As luck would have it, I was painting when I heard the news last week that Glen Tuckett had died.
Kerri, my wife, had the great idea that my home office needed painting. (After only 16 years.) We applied green painter’s tape to protect the wood surfaces when I walked into the closet. There are places that only a contortionist can ever see, and a little contortionist at that. Why bother gluing in there?
Then I thought of Glen Tuckett and a story he always told when he lectured.
In the story, he paints and comes to a similarly remote spot. ‘Who will see if I blow it away?’ he thinks to himself. Then he thinks of his father. His father could look under there, and even if he didn’t, he’d expect the parts you couldn’t see right away to be as buttoned up as the parts you could.
So he painted the bottom.
And I taped the closet.
* * *
I’m sure Glen Tuckett had no idea how this story affected me. He was a baseball coach and then sports director of BYU; I was a newspaper writer who wrote about sports during his tenure. Back then it wasn’t always the easiest job interview. He did not tolerate fools (referees or journalists) and was careful with his words, especially when he thought you might be busy with something that might be viewed as negative.
But he was always fair and honest, a no-nonsense, no-nonsense man with a sense of humor that was sharpened on the sports fields that were his domain. (As one of his ball players, Gary Pullins, said this week, one of Tuckett’s many one-liner gems was this: “You know, Wally Joyner is the only player we’ve ever had who was really as good as his mother said.” )
Tuckett – “coach” for anyone who knew him more than a little – lived the life small children dream of. He remained loyal to the sport until his death. After playing baseball at Murray High School, he played professional baseball in the minor leagues for seven years. If it had been up to him, he would have played forever, but a batting average of .245 eventually sent him for coaching, first to West High School, then to BYU. In 17 seasons, he won 445 games for a percentage of .634 and 11 division championships, no less at a cold-weather school, and qualified three times for the College World Series – something that has not been achieved a single time since then.
As sporting director of BYU for another 17 years, from 1976 to 1993, he led BYU’s golden era: a series of successes that included national championships in football and golf, an appearance in the Elite Eight of the NCAA basketball tournament, and multi-year conference titles in wrestling , Baseball, tennis, track and field and other sports and a bowl game every year except for one. Nobody has made BYU athletics shine like Glen Tuckett.
He retired in 1993 at the age of 65, and then served with his wife, Jo on a Latter-day Saint mission, followed by 18 months as an interim sports director at the University of Alabama. The Crimson Tide had landed in the NCAA doghouse for recruiting violators, and Tuckett was called in to put the ship back in order, which he did.
* * *
In his so-called retirement he influenced me the most. We’ve developed a friendship over the years, but like most people you know through your work, retirement tends to put an end to it.
But for the past 25 years, I’ve checked my phone regularly and seen “Glen Tuckett” on the caller ID
“This is Glen Tuckett,” he said, as if anyone else could sound like him, “just wanted to call and tell you a nice job in your story today.”
He left his message on voicemail if I didn’t answer and always ended with: “You don’t have to call me back. Just keep it up. ”When I answered, we talked for a few minutes, fetched each other and touched on other topics.
Every time I hung up I felt better.
Maybe it was all that positivity, but he didn’t seem to be aging. Less than two months ago, on September 10, just three months after his 94th birthday, he hosted a 50th anniversary reunion for his 1971 team that went to the College World Series. Later that month, Pullins, who replaced Tuckett as the BYU baseball coach and won a school record of 913 games in 23 years, came through Provo and they met for peach milkshakes at a drive-in theater in Orem. “He was still driving a car at the age of 93 and I didn’t see any cars that moved out of his way to miss him,” says Pullins. “Still clear and happy.”
On October 26, Tuckett watched one of coach Mike Littlewood’s BYU baseball practice drills. He came home that evening, turned on the TV and was watching the National League Championship Series game between the Dodgers and Braves when he suffered a stroke. Four days later he finished third and was making his way home to the large shelter in the sky.
“Everyone misses him. He’s always been such a support, such a fan, ”said Vance Law, a former player who spent 11 years in the major leagues before returning to BYU to replace Pullins as baseball coach. Law recalled often looking up at baseball practice when he was training the Cougars to see Tuckett watching from the sidelines. “I said to the players, ‘When he’s in the stands, nobody is walking on this field. Let’s make sure we hurry, ”he recalled. “I hoped we did that anyway, but he always made you do your best.”
No matter if someone was looking or not.
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