Editor’s note: Al Lesar wrote for the “South Bend Tribune” for 32 years. He was the Notre Dame beat writer for 11 years and columnist/Assistant Sports Editor for another decade or so. He retired in 2017, gave away his snowblower, and moved to Tennessee. He still keeps a watch on the pulse of Michiana and adds some historical perspective to what’s going on now.
It seemed like every time the University of Notre Dame did something good against Ohio State University in the College Football Playoff National Championship Game, TV cameras would pan to legendary Irish coach Lou Holtz somewhere in the stadium smiling and clapping.
It was good to see ol’ Lou, who just turned 88. He’s had a tough go of it over the last decade. His Orlando home burned 10 years ago. Then, in 2020, his wife Beth passed away.
Still a big fan of the university where he won 100 games in 11 seasons (1986-96), including a national championship in ’88, Holtz appeared to be an average fan.
Not the uber-competitive guy who coached his team with an unrivaled passion.
I knew that uber-competitive guy.
Just about every day for six months, over a six-year period, Lou and I would cross paths. I was the Notre Dame football beat writer for the “South Bend Tribune” (1991-96). He was the mouthpiece for the team through that period.
He liked anything about the team in general to come from his mouth, so there would be no mixed messages, but, there were brief times when there were no messages at all.
Take, for instance, my first two weeks on the beat during training camp in August of ’91.
During the summer, we did a series evaluating the performance of Notre Dame Athletic Director Dick Rosenthal. His home was next to Holtz’s and they were good friends. While assessing the positive and negative of Rosenthal’s first few years in charge, we felt Holtz was too close personally to have an objective assessment.
It was a fair outcome of the project — some positive, some negative. We felt it was an objective accounting and showed him in a favorable light.
Lou didn’t think so, though. He went the first two weeks of camp without speaking to me. Fine, I interviewed players and talked to assistants (when that sort of thing was done in college football).
One day after practice, I smelled the pipe behind me. That’s always the way you knew he was ready to make an ambush. I turned around and he said, with a finger in my face, “I thought you did a hatchet job on Dick Rosenthal. How could you do that story without talking to me? Now, what do you need to know?”
After that, our relationship for the rest of the year was fine.
His folksy message about handling the media was, “Never pick a fight with someone who buys ink by the barrel,” but he knew how to navigate the press.
We only had one real falling out after the initial healing. In the spring before the 1992 season, I had written — in the 13th paragraph of a story — that Jerome Bettis was running a one-back set. Duh. He turned out to be an NFL Hall of Fame running back, why wouldn’t Lou feature him?
Anyway, I got the dreaded call that media members would get. His lovely secretary Jan Blazi would ring you up and say, “Please hold for Coach Holtz.” During the silence, you would try to figure out what he wasn’t happy about. The Bettis nugget, which “gave opponents an unfair advantage,” really did me a favor. Got me — and the rest of the media — out of standing out there and watching the last 10 or so spring practices.
There were good times and bad with Lou, but he was always interesting. Every Tuesday during the season he’d have a one-hour press conference. Just turn on your recorder and you’re guaranteed at least three stories — not all of which would necessarily be about football. He wouldn’t hesitate to wander into the events of the day — and people cared what he thought.
Though he was hesitant to admit it, Lou cared about the media as people — sometimes. On hot and humid days in training camp, he’d dish out popsicles that the players enjoyed. During exceptionally frigid days outside in November, he had the managers distribute warm soup broth.
There are memories that are still vivid:
— Early in the ’93 season, “Under the Tarnished Dome” came out. What was supposed to be a tell-all book on Holtz at Notre Dame and other stops, ultimately fizzled.
— In September, 1995, he had neck surgery at the Mayo Clinic, but got back on a private jet on a Saturday morning in time to coach a game from the pressbox.
— The day after the Orange Bowl (after the ’95 season), when number six Notre Dame lost to number eight Florida State, 31-26, it was cold and rainy. Holtz was visibly sick. We asked if he was headed to his home in Orlando, but he said Athletic Director Mike Wadsworth had ordered him on the road to recruit. He didn’t seem happy about it.
— As the 1996 season wore on, everyone knew it would be Holtz’s last at Notre Dame, but nobody would say so. Wadsworth agreed to let Holtz handle his departure on his own time, Holtz still came up with one of his best quotes when asked about his situation:
“If you want to know something, don’t ask the monkey, go to the organ grinder. I’m just the guy at the end of the chain. People play the music and I dance. I dance and pass the cup around.”
— The last game Lou coached at Notre Dame Stadium was Nov. 23, 1996. The Irish beat Rutgers, 62-0. Postgame interviews were conducted in tents outside the locker room then. For some reason, I skipped the interview and stood outside the tent with photographer Ed Ballotts — between the flap of the tent and the entry to the locker room.
When I heard his press conference end, Lou burst through the flap of the tent. His face was beet red and tears flowed freely. I can’t get that vision out of my head. There was a guy who loved his job and didn’t appear ready to give it up just then.
That’s the uber-competitive guy I will always remember.