Dennis Coleman remembers John Thompson, the retired Georgetown University basketball coach who died Aug. 30, as “one of those guys who dug a deep and flourishing well many of us, particularly African-American men and women, drink from today.”
Among Rhode Islanders, Coleman offers a unique perspective not only on Thompson but also on the stunning display of solidarity by professional athletes who have walked off the court and the field in recent weeks to protest the killing of Black men and women by police. Coleman is Black, but as one of the leading sports lawyers in America he moves just as comfortably in the world of White business executives and administrators. He can see things from both sides of the never-ending race issue in the United States.
Coleman and Thompson met in the late 1980s, the infancy of the Black Coaches Association. Coleman, a scrappy lawyer trying to build a sports business for the prominent Boston firm Ropes & Gray. Thompson, coach of the mighty Georgetown Hoyas, the 1984 NCAA champion and a perennial post-season threat. Prop 48, the NCAA regulation that applied stiffer academic standards to college recruits, was a hot issue of the day. Thompson was an outspoken critic intending to voice his opposition at the annual convention of the National Association of Basketball Coaches. Coleman, volunteering his services, suggested they skip the NABC, go to Washington instead and meet with the Congressional Black Caucus. Thompson agreed.
“John Thompson held court that day like nobody I’ve ever seen. He explained what’s going on, explained it’s all about the kids. He had a powerful effect,” Coleman said.
After that meeting, Thompson pulled Coleman aside and demanded to know what was in it for the lawyer.
Dennis Coleman grew up in the Philadelphia suburb of Darby and in high school was president of his class and the starting quarterback. But in the late 1960s era of racial tension and anti-Vietnam war protests, Coleman brushed aside the classics of Western civilization for the works of Black writers like W.E.B. DuBois. That’s when he paid any attention at all to academics.
“If it didn’t have to do with a girl or a ball, I wasn’t interested,” he says now with a laugh.
Coleman spent three semesters at Arizona Western Junior College in Yuma, saw the light on the importance of academics, was admitted to Brown and in 1973 platooned as a running quarterback for Brown’s new coach, John Anderson, the man who revived football on College Hill. In 1973 Coleman and Marty Vaughn of Penn became the first Blacks at the major-college level to start against each other.
Coleman graduated in 1975, studied law at Georgetown, made his way back to Providence and opened an office on the East Side. He represented a few New England Patriots and saw there was a future in sports law. Eventually he joined Ropes & Gray, did some corporate work and then convinced his superiors there was big money in sports. He put together a business plan, they approved, and he was off and running.
“I want to help, but I’m young and hustling and trying to build the business,” Coleman told the Georgetown coach. Thompson listened, grabbed Coleman by the collar, said, “I like you,” and pledged his help.
Coleman became general counsel of the NABC. He represented college coaches and professional athletes. He traveled all over, mingling with stars and celebrities. He and Thompson became such good friends that Coleman represented Thompson’s two sons in their contract negotiations.
Thompson was a bear of a man, 6-10 and close to 300 pounds. He was brusque and often irascible. His trademark during games was a white towel tossed over his shoulder. He mixed a liberal dose of profanity with his comments.
“He used the F word as a noun, pronoun, verb, adjective. He said he spoke English and profanity,” Coleman said with a chuckle.
But Coleman saw another side of John Thompson.
“Behind all the stuff was a soft-hearted, lovable man. I think he showed his toughness to hide his sensitivity. If you were on his team, you were on his team for life,” he told me last week.
Thompson was a man of principle, and, as he proved with Prop 48, “he stood up for what was right,” Coleman said.
Thompson no doubt would have supported the unprecedented stance that pro athletes have taken to focus attention on the unjust treatment of Blacks by some police officers. Walking off the court of an NBA playoff game? Leaving the baseball field after the national anthem? Actions unheard of just a few months ago.
“I am so proud of what the athletes are doing, the stand they have collectively taken, the voice with which they are speaking as one,” Coleman said. “I am also proud of our allies. We have white hockey players and golfers saying things. That gives me hope.”
Coleman, 67, remembers the raised fist Black Power salute by U.S. Olympians John Carlos and Tommie Smith at Mexico City in 1968 and Muhammad Ali’s refusal to serve in the Army during the Vietnam War.
“I was old enough to understand but a little too young to participate in the movement,” he said. He has worked quietly behind the scenes to help people of color in Rhode Island.
Coleman and his wife Miriam have two sons and five grandsons. He worries about them and “the fear White people have for dark-skinned folks.”
But he is hopeful. On his walks though his East Greenwich neighborhood he sees Black Lives Matter signs. People stop him to say they are sorry and ask what they can do to help. White people, “allies,” are calling him. He agrees that the coronavirus pandemic and community shutdowns have given protesters a unique platform to voice their concerns and their fellow citizens a unique opportunity to pay close attention.
“All these things are coming together. That’s what gives me hope,” he said.
