He will always be Mr. CIF

The coming of the fall season always renewed associations with the

CIF Southern Section in the past, before the advent of the Web, which

has pretty much deleted human contact. It was anything but impersonal

in the past.

The late J. Kenneth Fagans, who resided on Balboa Island, was “Mr.

CIF” during his 21-year reign (1954-75) and was a self-described

“rock.”

Controversy seemed always to be just a phone call away, because of

his policies, which included putting the football and basketball

pairings together virtually by himself.

In the early part of his tour the pairings were very condensed

with each league given one entry for its champion, but as time wore

on the playoffs became far-reaching, and still, Fagans would trust

himself as the sole decision-maker for producing the brackets.

He did this, mainly, because he considered himself the foremost

authority. And sometimes, I suspected, to keep some coaches, and

schools, under his thumb. Make some noise and you’d find out very

quickly what would happen the next year when the playoffs were

determined.

It was very obvious. Complain again and you were pretty much

toast.

Thus, as a sportswriter and untouchable in a way, I found it to be

a responsibility to make the noise others could not.

He would be on the phone, ranting, ... “and I go out to the

driveway and pick up my own community newspaper and read these things

about me.”

“Well, Ken, we’ve looked over these pairings and what we’ve said

is true. You’ve got the best team in Orange County on the road in the

first round, and in the same bracket with the No. 1 seed,” it would

be pointed out.

Fagans would shoot back, “I know what I’m doing,” and the sparks

would continue to fly. “But Ken, our team is 9-0 and you have them at

a team which is 8-1, and if they win, the next team will be 10-0.” On

and on it would go.

To put this into perspective, it should be understood that we

loved Ken Fagans.

He built the CIF Southern Section from a motley, loosely-woven

system into the state’s leader, by far. No other section came close

to the innovative and updated Southern Section.

By 1970, however, he was becoming overwhelmed with self-inflicted

responsibilities and he finally decided to close it out in 1975. Soon

after the playoffs pairings system was overhauled.

There was a retirement party of some 500 for Fagans and all five

Daily Pilot scribes were present.

His license plate was “MR. CIF” and a huge banner for Mr. CIF,

once known as “Tanglefoot,” during his playing days at Huntington

Park High, hung behind the dais. As a basketball coach, his Compton

High teams were 160-9 over five years, and his overall basketball

coaching record was 291 wins, 25 losses.

Once a three-year starter at Oregon State, he was a near-miss for

a berth on the U.S. Olympic team for 1936, but was beaten out by

one-time radio sportscaster Sam Balter.

We (Sports Editor Glenn White mostly), would always try to work

Balter’s name into various conversations, but our needles were always

with humorous intentions, knowing how bitter Fagans was over the

slight.

My personal relationship with Fagans did not mellow out until

after his retirement, when in 1977 I went on my parachute adventure.

Fagans suddenly became very friendly and remained a very good

friend for the balance of his life. He passed away in 1994 at the age

of 84. I even have two of his treasured coffee mugs which he used at

CIF meetings and other endeavors.

An example of Fagans’ ire is recalled when at the retirement party

of Bill Schroeder, who had originated the All-CIF teams under the

auspices of the Helms Athletic Foundation. White and myself showed up

in a roomful of CIF and high school dignitaries.

“Well,” Fagans said with a shout which must have been heard a

block away, “I see you (White) brought your little stooge with you!”

Others rushed to calm Fagans down, but his outburst pretty well

described what he thought of me and my (well-deserved) criticism.

But following my brush with an adrenaline rush after parachuting

3,300 feet, his attitude changed 180 degrees.

Fagans was a stickler for punctuality and doing things right, and

had little patience for the emergence of television.

He enjoyed the attention, of course, but he hated it when

television would disrupt his schedule.

One of the funniest recollections was at a CIF basketball finals

night at the Sports Arena in Los Angeles involving one of his

all-time best aides, Sports Information Director Mike Peck.

Peck was standing near mid-court and in front of the press table,

where White and myself were sitting, and Peck was chatting with the

TV announcer, also standing in front of the press table.

Time was winding down, the players were ready to be introduced and

Fagans, with a melodious voice, called out, “Oh Myy-eek.”

There was no response.

Again, “Oh Myy-eek,” with the pleasant, diplomatic tone for the

benefit of nearby TV. Still nothing as the conversation continued.

“PECK!” barked Fagans, from about six inches away and in the same

decibel rating as he had when he called me a “stooge,” and Mike Peck

popped into the air, both feet about six inches off the floor.

“Get this game going,” blared Fagans, and everyone began running

in different directions. It was priceless.

When Fagans finally retired one of his pet peeves for several

years was the fact no one at CIF was calling him for advice on

various matters. He saw it as a clear case of disrespect.

There are probably not many of today’s CIF who knew him during his

heyday. A handful of commissioners and several aides have come and

gone.

The press guide now refers to Fagans as “Mr. Southern Section,”

which surely would be the all-time putdown for Fagans, if he knew.

Somehow, I have a feeling he does know, and he’s really stewing

over it.

Hey, see you next Sunday!

* ROGER CARLSON is the former sports editor for the Daily Pilot.

His column appears on Sundays. He can be reached by e-mail at

rogeranddorothea @msn.com