The Miracle Man
Excerpt
Decatur, Illinois. February 15, 1960.
It was half-time, the last game of the regular season and the fans were in a frenzy. The Decatur Reds’ beloved coach, Gay Kintner, was in prime form, entertaining the crowd with his infamous courtside antics, and his team had a solid 8-point lead over their cross-town rivals, the MacArthur Generals. At 64-years-old, just one year from mandatory retirement, Kintner had defied convention and threats by starting five black players and now, with a 16-2 season, it looked like this was his best chance in fifteen years to win an unprecedented fourth state championship title. The standing-room-only crowd sensed history in the making.
The boys on the court that night were just babies in 1945, the year Gay Kintner won his last state championship, but they knew, along with everyone in the stands, what another title would mean to the coach whose name was synonymous with honor, ethics and integrity. If Kintner won the title this year, he would surpass his great friend and coaching rival Arthur Trout in the record books. But, more importantly, the trophy would be a triumphant ending to a 32-year career marked, in recent years, by overwhelming personal tragedy.
It was 8:45 when the teams emerged from the locker room. As soon as Coach Kintner walked onto the polished maple floor, the crowd erupted with cheers. The whooping and hollering continued as the players jogged onto the court, passing the ball from one to the next, warming up for the second half. All eyes were on Ken Barnes, the Reds’ 6’ 1” rookie sophomore center who had scored 12 of Decatur’s 29 points in the first half. Every time Barnes jumped for a shot, the noise level rose like the arch of the ball, reaching a peak just as the ball dropped into the hoop.
Just as the 16-year-old was about to pass the ball to his teammate Gaither Warnsley, a sudden hush came over the audience. Barnes would recall, years later, the eeriness he felt in that moment as he instinctively stopped and turned toward the bench, toward Coach Kintner. What he saw was so unexpected, so shocking, that the orange leather ball slipped from his massive black hands, and bounced gently away.
Coach Kintner—the man who’d treated young Ken Barnes like a son and motivated him to work harder than he’d ever thought possible—was lying in a heap, lifeless, on the hard, wooden floor. Two doctors scrambled down the bleachers and tried desperately to revive Kintner, as the crowd watched, collectively holding their breath.
The Coach. The boys he inspired. And the son who walked in his shadow. MIRACLE MAN.
