Forward’s Father Can’t Escape a Troubled Past

He didn’t see the Kansas Jayhawks try to make a move toward the Final Four, where he took them a quarter-century ago. Nor did he see his son, a starting forward for Illinois, face the steepest challenge of a young man’s basketball life.

No, Norm Cook didn’t see Kansas play Illinois or anything from this Sweet 16 matchup that no proud alum and father would dare miss.

Instead, he sat alone in his modest house, stared at the walls instead of a TV screen, and watched demons, ghosts and an imaginary person who’s been chasing him for years.

The father of Brian Cook suffers from paranoid schizophrenia. The illness helped ruin a promising NBA career, a marriage and a relationship with a son who inherited all the basketball genes. The mental disorder might be glamorized Sunday by a few Oscars, but make no mistake here: There’s nothing wonderful about this particular mind.

“He’s a recluse,” said Duncan Reid, the former high school and college coach of Norm Cook. “He’s lost.”

Norm Cook never has seen his son play. Ever. No youth games, no high school games, hasn’t been to an Illini game yet. Imagine the cruelty in that: A former Kansas All-American and first-round pick of the Boston Celtics denied the pleasure of watching his son blossom into a fine forward. Brian hasn’t seen much of his father, either. Ever since his mother fled after the divorce 16 years ago, six years after Brian was born, she and the kids have kept their distance.

“I haven’t talked to him in a long time,” Brian said Thursday.

How long? Pause.

“Long.”

Apparently, nobody speaks to Norm Cook much these days. Reid recalled him as a sweet-mannered teenager in Lincoln, Ill. The coach brought the strong 6-foot-9 center along after taking a job in Kansas as an assistant. Last year, Reid held a reunion for his former Illinois state championship teams. Everyone showed but one. Several of them had an idea: If Norm can’t come to us, why not go to him? They knocked on the door. No answer. They knocked again. A pair of eyes shot through a crack in the blinds.

“Norman,” said the coach. “It’s me, Coach Reid.” The door opened slightly, then slammed shut.

“You’re not Coach Reid,” Cook screamed. “Ain’t no basketballs in this house.”

Reid walked away, shaking his head. He hasn’t heard from or seen his former star player since. “A sad situation,” Reid recalled.

Reid said the first signs of Cook’s mental condition came shortly after Cook left Kansas for the NBA as a junior, a novelty back in 1976. The Celtics took him 16th overall but released him after one season. It was then, during a brief stay with the Denver Nuggets, that Cook confided in his teammates: “Someone’s following me.”

His basketball career ended shortly thereafter. Then he met Joyce, who gave birth to Brian in 1980. The family deteriorated, and Joyce, who accused Norm of hitting her more than once, cited the mental illness. During the last several years, Norm, who turned 47 Thursday, has been arrested numerous times, mostly for misdemeanors but also once in ’94 for aggravated battery. Stripped of his family, Norm lives alone, according to his old coach, and spends his time walking around town and staring at strangers. Sometimes, he’s either taken back home or to a state hospital in nearby Springfield.

If only he could see what’s become of his son, now a junior.

Brian stands an inch taller than his father and is nimble as well. What he didn’t inherit was the toughness. That’s what the Illinois coaches and players always try to bring out in Brian, whose basketball career beyond college depends on it.

“I’m still working on the physical part,” he said, laughing. “But people do tell me I have a better shot than my dad. He could bang down low, but at least I can face the basket.”

He’s also playing more consistently. His 13.5-point average is second on the team.

“The situation with my dad taught me basketball isn’t going to be around forever,” Brian said. “He didn’t stay and get his degree. I’ve got to leave here with something besides a playing career.”