached him, introduced myself — hoping that, as a former Kent State student, he had at least heard of the Record-Courier — and asked if he might have a few minutes for an interview after his speech.

I had never seen eyes so intense. He was taller than I expected — he was always listed at 5-foot-10, but he seemed taller than that in person — and his eyes bore into me as I spoke like I was the senior correspondent at Sports Illustrated.

“Yes,” he answered. “I have to go over to the arena to shoot a promo when I’m done here, but I’ll have a few minutes on the walk over if you want to talk then.”

I couldn’t believe my good fortune. The gods of sports journalism had placed Lou Holtz directly between me and the ballroom door AND carved out time for an interview with him.

“Sure, that would be fine, Mr. Holtz, thank you,” I responded.

“Just meet me here at this door right after I’m done,” he said.

I told him I would be there, then proceeded back up to the balcony and settled in to watch a master at his craft. And sure enough, Holtz had the audience in the palm of his hand from the moment he stepped to the podium. The man had presence.

His speech stressed the importance of hard work and education, but not in a way that makes your eyeballs glaze over. Far from it. Holtz delivered the speech in his vintage poor-mouth style, making each point by weaving quips and one-liners into his real-life experiences— a potent mix of conviction and wit, equal parts George Patton and George Carlin. All that was missing was a ponytail and a giant American flag.

For example, when telling the story of how he ended up at Kent State from East Liverpool High School, Holtz told the crowd he had no desire to continue his education at the next level. “I told my parents I wasn’t going to college, and they said yes you are, you’re going to college,” he said. “So we compromised, and I went to college.”

The audience erupted.

It was that way all throughout his speech. The phrase “never a dull moment” perfectly encapsulated that evening in the KSU ballroom. Let’s be honest: With some speeches, maybe even a lot of them, a point is reached when the audience has had enough and can’t wait for it to end. With Lou Holtz, the audience couldn’t wait to hear what he would say next.

And I couldn’t wait to interview him after the program. As soon as he finished his speech, I started making my way out of the ballroom. We met at the door as planned, and almost immediately he said, “OK, let’s go. I have from here to the arena to talk. Ask me whatever you want and I’ll do the best I can.”

He was firm and direct, but polite and accommodating. He was also in a rush, walking fast to the point I almost had to jog to keep up with him. I also noticed something else: It was just the two of us heading from the ballroom to the Memorial Athletic and Convocation Center. I had just assumed he would have an entourage of Kent State representatives escorting him between buildings — it was Lou Holtz, after all — or at least a handler of some type, but there was no one.

I went right to it with the questions as we walked, although he had given such great material in his speech that additional questions almost weren’t necessary for the type of story I planned to write. In other words, the pressure was off. I could just enjoy a private walk (jog) with Lou Holtz on a crisp spring night in Kent, Ohio.

There were a couple things I wanted to get his thoughts on based on two hot topics in major college football at that time: whether to institute overtime to decide tie games, and whether some kind of playoff system was needed to determine a national champion.

He especially jumped on the playoff question, and for good reason. He was coming off a 1993 season that saw his Notre Dame team finish No. 2 behind Florida State in both the AP and Coaches polls, even though the Fighting Irish had defeated the Seminoles in a battle of unbeatens late in the season. The next week, however, Notre Dame was upset at home by Boston College, and the Irish and Seminoles went on to finish the season with one loss apiece.

In most years back then, the poll voters in that situation would award the national title to the team that won the head-to-head meeting – in this case, Notre Dame. But 1993 wasn’t most years, and Florida State was voted national champion.

Holtz was still steaming about it in April 1994. “A few years ago (1989), we finished with one defeat and Miami finished with one defeat, but they beat us late in the season and Miami got the national championship. We were told we couldn’t jump Miami in the polls because they beat us,” Holtz told me as we walked, anger rising in his voice. “Then last season we finished with one defeat and Florida State finished with one defeat, and we beat Florida State late in the season. But the voters gave Florida State the national championship. It’s a double standard. They completely changed the rules on us.”

Needless to say, Holtz was in favor of a playoff.

We were almost to the M.A.C. Center by this time, but I had a follow-up question: So, coach, what other changes would you like to see in college football?

Holtz never broke tone— or stride: “I would like to see touchdowns count 10 points for Notre Dame and two points for everyone else,” he said.

And with that, we reached the M.A.C. Center and stepped inside. The interview was over.

But I’ll never forget it. Those memories will go with me to my own grave.

Rest in peace, Coach.