School Has the Teacher’s Name Written All Over It

The teacher, as he prefers to be known, had just finished captivating the audience, the culmination of ceremonies to mark the name change from Aliso High in Reseda to John R. Wooden High.

Admirer after admirer stepped forward to have pictures taken with him, and I just can’t imagine I’ll be smiling at age 94, and certainly not at the prospect of having my picture taken with every Tom, Dick and Mary.

The legendary UCLA basketball coach had a kind word for everyone, too, so I figured I’d change that and ask some questions. It was either that or start humming, “Conquest.”

I asked him if he liked his (grand) son-in-law, Paul Trapani, because based on some experience, I didn’t think it was possible.

Trapani, a teacher at the school, had just told a story about returning to New York after marrying Wooden’s granddaughter, boasting of his relationship with the great coach only to have Wooden walk up to him in Madison Square Garden in front of family and friends, and call him, “Tony.”

“I go home later to the family,” said Trapani, “and everyone says, ‘Oh, Tony, Tony, he doesn’t even know your name.’ ”

“I’m sure I’ll have to correct that story he just told you,” Wooden cracked, head down and signing an autograph, but loud enough so Tony, ah, Paul could hear. That drew a laugh and a guffaw from Paul, and after he left, Wooden leaned over and said, “You can see what fun we have together.”

A few minutes earlier he recited three poems from memory, no cheat sheets, no nudge from dedicated daughter, Nan Muelhausen, and yet every word delivered in a clear voice worthy of a prime-time radio gig.

“You’re 90-something and not supposed to remember stuff,” I said, and the teacher explained. “I’m not as good as I was once with names, but I love poetry and when I go to sleep every night I’m thinking of poems.”

Then he launched into something from Helen Steiner Rice, the poem that he usually saves for last every night, he said, reciting:

“If death should beckon me with outstretched hand

And whisper softly of ‘An unknown land,’

I shall not be afraid to go,

For though the path I do not know

I take death’s hand without a fear ... “

Try and follow that with a zinger.

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IT WAS Principal Jay Kessler’s idea to change the name of the continuing education school, which is dedicated to giving at-risk students a second chance.

Wooden initially was reluctant to allow his name to be used. “Enough is enough,” he said. “All the honors ... it’s too much.”

But then, he said with a grin, he took a look around and realized a lot of schools were named after the deceased, “so I started checking out the obits,” to see if he was mentioned.

He also noticed most schools were named after presidents, which presented a problem, he said, until he consulted “the committee at the John Wooden Corporation, and since I’m the only one on that committee, I was unanimously elected president.”

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WHEN IT came time for speeches, students Alex Hernandez and Jessica Crawford were right on the mark. It was also proclaimed that Feb. 15 in District 1 from now on will be John Wooden Day.

Wooden followed and said, “I have a name on a few things, but having it on something to do with education pleases me very much.”

When the day ended, Bruin Andre McCarter remained, waiting patiently to congratulate coach and teacher.

“That young man didn’t like me,” Wooden said. “He was a ‘fancy dan’ when he came to school, so I didn’t play him for the longest time. When I retired, he had another year in school, and asked me if I’d come to his graduation.

“I did. He walked by in his cap and gown and said, ‘I think you cost me $1 million in a pro contract, but I love you more than any man I could love.’ I’ll tell you, that gave me chills.”

Yes, it does.

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A PAGE 2 reader, and I was surprised as you are to learn there is such a person, called Tuesday after reading about the Cure Autism Now (CAN) 5K walk that has been uprooted from the Dodger Stadium parking lot and moved to the Rose Bowl.

He asked for CAN’s phone number, called Elizabeth Kilpatrick, the director of development for the organization, and donated $5,000 to pay for the cost of using the Rose Bowl facilities.

“It’s such a wonderful thing,” Kilpatrick said, “but he doesn’t want any credit.”

I know this for a fact, the donor was not Frank McCourt.

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I OWE an apology to Stan Jacobs, a grandfather, who told me while I was doing the story on CAN what a wonderful boy his 12-year-old grandson Jacob Henriksson is. I failed to mention that in the paper.

Jacobs, a Dodgers’ season-ticket holder for more than 40 years, called to express his disappointment in the team, but said, “Jacob and I will be at the walk, wherever it is.”

The autism walk will be at the Rose Bowl April 16, beginning at 8. Say hello to Stan; he’ll be the proud grandfather.

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OSCAR DE LA HOYA, the promoter, called to invite me to Saturday’s fight at Staples Center between Bernard Hopkins and Howard Eastman. I told him I don’t like boxing unless he’s fighting, and he said, “I’ll shadow box for you if you come, and promise I’ll miss.”

I saw him fight Hopkins. I already know he’ll probably miss.

TODAY’S LAST word comes in e-mail from Charles McAfee:

“You never cease to amaze me, Mr. Slimers. Your trite rantings used to anger me, but now I see how pathetic you really are. Are you actually that strapped for a story that you have to make villains out of the Dodger executives? It’s not as if this CAN function was an annual event held at Dodger Stadium the last 20 years.... Do you think the Dodgers owe it to this group to bend over backwards and make this event happen in the lot?

Yes.

Simers can be reached at t.j.simers@latimes.com. To read previous columns by Simers, go to latimes.com/simers.