The Winningest Coach in L.A. : Crenshaw’s Willie West Keeps Creating Champions --Without Stars, Without Stats, Without Showing Off

IT’S A COOL WEDNESDAY afternoon in January, but the action inside the Banning High School gym in Wilmington is heating up. Despite having the home court advantage, the Pilots have trailed the Crenshaw Cougars most of the game. Now, in the last minute of the last quarter, they rally furiously and pull even at 72-72.

Sensing an upset, the fans come to life. Amid the cheering sits a calm figure. He’s the man with the most to lose--the coach of the favored Cougars. In his neatly pressed jacket and slacks, Willie West is as cool and still as a glacier. No ranting, no raving, no pointing, no pacing, no ref-baiting, no play-acting--none of the theatrics that seem to be expected of today’s big-time coaches.

With two seconds left, the Cougars bring the ball up-court and get it to forward Aaron Arch. He turns and nails a 12-foot jumpshot--and a last-second 74-72 win. The Crenshaw bench goes wild. Some players drop to their knees; others jump in the air, and all of them whoop with delight.

West, without so much as a smile, quietly rises from his seat and heads straight for the locker room. This outward indifference is rooted partly in his natural reticence. And partly in the fact that he’s grown so accustomed to winning. Though he doesn’t act like it, Willie West is the winningest coach to ever walk onto a Los Angeles basketball court.

Over the last 20 years, his teams have had a virtual stranglehold on Los Angeles high school basketball, claiming 11 city championships and four state titles. They have advanced to the semifinals of the city tournament 18 times and reached the finals 15 times. With 433 victories against only 48 defeats as of early this month, they have won a staggering 90% of their match-ups.

West’s success has been achieved through a combination of factors, the most important of which is his system of emphasizing the team over individuals, discipline over showboating and the work ethic over freeloading. It’s no coincidence that West doesn’t keep track of players’ personal statistics and that he’s played as many as 14 players in a single half. Neither is it a coincidence that the young men indoctrinated in West’s philosophy have grown up to be winners as much as his teams.

In short, while West has been building a basketball dynasty unrivaled in the annals of Southern California high school athletics, he’s also been molding young men able to overcome the obstacles of the inner city. Whether it’s conducting grade inspections or helping fill out applications for college entrance exams, West instills in his players an appreciation that academics, not sports, will probably be the key to their future. Although the names of professional athletes such as NBA forward John Williams, ex-NBA forward Marques Johnson and National League outfielder Darryl Strawberry--Crenshaw’s most illustrious graduates--may be better-known, West is just as proud of the players who have gone on to become doctors and lawyers.

“We just care about our kids,” he says in his characteristically matter-of-fact manner. “It’s more than basketball. We care about them after high school. We prepare them for life.”

WEST WORKS OUT OF an office just a free throw away from the Crenshaw gym. It’s a small, dingy and windowless room. A space heater in the corner is reserved for chilly mornings. A large picture of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. hangs on one wall. The desk is cluttered with memos. The telephone has a long extension cord that snakes into the modest gym for whenever someone wants to reach West during practice.

At the moment, the 49-year-old coach- cum -drill sergeant is putting the varsity players through their paces, calling out offensive play after offensive play. The athletes move on command, silent but intent. If West spots a person out of position or a low-percentage shot, he orders the team to start all over again. Perfection is what these hourslong, after-school workouts are all about. So the players won’t shower until they’ve shot dozens of free throws and sprinted the length of the court several times.

West has had to be a particularly harsh taskmaster this year. “This team doesn’t have a lot of natural talent,” he says. “They haven’t come together as quickly as I would like. But we had similar problems last year, and everything worked out.”

They worked out so well that the Cougars were crowned state champs after beating Oakland Skyline, 70-63. Of course, West’s teams have known the thrill of victory for years. In his first season as head coach, back in 1970, the Cougars not only played in the city championship but also won it. And in his second season, they seemed to be headed toward an undefeated year--until it was spoiled by an administrative oversight in the front office.

“That’s still a thorn in my side,” West says, recalling the incident. “I’ve had some good teams over the years, but the ‘71-’72 team may have been my best. There were two games left in the regular season, and we were undefeated. That’s when I was told by our athletic director that we would have to forfeit all of our (previous) games because we used an ineligible player. Apparently, the kid had gone to school too many semesters. Without him, we whipped our last two opponents.”

That is the lone blemish on West’s record. The Crenshaw gym may be small, but the interior decoration is something any coach would covet--a rainbow of championship banners. As school divisions have changed throughout West’s reign, Jordan, Fremont and Manual Arts high schools have been Crenshaw’s most persistent challengers and have won city titles. But their moments in the sun have been short-lived. Under West, Crenshaw teams have played in 15 city championship games, and they have yet to be defeated in the state championships.

“All the kids know that if you want to be a winner, this is the school to be at,” says senior forward Omar Williams. “You know about the tradition before you ever get here. You just have an opportunity to continue it.”

The temptation is to attribute West’s success to better athletes, as if his coaching ability was simply incidental. After all, skeptics point out, Crenshaw has produced half a dozen NBA players, and as many as eight of his players have received scholarships in one season.

Actually, West explains, he has to watch some of the most talented players in South-Central Los Angeles leave for greener pastures in more integrated--and affluent--schools on the Westside and in the San Fernando Valley. “Everyone thinks we’re just loaded with talent and that’s why we win,” he says. “Most people would be surprised to know that the majority of our top area players are bused out. A couple of years ago, there were three neighborhood kids that measured 6-9, 6-8 and 6-7. They all went to Pacific Palisades. That’s very typical.”

Adds Manual Arts coach Randolph Simpson: “He puts his teams together very well, and they work cohesively together as a unit . . . just like the Lakers. They don’t have a lot of talent, but they play really well together, well-oiled. West lets each person know that he’s an important part of the team, both on the offense and defense.”

West doesn’t see anything especially unorthodox in his approach. “We teach basketball here,” he says nonchalantly. “It’s really that simple.”

Others, however, find something more meaningful in West’s philosophy of selflessness rather than selfishness. “He doesn’t single out individuals,” says Strawberry, the New York Mets outfielder, who played football, basketball and baseball before graduating in 1980. “It’s more like a family atmosphere. It was a very inspirational team to play on.”

About 80 kids try out for basketball each season, and about 35 make the cut. West carries about half of them--a higher percentage than normal--on the varsity team; the rest are left to the junior varsity squad. What’s more, he gives almost all of them the opportunity to play, not only during practice but also in crucial games. In last year’s state championship, for instance, no fewer than 11 players scored.

“I like to carry as many seniors on the varsity as I can, and I like to get as many in the game as possible,” West explains. “The more players who get exposure, the more who are going to get noticed by the college recruiters. I think a winning program will take care of itself as far as generating interest. It’s up to the coach to have the players prepared.”

To that end, West also closely monitors the progress of junior varsity players. He even sits on the bench during their games, which is uncommon for head coaches. “Since we usually are senior-dominated on the varsity, I know next year’s team will be the junior varsity,” he says. “I want to make sure they get as much attention and care as any of our players.”

But team hopefuls must work hard to prove themselves worthy. A few weeks ago, a student in a morning gym class yelled, “Coach West, when are you going to put me on the basketball team?” West’s reply: “When you earn it.”

WILLIE WEST GREW UP in Houston and as a middle-class teen-ager had aspirations of becoming a professional athlete. At Jack Yates High School, he played basketball, but his real love was baseball. He was a three-year starter on the baseball team, which won state championships each of those seasons.

But sports were segregated in Houston at the time, and Yates competed for the black-school championship. West hit .494 in his senior year, but he was passed over for a scholarship--as were all of his teammates. Upset over the way discrimination had placed him at a disadvantage, West moved in with an aunt in Los Angeles in hopes of finding an integrated society.

He attended Los Angeles City College, later transferring to Cal State L.A., where he graduated in 1963 with an education degree. He played baseball at both schools but could see that he wasn’t going very far as a player. “When I realized my athletic career was ending, I fell back on my education because I knew it was my ticket,” he says. “I wanted to help other kids realize that, too.”

West took his dream and headed to John Muir Junior High School in South-Central Los Angeles. For five years, he worked with young athletes in his physical education classes. When Crenshaw High opened in 1968, West collected his books and packed his gym bag. He served as an assistant coach on the junior varsity basketball and varsity baseball teams for two years, then assumed control of the basketball program when his predecessor, Jim Ryan, resigned. All West did his first season was guide the Cougars to the city title.

Thanks to West’s successes, Crenshaw’s reputation has long been linked to its sports triumphs. Basketball games draw larger crowds than any other school activity, including football. “Athletics have always been our claim to fame,” says principal Jewell Boutte, who has Crenshaw’s state championship plaques in her office. “But it’s been my priority to bring the academics up to the same winning level.”

That may sound like a tall order, but not an impossible one. From 1984 to 1987, for example, the school showed the greatest improvement in the district on the California Assessment Program tests for seniors and earned $94,000 in bonus state funds. More than 20% of the school’s students dropped out in one recent year, but Boutte says that, of those who graduated, 88% went on to college.

What makes these numbers so extraordinary is where they are being recorded. Outside the gates of Crenshaw’s clean and well-maintained grounds lies one of Los Angeles’ most troubled areas. Like other inner-city schools, Crenshaw faces poverty, drugs and crime. Of Crenshaw’s 1,900 students, 430 take part in the district program for new immigrants who don’t speak English. Many students have poor economic backgrounds, with about half coming from families that receive federal assistance.

One of West’s primary goals is teaching the skills that will enable students to triumph over the problems that destroy so many lives in this community. That means setting academic standards as tough as--if not tougher than--his basketball standards. For example, three years before the district adopted the controversial no-fail rule in 1982, West had instituted a similar policy. The rule stipulated that a student who wanted to play sports had to carry a C average and not fail any classes. When the district’s regulation was amended in January, allowing an eligible student a failing grade as long as a C average was maintained, West announced that he would continue to enforce the older, stricter standard. In two decades, he says, he’s had to boot only three players from the team for bad grades.

Crenshaw players also have grade checks every three weeks and are encouraged to ask West for help if they have trouble in a certain subject. He makes sure they meet class requirements and helps them sign up for the Scholastic Aptitude Test, which students must take to be accepted at most four-year universities.

The beneficiaries, of course, are the students themselves. In the 1988 graduating class, guard Charlie Hill was valedictorian. Last year, Terry Cannon, a guard who expected to see limited action, was, by midseason, scoring in double figures. As star of the playoffs and local sportswriters’ City Player of the Year, he graduated with honors and received a scholarship to San Jose State University. This year, senior guard Jermaine Boone is vice president of the student body, while forward Joey Drake, voted junior homecoming king, is an honor roll student.

“I know that if I don’t make it on a basketball scholarship, I can shoot for an academic scholarship,” says sophomore forward Alexous Scruggs, who has a 3.5 grade point average and is enrolled in the school’s magnet program for honor students. “I know I have to have something to fall back on. It becomes clearer to me every day.”

But West’s concern for his charges extends beyond his 12-hour days coaching basketball and teaching physical education and career guidance classes. He has been known to stand in as a father figure for children from broken homes, and he volunteers his time to the community by holding basketball camps during the summer.

“He taught me what was important both on and off the court,” says Washington Bullets forward John Williams, a 1984 graduate who was All-City three times and later helped lead Louisiana State University to the NCAA Final Four. “I remember one semester when Willie was really riding me hard on my grades. He brought me into his office and introduced me to a talented former player who ended up a nobody. He did that so I would see what could happen to me if I didn’t keep up in the classroom. That’s how he is with all of his players. He stays on top of you and doesn’t let go until you get your act together.”

DURING THE SQUEAKER against Banning last month, anyone who didn’t know Willie West might have thought he, not Joe Weakley, was the assistant coach. At 51, Weakley is older, balder, bigger and louder than West. He was the one who bounced up and down on the sideline, bellowing instructions and encouragement when things got tense. And when Arch sank the winning basket, it was Weakley who hollered with the rest.

West is so low-key that he’s overshadowed even by his own assistant. So low-key, for that matter, that he may be the finest coach hardly anybody’s ever heard of. In a field that demands loquacity and self-promotion, West remains doggedly taciturn. “I think a lot of the people know the basketball team is good. But I’m not sure they all know who’s the coach,” he says. “I know I don’t talk that much. I don’t talk unless I’m being talked to.”

Not only does he refuse to talk himself up, but he also declines to talk others down. “What bothers me most is that so many of our good neighborhood kids leave the area,” he says, betraying a rare flash of emotion. “I’ve heard that other coaches tell them they won’t get a chance to play much at Crenshaw so they should come to their school. I never badmouth another coach or his program. I just tell a potential player what I think we can do for him and let him decide for himself.”

Despite his brilliant record, West has never received any serious offers to move into the spotlight of college or professional basketball. True, basketball--especially at the high school level--isn’t as popular in Southern California as it is in the East, the South and the Midwest, but it’s surprising that athletic directors and general managers aren’t beating a path to West’s door. Several years ago, West applied for an opening at Cal State L.A. but wasn’t interviewed. The same thing happened later at Cal State Long Beach. And though his name was mentioned when George Raveling was hired at USC, lip service was all West got.

“I’m still here because I haven’t received a better offer, but also because I don’t think it’s such a bad place to be,” West says, slightly defensively. “I’m not really looking to get out. I never looked at things in a monetary sense, but instead as an opportunity to help these kids better themselves.”

West also speculates that being black might be why he has never received a college offer. “If I was white, I bet I would have had some offers,” he says.

But Corey Johnson, athletic director at Cal State Long Beach, says college coaching experience was the bottom line in West’s 1987 job search. “We’re well aware of the tremendous job he’s done at Crenshaw,” Johnson says. “He’s been an asset to high school basketball, and he has an impeccable reputation. But we needed someone who could come in and give us national exposure.”

It seems paradoxical that in his childhood quest for an integrated society, West ended up at a predominantly black high school. In fact, he says, no white player has ever tried out for his teams. A few expressed interest in transferring to Crenshaw but never did.

“I’m not really upset about it,” he says. “I almost had a few white kids come here, and I would have really welcomed them. Shoot, they would have been real heroes in the school, but they just never came. I guess it’s just the way it is.”

West says he plans to stay at Crenshaw at least two more years to watch the development of his son, Willie West III, whom he has raised in their Inglewood home since divorcing in 1976. The younger West is a sophomore who plays junior varsity ball.

“He’s mostly got a football background,” West says, sounding like the eternal coach sizing up a prospect. “He’s just shown an interest in basketball the past couple of years. He might have a future in the game, though, he’s still got a lot to learn.”