The amazing, tumultuous life of Jerry Tarkanian
Jerry Tarkanian was laid to rest Monday in Las Vegas after an amazing and somewhat tumultuous life.
Tarkanian died Wednesday from cardiac and respiratory issues after yet another visit to the hospital, something that had become an all-too-frequent occurrence in the past couple of years. He was 84.
Having covered all things Tark since 1988, first at the Las Vegas Sun and then at the Review-Journal, I can tell you there was never a dull moment.
He was funny. He could get angry. There were bizarre moments.
There were all the Tark superstitions. The Ghost Chair. The towels. The moving to a new hotel on the road if UNLV lost.
It was getting to the point that if the Rebels had lost in Las Cruces, N.M., one more time, they probably would have had to stay in El Paso, Texas, because there were only three hotels in Las Cruces at the time.
And the strangest superstition? The team’s pregame meal, at which no one talked and no one could have ketchup.
One day in Santa Barbara, Calif., Denny Hovanec, the radio analyst, made the mistake of trying to get some information for the broadcast by chatting up a couple of assistant coaches.
Tarkanian barked at him to basically shut up, to which Hovanec yelled back at him, “(Bleep) you, Tark. I’m tired of all your b.s. You’re an a-hole,” and stormed out of the room.
Was Hovanec fired? Nah. Tarkanian shrugged it off. Just like he shrugged off the water bomb a couple of Utah State engineering students rigged in an air duct under the UNLV bench on March 1, 1990.
A month earlier, the two teams engaged in a brawl in the final minutes at the Thomas & Mack Center. But when the Rebels traveled to Logan, Utah, there was a deluded measure of revenge, as a device went off just before the start of the second half and sprayed blue-dyed water everywhere.
Tarkanian was drenched, the game was delayed to dry off the court, and the Aggies were assessed a technical foul for delay of game, which turned out to be ominous as UNLV wound up winning 84-82.
After the game, Tarkanian was madder at his team for its lack of inspired play than he was of the Utah State pranksters, whom he gave credit to for being somewhat clever.
And if Tarkanian wasn’t going to let a water bomb distract him from coaching, he wasn’t going to let a real bomb bother him.
UNLV was in Southern California on Jan. 17, 1991, to play UC Irvine, and the team was gathered in the lobby of the Irvine Marriott watching on TV as Scud missiles were being launched into Israel while the U.S. armed forces were invading Kuwait to rid that country of the occupation by Iraq.
It was the start of Operation Desert Storm. Tarkanian came off the elevator and asked what was going on. One of the players explained that war had broken out in Kuwait. Tarkanian looked at him, paused for a moment, then said, “Everybody on the bus!”
And more than once, he had to alleviate his players’ fears about playing on the road, particularly road games at altitude.
When Moses Scurry asked Tarkanian about playing in Denver’s mile-high altitude after the team arrived for the 1990 Final Four, Tarkanian said, “Moses, don’t worry about it. We’re playing indoors.”
He had used the same line with Michael Johnson in 1982 when the team was in Salt Lake City for a game against Utah.
But the most surreal moment came on a Sunday night in February 1992, when a rally was held in support of Tarkanian at the Zion Methodist Church in West Las Vegas.
Tarkanian had announced it would be his final year at UNLV after he and then-president Robert Maxson made the deal the summer before after the Review-Journal published the infamous “Hot Tub Photos” of three of Tark’s players with convicted sports fixer Richard Perry.
For several hours, people gathered, listening to numerous speeches imploring Tarkanian to reconsider and stay as coach, and blasting Maxson and then-athletic director Dennis Finfrock.
Finally, Tarkanian showed up after three hours of this invective and thanks the crowd for its support, but he said he had agreed to the deal with Maxson. But as the crowd kept chanting “Keep Tark! Keep Tark!” the coach looked out into the audience and suddenly blurted out, “I rescind my resignation!”
Of course, the place went nuts. People were cheering. People were crying. It was quite a scene. And, of course, Tarkanian didn’t have the power to rescind anything.
Maxson? He was having none of it. When called for reaction that evening, he calmly said, “Coach Tarkanian and I have an agreement, and I expect him to abide by that agreement.”
A couple of months later, Rollie Massimino was introduced as UNLV’s new basketball coach, and we all know how well that worked out.
Through it all, Tarkanian survived. He got to coach in the NBA, only to last 20 games with the San Antonio Spurs before he was shown the door. He got to return to his alma mater, Fresno State, and that didn’t work out too well, either, unless you consider being interviewed by Mike Wallace on “60 Minutes” a good thing.
He also beat the NCAA, winning a $2.5 million settlement that was bittersweet because Tarkanian knew it didn’t come close to making up for what it had put he and his family through for more than three decades.
But you know what made up for it? Sept. 8, 2013. The day he was enshrined into the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame.
The day before, there was a news conference at the Hall in Springfield, Mass. After all the reporters had left, the two of us sat there alone. For years, Tarkanian thought it was more important for his family that he get into the Hall than for himself.
I looked at him and said, “Still think it’s no big deal?” He grabbed my arm and said in what was by then a barely audible voice: “This is wonderful.”
Wonderful, indeed. And unique, too. That’s the Jerry Tarkanian I will always remember.
Contact reporter Steve Carp at scarp@reviewjournal.com or 702-387-2913. Follow him on Twitter: @stevecarprj.
