(or You can't teach an old football coach new tricks)
Celebrated, retired Iowa college athletic coaches Hayden Fry and Johnny Orr sat just feet apart, perched on stools angled slightly toward each other, illuminated by the hot glare of camera spotlights. They were positioned in front of a painted backdrop on a sound stage in the studios of Busby Productions, a film and television production company located in an old warehouse on the South side of downtown Des Moines.
Hayden had recently retired as the winningest coach in University of Iowa Hawkeye football history. He’d imported his folksy, endearing “good ol’ boy” disposition from West Texas to the Corn Belt school. Renowned for often-brutal honesty and homespun clichés delivered in his distinctive drawl, he was the inspiration for actor Craig T. Nelson’s lead character Hayden Fox on the television sit-com “Coach.”
The immensely popular figure had brought success and widespread support to a struggling athletic program. Before retiring, he’d led his squads to a string of post-season bowl games, where they’d drawn thousands of faithful fans to root for their team. He’d reestablished the Hawkeyes as a legitimate conference contender.
Johnny, the former Iowa State Cyclone men’s basketball coach, was widely credited with creating “Hilton Magic.” The term describes the raucous, fan-packed, opponent-intimidating atmosphere in Iowa State’s campus arena. His Cyclone teams played a free-wheeling, up-tempo, quick-scoring “run and gun” brand of basketball that fans and broadcasters alike found extremely entertaining.
He recruited a level of athleticism never before seen at the school, and inspired success and popularity in a program long-mired in mediocrity. His teams won conference championships and qualified for the NCAA tournament. A colorful and charismatic personality, he was as entertaining as his brand of basketball. In his relatively short stint as a Cyclone coach, he won over fans throughout the state.
The old coaches were filming a public service television spot sponsored by a Midwest grocery store chain. In it, the two 60-something personalities exchanged wry wit and playful banter. After shooting more than a dozen takes, they were starting to tire, their patience beginning to wear thin.
Directing the video shoot was Busby “Buzz” Berkley, the highly animated president and founder of the production company that bore his name. Like many in the industry, he had a reputation for being somewhat of an artistic “flake.” A little on the flamboyant side and in his late 50s, he wore designer jeans, expensive European loafers without socks, and silk shirts in vibrant colors. He had a tendency to gesture with his hands when he talked. His long, graying hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
As the coaches waited for direction, they scanned the crew around the set, anxiously looking for a sign that the shoot might be nearing an end. Just then, Buzz announced, “OK. Let’s do a couple more takes and then we’ll call it a day.”
He approached the ersatz actors, looked at them intently, and using his own artsy brand of industry jargon said, “This time, let’s try something a little different, OK? For these last few takes, I want you guys to jazz it up. Push the edge a little – spike the punch. Add some flavor, some texture…some SNAP, CRACKLE, POP!”
The two just stared at him, then turned and looked at each other as if to say ‘What the hell does THAT mean?’ Satisfied, Buzz stepped back, cued the camera and actors, and shouted “Action!”
Not surprisingly, the old coaches gave an uninspired effort and delivered their lines pretty much the same as they had on previous takes. Buzz yelled “Cut!”
He again stepped in and said, “Now this time I really want you to kick it up a notch. Give it the ol’ mustard. You know: Rock ‘n Roll, Mardi Gras, and je ne sais quoi. Let’s make the fat lady really SING!” He was nodding and alternately snapping his fingers, bouncing from foot to foot, eyes wide, eyebrows arched, looking at the coaches for their approval.
Johnny gave a sideways glance at Hayden. Then, barely able to contain a stifled grin, he pivoted a quarter turn on his stool so he was facing away, in an effort to keep from laughing out loud.
Hayden sat up straight, cocked his shoulders, and set his jaw. Leaning slightly forward, he looked Buzz in the eye and in his distinctive Texas drawl said:
“Son, I’m a football coach. Not a PUSSY.”
Buzz turned to the crew and said, “OK gang. That’s a wrap.”
Note: This story was related to me by my brother, who for a few years after graduating with a degree in television and film production from the U of IA, worked at Busby. According to him and others on the set that day, while Buzz yelled “Cut” after the last take, the cameraman ignored the direction and kept videotaping. It’s possible that archived footage of the episode still exists in storage somewhere.
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