THE COACH AT 89

Today probably won’t seem all that special to the elderly man from Encino, the man his friends call, simply and appropriately, the Coach.

It is John Wooden’s 89th birthday, and there are certain to be lots of phone calls and cards, presents from family. There is a lot of family: two children, seven grandchildren and 11 great-grandchildren, and they almost all live in the area. They matter much more to Wooden than an 89th birthday, although he can’t help but be grateful for the arrival of the day, because, as they say, it’s better than the alternative.

Mostly, today will be a stir in the routine and the stir will be about him. He won’t mind the stir. He will mind that it is about him.

He was born in 1910 to Joshua Hugh and Roxie Anna Wooden. The family never really wanted for anything, at least not the essentials, but its means were always modest.

Some 89 years later, and with a life that has already brought him Hall of Fame elections as a teacher, player and coach and accorded him the status of sports legend, his means remain modest.

His condominium is probably 1,500 square feet, but it’s where he lived with his wife, Nellie, who died in 1985, and it’s where he is most comfortable. The first thing you see when you enter is a framed picture of Mother Teresa, who lived her life for others. For that reason, she is Wooden’s hero.

At 89, the man who embedded himself in our psyche by giving us 10 NCAA basketball championships at UCLA in the ‘60s and ‘70s, is a senior citizen, but far from playing out his days being spoon-fed in front of a TV set or letting relatives nurse him through his twilight years.

He still drives. He takes his aging Ford to lunch and to the market and does just fine. Earlier this year, he was involved in an accident and it shook him for a few days.

“Wasn’t my fault,” he said, jaw firmly set.

One of his great-granddaughters told him recently that she wanted him to live three more years. That way, she said, he can take her to get her driver’s license.

He has bad hips and knees and walks with a cane. But he walks where he needs to and gets to where he is going quite nicely, thank you.

“The hardest things are those soft chairs and couches,” he said. “Once I get in one of those, I have a heck of a time getting back out.”

He remains an active, incredibly effective and incredibly influential speaker. When he makes appearances, it is not so much oratory as it is the philosophy of common sense. He is homespun Socrates. Those who hear him are always moved.

He has continued a consistent, although reasonable, schedule of appearances. He is worth 10 times what he gets paid, but he isn’t the kind to barter or to even consider himself worth the price they are paying. Many appearance fees end up being split between Wooden and a charity of his choice.

Some who do seek him out for appearances occasionally lose him when, in their eagerness to treat him in accordance with the status he has achieved, make a costly mistake. They offer to send a limo. Wooden hates limos. After all, would Mother Teresa ride in a limo?

But he does enjoy the occasional little comforts that can come with speeches and appearances. Last spring in Phoenix, he participated with 30 or so others in the formation of a series of guidelines to better sportsmanship and sports competition. The document produced has been called the Arizona Accord. The organizers put him up in a fancy suite, and he was thrilled.

“You should see what they have in here,” he told a friend who came to take him to dinner. “They’ve got this big bathtub and a bar along the side that I can hold onto to get in and out. I haven’t been able to sit and soak in a bathtub in years. It was heaven.”

An 89th birthday won’t bring any slowing in his step. He has awards named after him, tournaments to be played in his name. In the last few years, he has resumed attending the Final Four. He stopped that for quite a while after Nellie died, but now his plans are, for as long as he is able, to take that road to the Final Four.

The top college basketball player in the country will be honored at the L.A. Athletic Club in early April, and Wooden will be there, doing his best to deflect the spotlight to the winner. Because of who he is and what he stands for, the Wooden Award, now in its 23rd year, is the Holy Grail of the college game.

He will probably have some time at home today, after family festivities end. That time is likely to bring calls from former players such as Jamaal Wilkes and Mike Warren and Keith Erickson and Bill Walton. Probably many more. He may need a secretary for the day. He may also need call waiting once the verbose Walton gets on.

Swen Nater, another former player, may call. More likely, he will send Wooden a poem. The 7-foot Nater was a great basketball player, but he might be a better poet. Wooden keeps piles of his work in a special place in his den.

Duke Llewellyn from the L.A. Athletic Club will call. They have been friends for years, but Duke is still a kid at 82.

Tom Desotell will probably call, all the way from Sheboygan, Wis., where he is, and has been, a successful high school basketball coach. Desotell started working in Wooden’s summer camps many years ago and remains as close to Wooden as many of his players. You don’t have to be a celebrity or star to be John Wooden’s friend.

Once she gets the kids to bed, Ann Meyers Drysdale will probably call. She keeps in close touch. Wooden has a letter from her at the top of a pile of letters in the den where he spends hours each day, surrounded by books and memorabilia and the pictures on the wall, still just the way Nellie hung them.

Ann Meyers Drysdale was a star basketball player at UCLA, one of the all-time greats in women’s basketball. Her brother, David, also played at UCLA, for Wooden. To this day, Ann loves Wooden almost as much as she loved Don. Just about everybody else calls Wooden the Coach. She calls him “Papa.”

I just call him John, and I’m honored to be able to do so.

Happy 89th, John.