My Tribute to Coach Kay

The other day, I was surprised to receive a Facebook message from the wife of the son of my high school’s varsity basketball coach, Jim Kay. Here’s why and what happened next.

Mr. Kay coached when I was a student-athlete at Hackensack High School in northern New Jersey. I graduated in 1971, and Coach Kay, who coached the varsity team for 11 years, tragically died of a heart attack in 1974 at age 44. (New York Times article about Coach Kay, April 22, 1974, Page 75, is reprinted here.)

Jim Kay (photo provided by his daughter-in-law, Debra Kay)

Kay’s teams had a winning percentage above .700 during his tenure, and in 1966–67 compiled a 22‐0 won‐lost record during the regular season. That team lost by one point to Dickinson of Jersey City in a state tournament game. Twice, Kay was named county coach‐of‐the‐year by the Bergen Coaches Association. The first time was 1966–67, and the second was in 1970–71.

His daughter-in-law, Debra, explained that her husband was very young when Coach Kay passed away, so he doesn’t have many memories of him. She found my Sports Column article online in which I mentioned Coach Kay, and asked if I would share my memories of Coach Kay with her and her husband.

Here’s what I wrote.

Debra,

I never got to play on the varsity for Coach Kay. However, I did have some positive interaction with him.

I was painfully shy in high school (except when I was on the baseball field or basketball court), and I was also nervous and high-strung. One day during a junior varsity practice, Coach Kay was watching and called me over. He had a slip of paper and showed me what was written on it. The problem was I was so nervous I glazed over and just pretended to read it. Coach Kay then said something like, “Pretty good, huh?” And I just agreed. To this day, I wish I had read it because I’m dying to know what was in it! I’m sure that he was trying to share a bit of wisdom on that paper with me.

One day, Coach Kay asked me to practice with the varsity to utilize me in a defensive scheme. He wanted his point guard to experience the type of extreme ball pressure he would be facing in the next game. So he put me on the court with five of the varsity guys on defense and had me and another guy double-team the point guard. At one point, we trapped him along the sideline, and the point guard, who had a temper, shoved me with his forearm. Coach Kay firmly but mildly corrected him, telling him that’s the kind of pressure he would be facing in the next game.

On another occasion, our junior varsity team was practicing with the varsity, and afterwards, a few of us were working on our shooting. I had a basket to myself, and Coach Kay happened to be standing close to my basket, looking on. Conscious of his presence, I concentrated extra hard on my shooting and made something like seven jump shots in a row. “Don’t you ever miss?” asked Coach Kay with a smile.

Coach Kay with his players (personal photo, Debra Kay)

After my junior year, when I didn’t start on the junior varsity, it became apparent to me that I would never play for the varsity. Even if I made the team, I would be relegated (not unfairly) to the bench. So I decided not to try out for the team my senior year, and instead to spend those winter months working out to improve in baseball, which was my real love. I thought I should tell Coach Kay, as he had been a mentor to me in the basketball program, even indirectly, as our freshman and junior varsity teams ran the same offensive and defensive schemes as the varsity.

Coach Kay was also one of our P.E. teachers. So I went into the P.E. office one day and told him my plan.

All winter, I came into school early and lifted weights and ran around the track. Every night at home, I put a heavy doughnut on my baseball bat and swung it 100 times. When baseball season came around my senior year, I made the varsity and became the first-team All-League second baseman. All my hard work had paid off.

One day I was in the locker room after P.E. class and Coach Kay stopped to ask how I was hitting. The day before I had gone three-for-three in a victory over our arch rival, Wayne Valley, and told him so. He was pleased and said, “Can’t do much better than that!”

In the last game of the league season, we faced Wayne Valley for the second time. They had a record of 14-3, while we were 15-2. We had to win to claim the title outright. Coach Kay was in the bleachers to watch the game. In the second inning, with no score as yet, our catcher Art Sarro hit a tremendous home run to left field to give us a 1-0 lead. I followed Art in the order, and I also smashed a home run, my first and only one that season. We went on to win 4-1 and claim the league championship. I was thrilled that Coach Kay saw the payoff from my baseball plan.

In my Sports Column article, you read how I was equally pleased when he saw my team win the intramural basketball championship, as I was implementing the basics I learned in his basketball program.

Coach Kay produced highly disciplined basketball teams. Some fans wanted to see a run-and-gun offense, but that often leads to turnovers, and Coach Kay valued every possession. His 1-2-2 defense was very effective, also. His demeanor and basketball knowledge reminded me of UCLA Coach John Wooden.

I was in college in 1974 when my parents told me Coach Kay had passed away. I wrote a letter of condolence to his wife, and she wrote a lovely note back to me. I don’t remember what I said, but I’m sure it would have conveyed the same appreciation I hope you sense in this email.

Matt