Triumph: Inspired by the True Life Story of Legendary Coach Kay Yow

By Mary Ellen Williams

TRIUMPH is an inspiring true-life story of a girl from a small town who became a world renowned legend. It begins in a time and place where women had few options and sports were a man's world. As a child Kay loved playing basketball but like many young women of that time she anticipated life as a teacher. Through the encouragement of her parents and principal, she changed her expectations and raised the bar on what women could accomplish. Kay defied these limitations to become a successful Basketball coach, a hall of fame inductee, and an Olympic gold coach. With her many successes there would be even bigger challenges. Her fiercest opponent would become her ongoing battle with breast cancer. Coach Yow faced these trials head on with grace, dignity, and her deep faith. Kay's love of people, her sense of humor, and her undying hope were contagious. She believed "When Life Kicks You, Let it Kick You Forward". This story will inspire you, give hope to you and let you find the hidden hero within yourself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MaryEllen Williams
• Release date: Nov 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9780578115214

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Williams

Copyright © 2012, MaryEllen Williams

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

Hardback ISBN 978-0-578-11446-0

Paperback ISBN 978-0-578-11447-7

Published by: MaryEllen Williams

Queries regarding rights and permissions should be sent to: [e-mail]

Selected photographs courtesy of Ronnie Yow, NC State University, Dr. Ed Funkhauser

Special thanks to the Team at Lulu.com

Quotes

The life given us by nature is short; but the memory of a life well spent is eternal.

—Cicero

In everyone’s life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.

―Albert Schweitzer

Kay Yow was that other human being who could ignite that flame and rekindle our inner spirit. She showed her love of God and people in every step she took in this walk of life. She made her mark not just as a great coach and a legendary leader but as true friend to every person she encountered.

Acknowledgments

This book is based upon the life of Kay Yow. Although every attempt has been made to be as factual as possible, in some cases, characters and events were created from the composite stories of many people. In a few cases, names have been changed.

I want to give a special thank-you to Ronnie Yow and Coach Stephanie Glance. I cannot thank you enough for all the love and support you have given me throughout the process.

I also need to thank Donna Brewer, Ina Wiggins, and BEM, Brenda the Equipment Manager, for always answering all my questions at a drop of the hat. Thank you, Nora Lynn Finch, and also Teresa, whose attention to detail and fact-finding helped keep me out of trouble.

To my husband, Mike: if you thought this was bad, wait until you see my next project. Oh, by the way, this is where I’ve been putting all that passion.

Thank you to my wonderful children, Sarah, Michael, and Charlie, and my precious grandchildren, Charlotte and Cash. I will always love you.

Also a special thanks to Sue Donohue (Former VP of NCAA now Present director of the Kay Yow Cancer Fund) for taking time to read both the manuscript and screenplay as well as give helpful input.

Prologue

Open your presents, Kay! Lib urged her seven-year old daughter. It was early morning on Christmas Day 1949 in Gibsonville, North Carolina. Lib and Hilton looked on as their young daughter tore through the wrapping paper to uncover their gifts. A number of gifts had already been opened, including the bicycle that she had wanted so much. But this present was special.

A basketball? asked Kay.

We reckon you’re getting big enough to start shooting some hoops, said her father. I’ll put up the goal in the backyard later and show you how it’s done.

What do you think? asked Lib. Your daddy and I love playing basketball. It’s a good way to burn off some of that loose energy of yours.

Later that day, Hilton adjusted the bicycle to his daughter’s height and then went out to put up the basketball hoop. Kay rode around on her new bicycle but was soon drawn to the backyard where her parents were playing one-on-one with each other. She watched them shout encouragements to each other as they took turns dribbling the ball and tossing it into the hoop. Her parents laughed happily together as they played.

Want to try? asked her mother.

Kay nodded and set her bicycle down. Hilton tossed her the ball, and Kay ran after it, picking it up and running back to the hoop the way she’d seen her parents move. She raised the ball up and aimed it at the net. Her shot was too low, and the ball went under the net, rolling off into the grass.

That’s OK, said her mother. You’ll soon get the feel for it.

Of course she will, Hilton agreed. After all, she’s a Yow.

**

Fifty-seven years later, the same blue eyes snapped open. The girl had become a woman. This older Kay still had the same intense focus and ready smile. She wore red-and-white warm-ups with NC State Women’s Basketball stitched on one line across the front and Coach Yow stitched below. A silver cross dangled from her neck.

She took a sip of coffee and rubbed her eyes. It was a rare moment of quiet in her life. She sat in the plush players’ lounge of Reynolds Coliseum, which also seemed to be enjoying a rare moment of quiet. Her coffee smelled good, and she took another sip, enjoying its familiar aroma.

But she was not alone. Kay’s assistant coach and close friend, Stephanie Glance—whose warm-ups were almost identical to Kay’s—stood at the entrance. She gazed at Kay with a concerned look on her face. And past her, the players, having dressed for practice, were starting to leave the locker room.

Stephanie asked, You OK?

The quiet of the moment was gone. In a soft Southern drawl, Kay asked, Steph, will you get them started? I’ll be there in a minute.

Still looking worried, Stephanie nodded and left. Kay peered down at something in her hand. It was an old black-and-white photograph of her parents and herself. She pocketed the photo, rose with a groan, and shuffled out of the room.

It hurt her to walk, and she took her time. When she reached the set of wide stairs leading up to the basketball court, she paused to catch her breath. The sound of squeaking sneakers and the pounding of basketballs on the hardwood drifted down. On the front of each step, a word or phrase of inspiration had been painted: poise, confidence, intensity…The words were from Coach John Wooden’s Pyramid of Success; Kay had always found both the man and the words inspiring.

She trudged up the mountain of steps, reading each step’s message as she climbed upward. By the time she reached the top, she was out of breath again. She leaned against the wall and watched Stephanie standing at mid-court, eyes glued on the players as they darted around her.

Sharp passes. Pick it up. The younger coach clapped her hands and called out, Move those feet! Let’s go!

**

Ina Wiggins sat at her organized desk. She was every bit efficient and meticulous as the administrative assistant for the Women’s Basketball Department as she was with her hair and clothing. She studied the scheduling displayed on her computer screen as she spoke on the phone. Well, she said, Coach Yow is only available Thursday afternoon that week. We have two out-of-town games.

Kay entered, breathing heavily, and Ina frowned at her. Her normal speech runs thirty minutes. Kay trudged toward her office door. Coach Yow just came back in. Can I get back with you? I need to speak with her. She hung up.

Hey, Coach Yow, she called out. Are you feeling OK?

Kay paused at the door, her pale face slick with sweat. Just forgot something. She entered her office and closed the door. There was a window next to the door, and Ina watched as Kay walked slowly to her desk, collapsing into her chair.

Kay’s office was large, warm, and welcoming. It was filled with memorabilia that traced her career: awards, photos, magazine covers, an Olympic gold medal. A framed poster titled John Wooden’s Pyramid of Success listed the same words that were on the stair steps. Next to it was a framed a photo of Kay with the legendary UCLA coach. Directly across from her desk, so she could easily see it, was a framed image of this year’s team surrounded by individual player photos.

She looked up a number in a small address book and made a phone call. Dr. Phillips, please. It’s Kay Yow. As she waited, she reached across her desk to an open Bible. She removed the old photograph from her pocket, smoothed it out carefully, and then placed it within the pages of the Bible.

Hey, John, thanks for taking my call. I know you’re busy…Well, not so good. Can’t seem to stay awake these days. Think I may need to come see you. She saw Ina gazing at her with a concerned look on her face and turned away. Tomorrow’s fine. I’ll have Ina set it up. Thanks, John.

When she tried to stand, she needed to use the desk to support herself. She went to the wall, flicked off the light switch, and then shuffled to a couch where she lay down and gazed up at the ceiling. She told herself that she would just rest for a little while. As she dozed off, she thought about the photo that she had placed in her Bible, and her thoughts drifted back to her younger days in Gibsonville.

Kay as a child

Lib Yow and Kay Yow

Kay’s Senior Year, Gibsonville High School

Kay and dad Hilton Yow

Chapter 1:

Where It All Began

Gibsonville, North Carolina—1956. Thump, thump, thump! On a crisp fall evening as the sun was setting in the west, the sound of a bouncing basketball grew louder and the figure dribbling the ball became clearer. Trees showed the color of the season. At the edge of the dirt stood a homemade wooden backboard and hoop, its net tattered.

Kay, at fourteen, played with the basketball every chance she got. She created drills for herself and imagined herself in games, faking moves against imaginary opponents, the ball returning from the ground to hand in a rhythmic unity. She wore faded denim overalls, pant legs rolled up above grass-stained Chuck Taylor Converse high tops. Her tan arms and legs were gangly, but when she moved, she had the grace of a dancer, her long braids echoing her movements. She counted down the final seconds of a game.

Four…three…two…one. Her eyes turned intense, and she took a shot.

Kay, supper! Lib called out of the open screen door.

Kay dribbled to a line in the dirt scratched between two milk bottles. It was the free-throw distance from the goal. She took a shooting stance, oblivious of her mother’s voice. She shot, lost in her world. The ball went through the hoop.

Kay! Did you hear me?

The young girl gathered the ball and, keeping her eye on the hoop, called out, Almost there, Momma.

How many ‘almost theres’?

Kay ran back behind the line. She swished another shot and called out, That’s twelve.

Lib said, Well, hurry up. I made your favorite. Fried chicken. Lib let the screen door slam shut and turned her attention back to the kitchen, where the rest of the family sat, waiting. She walked wearily back to the stove.

A tall, thin thirty-six-year-old with a short, military-cropped hairstyle, Hilton sat at the small dinette set and read the sports page. Next to him, Kay’s siblings, seven-year-old Ronnie and five-year-old Debbie, fought over a toy truck. Two-year-old Susan sat in her high chair, eating Cheerios and watching her brother and sister.

Lib forked the chicken frying in the iron skillet on the stove as she spoke to her husband. Had to tell her thirty in a row, didn’t you?

Hilton, still reading, reached over and took the truck, then set it aside and answered his wife. "I said try to make thirty in a row. He flipped to the next page in the newspaper. Didn’t say she had to make ’em."

Lib turned the chicken in the pan. Hilton, it’s Kay. You think she’s gonna just try?

How many’s she up to?

Lib looked out the window. About halfway.

Hilton strolled over to Lib. They watched together as their daughter stood at the line and shot. The ball clanked off the rim and bounced back to her. She grumbled, then took a step, kicked the ball, and sent it skittering into the woods.

A dog sitting nearby watched as the ball disappeared. Kay glared at the dog and angrily asked, What’re you staring at? She headed to the woods. The dog followed.

Lib turned from the window. I’ll keep her plate warm.

Hilton nodded. He looked out to where Kay had disappeared before returning to the table to resume reading his newspaper.

**

Hours later, she was still outside practicing her free throws. In the glow of a floodlight, she shot ball after ball, most going through the hoop. Finally satisfied, she stood there, bone tired, her breath misting in the cold. After catching her breath, she turned and plodded to the house. The dog followed her inside and headed straight to a heat register, plopping down to rest.

Hilton dozed in his chair the living room. The music from the radio played low. In the kitchen, Lib set a plate of food on the dinette table for Kay. She peered in and, seeing the food, made a rush to it.

You wash up first, Lib instructed.

Kay went to the sink, washed her hands quickly, and then came back to the table, plopped into the chair, and began wolfing down the food. Lib sat next to her and asked, "Well? You get to thirty?

Kay answered, her mouth full, No, ma’am.

Lib sighed. That’s all right. Just keep trying your hardest. She looked reprovingly at Hilton, who had risen from his chair to stand by the doorway.

Kay looked up between swallows and said with a grin, Got to forty-six.

Hilton flashed an almost-identical grin at his wife before retreating silently from the room.

**

On Sunday morning, the Yow family sat together in a pew near the front of the Gibsonville Methodist Church. Kay fidgeted as Reverend Koestline preached, stopping only when Lib threw her a look. Kay turned her attention back on the minister.

"God will lead you. Each and every one of you. If you let him." It appeared to Kay that he was directing his words at her.

All you need do is settle down long enough to let him into your heart.

She looked down, embarrassed.

After the service, Kay knifed through the people milling around the church doors. She paused at the base of the steps only long enough to remove her shoes. Clutching them to her chest, she fired a glance across the street at the red brick Gibsonville High School gym. Several boys were entering the building, and one held a basketball.

Kay ran down the sidewalk, turned left, leaped a fence, and cut through a backyard.

From a nearby yard, an old lady wearing a housedress watered her bushes. She watched Kay zoom by and turned to her husband, who was nearby pushing a reel mower.

Don’t that girl ever walk?

Who? he asked, looking up, but Kay was no longer in sight.

Back home, Kay rushed into her room and changed from her Sunday best to a faded pair of overalls. She quickly pulled on a pair of socks that she grabbed from her dresser, and tugged on a pair of sneakers. She tied them up quickly and began the run back to the gym, all the while fastening up her overalls.

Across the street, the crowd from the church had thinned out. Hilton noticed Kay, now dressed in overalls and sneakers, entering the gym.

Boys must have a game going, he said to his wife.

She nodded, saying, Figured as much. Hank and Buzz weren’t in church.

**

The group of boys ran in lazy circles, taking turns shooting the orange ball at the white wooden backboard and hoop. It was almost as though they were waiting for something…or someone. It was Buzz who first spotted Kay jogging up.

I get Kay! he shouted.

Hank, a redheaded, freckle-faced teenager, paused with the ball to face him. Bullshit! You got her last time.

Unperturbed, Kay stepped between them. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a quarter. Holding it in the palm of her hand, she said, Ya’ll can flip for me. Call it, Buzz. Without waiting for him to respond, she flipped it into the air and clapped it to her arm.

Heads.

Kay held out the coin. Heads. Buzz grinned.

Hank grumbled and bounced the ball hard onto the ground. This is still bullshit. He started to walk away.

How about I play lefty, then? Kay suggested. To even the odds?

He paused to negotiate. Dribblin’, too?

Yeah, dribblin’, too.

Later, as the game progressed, Hank realized that the left-handed handicap made no difference to Kay’s playing. She expertly dribbled left-handed with him guarding her. He tired, and was anxious to make a move when suddenly she feinted with her head. He responded and received an elbow to his side as she cut to the basket.

With her left hand, she went for a soft layup, the basketball kissing the backboard then dropping through the hoop.

Hank, red-faced, rubbed his side, glaring at his teammates. Could use some damn help if she gets around me.

Buzz’s laugh was filled with joyous victory as he exclaimed, "You mean when she gets around you!"

The boys laughed. Hank went after Buzz, putting him in a neck hold and giving him noogies. Next time, I get Kay!

A sharp voice called out, That’s enough, you two! and the boys stopped to see Lib stroll onto the court. Hank released Buzz from his grasp so suddenly that the smaller boy had to catch himself to avoid falling. All of the boys stood up straight, pulling down their shirts and wiping their hair back as they tried to appear respectable to Kay’s mother.

Ya’ll get on home now. I’m sure your mommas got supper ready. Her firm voice did not leave room for any argument and belied the almost amused look she had on her face.

The boys mumbled, Yes ma’am, and headed away, but Hank slowed as he passed Kay.

Lucky you can play basketball, cause you sure ain’t much to look at, he muttered.

Kay took a step toward him, eyes on fire.

Kay, said her mother quietly. Her daughter stopped, and Hank leered at her as he strode away. Lib hollered after the boys, Straight home, boys. I’m gonna call each of your mommas to make sure ya’ll made it home safe. She watched until the last boy left before turning to her daughter.

Kay was visibly upset and looked up to her. "Am I pretty, Momma?

Lib gazed at her for a moment, gently touching her long braids, and smiled. You’re beautiful, Kay.

Lib picked up the basketball that had been left behind. She held it, then smiled and shot it at the hoop. The ball swished through.

Kay sighed. Hank’s right. All I know how to do is play basketball.

Her mother retrieved the ball, dribbled a few times, and then paused. Let me ask you something. Kay looked at her expectantly. When were you born? She threw the ball to her daughter.

March 14, 1942. Kay threw the ball back to her, clearly confused by the question.

Lib caught the ball and smiled. "That’s right. Everybody knows when they were born. What most people don’t know is why."

Kay waited for her mother to continue.

Don’t worry, darlin’. God has a purpose for each and every one of us. You’ll find yours in time, I just know it. She turned and easily shot another ball through the hoop. She tossed the ball back to Kay. Mother and daughter took turns shooting baskets. Kay took comfort in her mother’s words and enjoyed the rhythm of their impromptu game. Dribble, dribble, toss, swish, catch…

Chapter 2:

Life in a Small Southern Town

1959. The gym at Gibsonville School was filled to capacity. The noise level was deafening as the crowd’s cheers increased in volume with each basket scored by the young woman in the gold and black uniform.

The buzzer sounded. The game had ended. Kay’s teammates rushed to congratulate her, while the worn-out opposing team trudged to their coach, who showed them little sympathy.

You couldn’t cover one girl? One girl? he asked his team. Gibsonville coach Paul Pryor strolled up grinning, and he turned to shake his hand. How many’d she get?

The Gibsonville coach’s grin grew even wider. Fifty-two. I reckon that’s gotta be some sorta record. They watched as Kay’s teammates lifted her up onto their shoulders. I swear, that gal’s going to make history in basketball someday. Pryor grinned again and said, Good game! clapping a friendly hand on the opposing coach’s back. The opposing coach grimaced, but