Back Home in Indiana : After His NBA Career Fizzles, Former Hoosier Steve Alford Returns to Become Coach at Manchester College

There are no movie theaters here. No malls. No fancy sit-down restaurants. No traffic. No crime sprees, unless you count a murder every five years or so. The closest thing to graffiti is probably the heart and initials carved into the bark of a tree near Highway 114, the main drag through this two-lane, two-stoplight town of 6,300.

In North Manchester, they gently pat their car horns to wave hello. Farmers, of which there are many in these parts, putter down the road on their tractors. Those not working the land probably work at the foundry or one of the local plants. There is one that produces whey, which is fed to calves later sold as milk-fed veal; another that makes timers for washers and dryers, and another that manufactures automobile parts.

In town, there are two nursing homes, a modest Ford dealership, a Dairy Queen, a couple of pizza joints, the Main View Bar and Grill, where legend has it that on your 21st birthday the bartender squirts a line of lighter fluid onto the counter, strikes a match and then, as the stuff burns harmlessly, sings “Happy Birthday” as you gulp down your first legal drink. There is also the Timeout Inn, where the locals often congregate to talk about North Manchester High, home of the Squires, who went 22-0 before getting beat in the state basketball sectionals last season.

And then there is 103-year-old Manchester College, home of the Spartans and, if you can believe it, new home of 27-year-old Steve Alford--make that Coach Steve Alford--whose basketball legacy is discussed in reverent, awe-struck tones, especially these days at the Timeout Inn.

During the course of his playing career, Alford was voted the state’s Mr. Basketball, the highest honor accorded a prep player in Indiana. He has a 1984 Olympic gold medal and a 1987 NCAA championship ring.

By the time he left Indiana University with the program’s all-time scoring record, Alford was the closest thing, excluding Hoosier Coach Bob Knight, of course, to a living legend in this basketball-obsessed state. So popular was Alford that at one point during a post-NCAA tournament barnstorming tour, he needed a policeman to protect him from the nightly crush of well-wishers.

Now, four years later, after an NBA career that included three teams and 10 times that many disappointments, Alford is back in college basketball. It wasn’t exactly by choice, mind you. Months after getting cut by the Sacramento Kings, the third-worst team in the league, Alford still speaks with a trace of bitterness and disbelief in his voice.

But in retrospect, it might have been the best thing to happen to Alford. He and his wife, Tanya, who is expecting their first child in May, were weary of the travel and frustrated by team politics and the lack of job security. In truth, they wanted out.

“We’ve seen everything we need to see for a while,” Alford said. “It’s time to grab onto some roots.”

So he has. His new team, which lost its previous coach to personal and medical problems after an 0-7 start, is 1-12, which is more defeats than Alford endured during his final 63 appearances as a Hoosier.

Of course, losses are nothing new at Manchester College, a Church of the Brethren-affiliated liberal arts school of 1,140 students. The Spartans, as best as anyone can tell, have avoided a losing record in only two of the last 30 seasons.

As an NAIA Division II member, Manchester awards no athletic scholarships. Each of the 14 players on the varsity roster is given a pair of sneakers that must last for an entire season, including practices. Sweatsuits bearing the Spartan logo are issued, but they must be returned at year’s end. There are no training tables, chartered flights or television appearances. There is only hope and good intentions.

And now, a rookie coach named Alford.

At the moment, Alford is sitting in his cramped office, which is about the size of a really nice broom closet. Alford has barely enough space for a file cabinet, a small bookshelf, a TV, a couple of classroom chairs and a desk that is no bigger than an oversized piano stool.

His neck cocked to the side, a phone pressed to his ear, Alford is calling area coaches in search of games. Because of the unexpected departure of former coach Ron DeCarli and Manchester’s decision to move to the NCAA’s Division III next season, the Spartans are without a full playing schedule in 1992-93. Alford must find willing opponents . . . and fast.

Armed with a notepad and pen, a calendar and a coaching directory, Alford does what he can, which at this late date, isn’t much. It seems each conversation ends with Alford saying: “Well, Coach, if you do happen to have an opening, we’d sure appreciate it if you’d give us a call.”

If Alford is frustrated, he doesn’t show it. After all, this is a man familiar with doing whatever is required for success.

As a 6-foot, 150-pound guard for New Castle High, coached by his father, Sam, Alford was always the first and last player at the daily practice sessions. And if that wasn’t enough, Alford often returned to the court by himself for more work.

“If a bunch of us went out and Steve wasn’t around, we always knew he was in the gym,” says Kenny Cox, a New Castle teammate who later played at Manchester, eventually became an assistant at East Texas State and recently returned to join Alford’s small staff.

As a 6-2, 180-pound guard at Indiana, Alford made a career out of freeing himself for open jump shots, totaling 2,438 points, third-best in Big Ten Conference history. Knight says Alford might have been the best player to move without the ball that he ever coached.

As for the NBA, the less said the better. However, if nothing else, Alford benefited from watching then-Dallas Maverick Coach John MacLeod and, later, Golden State Warrior Coach Don Nelson, at work. At one point, Alford even took the scouting reports issued to him by the Mavericks and the Warriors and began scribbling the opposing team’s plays on a separate sheet of paper. At Sacramento, where he spent the preseason, Alford used an entire afternoon to devise a practice schedule.

Alford knew he wanted to coach, but there was also part of him that wanted to remain in the NBA. The feeling wasn’t shared by the Kings, who ignored him as the regular season approached. When he was left on the bench during the team’s final exhibition, Alford knew he was probably finished.

“I’d been in the league long enough to know that’s usually writing on the wall,” he says.

When he was released the next day by the Kings, Alford didn’t hesitate: He returned home and began working as a volunteer coach for his father. “And I could tell he was loving every minute of it,” Sam Alford says.

Meanwhile, back at Manchester College, President William Robinson decided that it was time to take a chance. Robinson, a former basketball player at Northern Iowa, called Sam Alford and asked if he thought his son would be interested in interviewing for the vacant Spartan job. Robinson had remembered reading a newspaper story that detailed Steve’s desire to become a coach.

“In my view, hiring Steve is consistent with the way we’ve approached our academic personnel needs,” Robinson says. “Many times, we exchange talent for experience. We have to, in order to be competitive.”

Before accepting the job, Alford spoke with his father. It was Sam Alford who had declined several small college coaching opportunities so he could remain at New Castle and teach the game to Steve and, two years later, to Sean, Sam’s youngest son. By the time Sean graduated, Sam Alford was 45, too old by his standards to make a job change.

“I would love to be in his position,” Sam says of his son. “But it kind of bypassed me.”

With mixed feelings, Sam told Steve to take the Manchester position. After all, how many times can you begin your career as a head coach on the college level, however small the school might be?

Two days after his interview with Robinson, Alford accepted the offer. He immediately packed his belongings and even returned the Christmas tree he and Tanya had recently bought. Time was of the essence: Manchester had already lost its first seven games, DeCarli was gone and the Spartans were being coached by Steve Lynch, a graduate assistant.

“You’re talking about somebody who didn’t have anything,” Alford says. “I didn’t have any coaching material. I don’t use a whistle, but I didn’t even have a whistle.”

But Alford knew about the importance of preparation; his father, Knight, MacLeod and Nelson had taught him that much. He knew about hard work and long hours and what it took to excel as a player. He also knew about discipline, especially after playing for Knight, who never hesitated to kick Alford out of a Hoosier practice if he thought his star guard deserved it.

“I don’t rant and rave,” Alford says, “and I don’t have the language that (Knight) does.”

True enough. A pocket-sized Bible sits on his desk. And the books on his shelf include, “A Season on the Brink,” a best-selling chronicle of a year with the Hoosiers; “Playing for Knight,” which was written by Alford, and “The Billy Graham Christian Worker’s Handbook.”

Alford doesn’t drink, smoke or swear, or so his friend Cox says. Of course, Cox arrived only a few days ago. He received the offer on Dec. 26, quit his job at East Texas State on Dec. 27, was in a rented truck with his wife on Jan. 2, was in North Manchester on Jan. 4 and, six hours after his arrival, had found a two-bedroom apartment for $275 a month and signed a six-month lease.

Cox returned for several reasons, none more important than being part of Alford’s season to remember.

“His popularity is going to help this school so much,” Cox says.

The prediction is seconded by Robinson, whose Manchester basketball program has long been overshadowed by the local high school.

“Steve will bring them out in scores,” he says. “Win a few games and they’ll get real involved.”

It is a Tuesday morning. Alford’s home coaching debut is two days away, and already there is talk of a sellout at Manchester’s 2,100-seat gym.

Doing most of the talking is Harlo Barney, a school custodian who calls himself “the No. 1 basketball fan in town.” Barney, whose stubbled face and near toothless smile make him look older than his 59 years, has become the team’s public relations man of sorts. He passes out schedule cards to anyone he sees on the street. He shags balls for the Spartans during their shootaround sessions. He buys the Sunday edition of the Indianapolis Star and slips it under one of the wiper blades on Alford’s Jeep.

Barney subscribes to six basketball periodicals and reads each one from cover to cover. Sometimes after working his 3:30 p.m.-to-midnight shift at the gym, he will go to the equipment room, pull out a basketball and practice his jump shot.

“Basketball and the school,” he says. “After that, there’s really not much else in the town. Basketball is really the only conversation.”

On this morning, Barney has stopped by Alford’s office to deliver several Indiana University basketball calendars. Before Barney leaves, Alford asks once again for his help.

“Hey, get those boys down at the coffee shop fired up now,” Alford says. “We need some support.”

Barney says: “Hey, I need some more schedules. I gave 30 of them away this morning. I gave everybody in the coffee shop a schedule.”

Alford: “Well, they better be here. That’s all I know: All your buddies better be here.”

Barney: “I’ll make you a bet right now: Thursday night, if there’s an empty seat on either side, I’ll buy your breakfast Friday morning. But if it’s clear full, you buy mine.”

Alford: “That sounds good.”

Entering the upcoming game against sixth-ranked Franklin College, Alford is 1-3. “We don’t count the pre-Alford Era,” he says.

His first coaching victory came against Denison (Ohio) College, 82-63. At game’s end, not quite sure what to do, he found himself surrounded by his players. They took it from there.

“We were all giving him hugs,” says forward Scott Hullinger, who recently scored his 1,000th point, which went nicely with his selection as the school’s Homecoming king. “You’ve got to remember that this was our first win of the season, too.”

Since then, Alford has quietly established his authority. Players are required to keep their hair cut at a satisfactory length. Beards, goatees and earrings aren’t allowed. Tardiness is a punishable offense. Extra work is encouraged. Alford is trying to teach his players what his father and Knight taught him years ago--that, all things being equal, games are won or lost because of preparation and discipline and respect.

“A lot of these kids have broken dreams,” Alford says. “A lot of them thought in high school they were going to go to Division I. It just doesn’t happen like that. I’m trying to give them a lot of confidence and a lot of fun.”

Alford is no dummy. He talked with his father about coaching this team and tried calling Knight shortly after accepting the Manchester job. Knight wasn’t available.

“He called, but I didn’t happen to be here,” Knight says. “I’m going to let him go for a little bit.”

Knight did offer one piece of advice.

“He better learn something about defense,” he says. “He better learn that you win or lose at that end of the floor.”

Harlo Barney won his bet Thursday night, but Manchester didn’t win the game.

Franklin beat the Spartans, 112-96, before a standing-room-only crowd that watched Alford as much as it watched the two teams. Up in the stands were his mom and dad, as well as Tanya, who couldn’t have been more proud of her husband.

Afterward, Alford spoke with his players for 25 minutes, telling them that despite their record, he wasn’t going to concede the season; nor should they.

There were no hugs on this night, but in an odd way, there was progress. Alford grew as a coach, and his players grew as a team, taking another baby step forward against one of the best NAIA programs in the country. From this, Alford could take solace.

Of course, solace lasts only so long. About an hour or so after the game, Alford, Cox and Lynch were back in their broom closet watching a videotape of their next opponent, Rose-Hulman Institute, an all-boys’ engineering school in Terre Haute.

At 2 a.m., Alford was still there, the television screen still glowing in the darkness.