UCLA’s Ballatore Is Stuff of Stories Whenever Coaches Get Together : Swimming: Tales of a man who loses himself in competition--and on freeways--delight his peers in the sport.

When swimming coaches gather, Joe Goeken is often asked to recount the life and times of colorful UCLA Coach Ron Ballatore.

Goeken, a club and high school swimming coach from Chattanooga, Tenn., has maintained a close friendship with Ballatore since he swam on his Pasadena City College team in the early ‘70s.

“Guys who have heard a Ballatore story five or six times still hoot and howl like they’ve never heard it before,” said Goeken, who has heard them all.

He knows, for instance, that Ballatore was so skinny as a child that neighborhood toughs on Chicago’s South Side threw him around like a spear.

But that was nothing compared to what Ballatore faced at home. His father used his sons as “targets” when he pitched horseshoes.

“We sat on the stake while he threw horseshoes,” Ballatore said. “We had a lot of faith in my dad.”

Ballatore didn’t have much of a frame, and he hung around Dick Butkus, the future Chicago Bear, who was a powerfully built youngster. Once, while defending their turf against rival lifeguards, Butkus beat up five guys and helped Ballatore take care of another.

As a competitor, Ballatore’s ferocity knew no bounds, and former Bruin national champion Bill Barrett recalls that his coach’s intensity was so high before a UCLA-Tennessee dual meet in Knoxville that Ballatore forgot where he was.

Shortly after Tennessee had presented him with a congratulatory plaque, Ballatore thanked “the fine people of Texas.”

When Charlie Campbell, his first American record-holder, retired, Ballatore gave Campbell a “Rolex” watch.

Campbell was thrilled. But a week later the watch stopped running. He took it to a jeweler who said it wasn’t worth $10.

Years later, Campbell gently broke the news to Ballatore that he had been taken--the watch was worthless. But Ballatore knew that. He admitted to Campbell that he had bought it from a street kid in Ecuador.

It is a wonder that Ballatore made his way back from there, given his sense of direction.

Van Austin, UCLA’s assistant diving coach, says Ballatore insists on driving the lead car on team trips and usually manages to get lost.

Senior Brian Kurza recounted a familiar trip to Arizona.

“Everyone in the car says, ‘Go left,’ and he says, ‘Bull’ and turns right, onto a pitch-black street with no lights,” Kurza said. “After three miles he finally turns around. He’s probably been to Arizona 15 or 20 times and he gets lost every time.”