Hard Hits and Soft Hearts
Not of a lot people outside the world of college football would know who Lou Holtz was and, of those folks who did know, opinions can vary greatly. I suppose this would be true of any coach with an elite championship program, except of course Tom Osbourne. He’s untouchable.
Lou passed away on March 4 of this year in Orlando, FL, aged 89.
I first met Lou in 1983 at our restaurant in Kansas City, located just off interstate 29 about six miles south of the airport. Whenever higher ranking business types from any industry needed to have a lunch or dinner meeting with other local titans, it wasn’t uncommon for them to rendezvous in one of our private dining rooms.
It was a busy month that spring with NCAA Division 1 coaches and recruiters flying in to talk with and interview my cousin Timmy, a high school five star offensive lineman; coaches like Barry Switzer (Oklahoma), Joe Paterno (Penn State) and Jimmy Johnson (Miami) among the many. All of them were hospitable and down to earth, hoping to put on the best possible face for the family. But it was Lou (Notre Dame) who stood out and probably had the deal wrapped up without even trying. The choice of going with the Catholics and the Irish was a no-brainer.
Timmy and I were tight – still are, and we kept tabs on each other’s whereabouts and life events fairly regularly. I needed to chase a dream and moved to Los Angeles while Timmy was doing his thing in South Bend, IN. During those four years when he played for Lou, a few other cousins and siblings of mine would pick out two or three games and all fly in to wherever the team was playing. The towns, no matter their locales, would be crawling with fans dressed in the Blue, Gold and Green. After the pep rallies and festivities, some folks actually were crawling. We tended to be a slightly rowdy bunch back then.
Lou never passed up the opportunity to get into the thick of the action, if only for a little while. He loved to shake hands and give a small speech, slapping people on the back and taking pictures. Whenever we’d bump into each other, he'd act like he really remembered our first introduction and say, “Hey, how ya doin?” He didn’t remember, but he put on a great show and made you feel good about yourself. Those were glorious times.
The clock keeps ticking and the years pass. Everyone mentioned in this piece follows their own path and their histories will speak for themselves; it’s only natural. But Timmy and I are still tight and we visit him and his wife every time we’re in K.C.
In July of 2025, Timmy was diagnosed with brain and lung cancer. He called to tell me the news, the diagnosis and the prognosis. And for as bleak as it is, his mood and temperament were upbeat and positive. His team of physicians just over the state line at KU Med Center are administering a new aggressive therapy only recently approved of here in the states; so far so good.
A bad episode in November of 2025 had us all worried; the circumstances looked dismal. It was a Saturday afternoon and I was at Timmy’s watching football. The phone rang, Facetime, and I answered, Timmy being too weak. It was Lou Holtz. “Hey, how ya doin”? he says. I held the phone for Timmy and Lou gave him a pep talk. Timmy’s wife and I were in tears.
On March 10 this past week, parts of Platte county back home were hit by a severe hailstorm; major damage. My old neighborhood and Timmy’s were mentioned specifically on national television. I called for a report, but heard nothing back for several days. And I worried.
Last night Timmy called. “The car windows are busted out, the roof is in pieces, everything that was outside and could break did. But I haven’t seen it yet,” he tells me. “That’s just what I’m hearing.”
“Where are you?” I asked. “I’m in South Bend for coaches’ funeral,” he replies and with his twisted sense of humor adds, “You realize he never liked you, right?”
“Yeah, I always got that impression.”
