Ancich, His Mystique Back Home at St. Paul

Marijon Ancich, the master of geometric conversation, was off on another tangent. A moment ago, he was mentioning how as a boy he once rode a fishing boat from his native Yugoslavia to Africa’s Ivory Coast. Seconds later, he was shaking his head over modern-day drug abuse. Now he’s reeling off the latest enrollment projections for Inland Empire schools.

None of this is a problem, of course, until you realize the question you asked some 30 minutes ago hasn’t been answered. Or has it? With Ancich, you never know. Interviewing him is like riding a roller coaster. The conversation goes up, down, all around until suddenly you’re back where you started. You look at your notebook. It’s blank.

You try again.

“So, Coach Ancich, after nine years at Tustin High, why did you quit and come back to St. Paul?”

He gives you the ol’ Marijon chuckle: Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. His initial words are vague. After a moment or so, though, they start to make sense. Sometimes you don’t feel you’re a part of the school anymore, he says. Sometimes it feels like you’re just working a job instead of fulfilling your vocation. Sometimes your heart and soul need more.

He says he doesn’t want to knock Tustin; after awhile, it just didn’t feel right. And St. Paul? Well, even after all these years, St. Paul is still home. The support--from boosters, alumni, the administration--is phenomenal, he says. The players are hard working and disciplined. And the parochial school system--the St. Paul system--is something in which he truly believes.

At St. Paul, he is a legend, a man with almost mystical qualities. He is Marijon Ancich--man with an aura. Part of that stems from his record as football coach--188-37-6 in 18 years at St. Paul, 55-27-2 at Tustin. But mostly, it is the man himself. Ancich, 54, commands respect like no one else, St. Paul followers say. He is confident without being conceited, commanding without being an egomaniac. He might not get your name right the first time, or any time, but he does his best to be personable. Put it this way--mothers love the guy.

His Tuesday night game film sessions--attended in years past by up to 300 boosters at a time--are legendary, as are his demands on his players and coaching staff. In the old days, St. Paul coaches normally worked until 2 or 3 a.m. each night. About the only time they’d see their families during football season was on Sundays for dinner when all the wives and children of the coaches would meet in the school’s home economics room for a meal. The players referred to Ancich as “the Eye”--somehow, he was always watching.

Ancich is not without critics. Those who say that behind the master motivator is a master manipulator, a man who will do anything to win. The coach worship displayed by his players, some say, would make child psychologists cringe. And the infamous spying incident, nearly two decades old, has yet to be forgotten.

Bill Norton, now the football coach at Pierce College, laughs about it now, how he and two other St. Paul assistants were caught on Nov. 20, 1974, “observing” a practice at Pioneer High from a van across the street. The incident led to a forfeit and expulsion from the playoffs. To this day, Ancich says his assistants were in the area only because they were eating at a nearby Denny’s. Told of this, Norton chuckled. He said Ancich wasn’t in on the spying--at least “that’s my official stance.”

Other coaches chuckle too, saying it’s all part of that Ancich mystique, one that’s sure to loom larger now that he’s back at St. Paul. He already has boosted school spirit, they say. The football program, 59-58-3 after Ancich left in 1981, is churning again with St. Paul pride. Last week, the Swordsmen upset Los Angeles Loyola, 10-9. Rough, tough Marijon Ancich became teary-eyed.

Tonight, Ancich returns to Orange County when his team meets Mater Dei in a Division I game. You can bet Ancich has prepared his players accordingly. He’ll have convinced them that Mater Dei kids go to school in chauffeured limousines, or that Mater Dei players always say horrible things about ol’ St. Paul. He’ll tell them whatever it takes to rev them up, to get them to play like never before. He’ll say just enough, and then he’ll walk away.

Leaving the Swordsmen to play the St. Paul way.

Barbie Ludovise’s column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Ludovise by writing her at The Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, 92626, by calling (714) 966-5847 or by fax at 966-5663.