Coach John Wooden passed away today at the age of 99. It is no exaggeration to say that, outside my family, he has been one of the most influential people in my life.

I’ve long said I was born into Bruin diapers. My dad went to UCLA during the heyday of the Wooden Era, and I grew up steeped in the lore of the man who simply wanted to be called Coach. From 1964 to 1975, Coach Wooden put together an amazing streak of 10 national championships in 12 years, including seven straight and an 88 game win streak in a sport where you only played 30 games a year. He won with some of the greatest players in the history of the game – Lew Alcindor and Bill Walton – and he won with less talented players who were able to play as a team, at a level much higher than simply the sum of the parts.

When I was 13, I attended a Wooden basketball camp, where Coach started out the camp by teaching us how to put on our socks and shoes properly. That simple lesson that he taught every player he ever coached was a lesson in presence. Coach Wooden was never just a basketball coach. Basketball was secondary to his teachings and philosophy about life itself, which crystallized with his Pyramid of Success.

A few years later, my dad was in touch with some college friends, putting together a reunion for their dorm floor at UCLA. It would be safe to say that no one personified UCLA in the ’60′s, athletically, academically and as an icon, like Coach Wooden. So who better to invite to the reunion than Coach himself? “Wouldn’t it be amazing if…” changed to the reality that Coach had said yes. I found myself driving up with my dad to Coach’s modest townhouse in Encino. We were invited in for a few minutes, and then us three drove down to UCLA, where I soaked up what I could from the back seat.

At the reunion, surrounded by men whose college experience had been largely defined by the Wooden legacy, his graciousness was so obvious. For anyone who has been in Coach Wooden’s presence as he gently tells stories, recites poetry by heart and fondly remembers his wife Nell who passed in 1985 (and to whom he wrote a love letter on the 21st of every month for the next 25 years), you can’t escape the feeling that while you’re in the presence of one of the wisest and truly good people this world has ever known, his understated humility was just as much a gift.

During my four years at UCLA, I was a student broadcaster, producer at KMPC which broadcasted UCLA games, and worked for ABC, ESPN and others as a statistician. Coach Wooden was a fixture at virtually every game I can remember, signing untold autographs from his seat a few rows above the UCLA team bench. He never failed to receive a standing ovation when introduced.

A few years ago, the athletic department approached him about naming the court at Pauley Pavilion (“the house that Wooden built”) after him. He had one demand – that it also be named after the love of his life, Nell. Fine, said the officials, John and Nell Wooden Court it is. Nope, not good enough, said Coach. And today, below the eleven National Championship banners, sits Nell and John Wooden Court.

He leaves this world with a legacy that will long outlive him, but it was never about burnishing a reputation. Bring it up, and he would look you square in the eye, and give you a bit of advice: “Be more concerned with your character than your reputation, because your character is what you really are, while your reputation is merely what others think you are.”

In the sixteen years since I’ve graduated from UCLA, I continue to hold Coach Wooden’s teachings close to my heart. His observations on success, loyalty, poise and leadership have a permanent place in my heart and in my values. I’m quite simply humbled and grateful to call Coach Wooden a hero and an inspiration. Farewell, Coach.

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