With the recent passing of former Western Kentucky University basketball All-American Bobby Rascoe, it dawned on me that everyday there seems to be fewer and fewer living connections to famed Coach Ed Diddle. Rascoe, of course, played for him between the years of 1958-1962.
As a student I knew Coach Diddle, interviewed him for a story in the college newspaper. He never knew my name, but knew where I was from, so he called me E’town.
The stories about Coach Diddle, or as some referred to him as Mister Diddle, or some even Uncle Ed, deserves to be passed on so that’s what I’m going to do in this space.
The variations of some of these Diddleisms have been told for decades. Rascoe was good at it. So is Ronnie Clark, Darel Carrier, Paul Just, Jim Richards and a score of others who either played for or knew him.
Many consider Clark and the late Jim Pickens as two of the best. I want to include Lloyd Gardner, a basketball manager for him, as one of the best Diddle story tellers. Not only can Lloyd talk like him, but even looks like the coach. Former Western All-Americans Johnny Oldham and Duck Ray could crank them out, too.
Diddle during his day was one of the most well-known coaches in all of college basketball. The red towel he made famous in the 1940s lives on today, not only in basketball, but all aspects at the University, including the classroom and campus events.
In 42 years on The Hill he probably never made more than $10,000 a year, so he was never monetarily a rich man like today’s coaches. But, when it came to friends he was extremely wealthy. He was very generous of his time to speak to groups, not just in Bowing Green, but throughout Kentucky.
Diddleisms most often passed along are when he was describing a prospect he had seen. “The kid shoots with his right hand. He can even shoot with his left hand. He’s amphibious.”
Along those same lines, in explaining how tall one of his recruits was, Coach Diddle stretched his hand about two feet above his head saying, “He comes up to here on me.”
Probably the most often repeated saying is when the coach told his players at an early practice session to “line up alphabetical according to size.”
Coach Diddle was watching one of his shooters at practice one day dropping in shot after shot. He just didn’t miss. It could have been Darel Carrier. A friend was there watching. He said to Mr. Diddle, “Coach I think he could hit a million from that spot,” Coach Diddle replied. “A million hell, he could hit a thousand.”
Then there was the time one day as the old coach was strolling through campus and began running after a car he had seen run a stop sign. When he caught up with the car, it was a student driving. “Where are you from?” he asked. “Chicago,” the student answered. “Don’t give me that crap,” Diddle said. “I see your Illinois license plate.”
Diddle loved the Western band: “Don’t know one note from another… but, I can sure tell you when they sound great.”
The stories continue.
He asked his team if any of them had geometry in high school? “It’s about the straightest point between two lines,” he told them.
“We’re not going to practice that play until we get it right,” was another.
“The reason you can’t understand me is because of your lack of ignorance.”
Coach Diddle was all about doing and saying the right thing when his teams were on the road and even at home, especially to visitors. “Be nice to them. You’re representing our University. Be on your best behavior. But, we sure do want to kick the hell out of ‘em!”
Diddle was always opposed to smoking… by anyone. He and Assistant Coach Ted Hornback were on a trip. Hornback smoked all of his life and Coach Diddle asked him about it.
“The only time I smoke, Mr. Diddle, is when I’m alone or with somebody.” Diddle said. “Well, that’s okay then.” Forty miles down the road Diddle said, “Ted, you smoke all the time don’t you?”
A reporter asked the Western coach what kind of offense his team runs? “We can go down the left side… we can go down the right side… or we can go down the middle.”
He was given a new Buick when he retired in 1964. “Cars always run better when they are paid for.”
The City of Bowling Green and Western gave him a special parking spot in front of Diddle Dorm, where he lived. If he had a car in repair and was driving something unfamiliar, he would often forget what he was driving and have it towed.
With this said, and there are hundreds of ways Coach Ed Diddle expressed himself. Call them malapropisms or ridiculous use of words, he was funnier by accident than most coaches on purpose.
Ronnie Clark recalled Diddle instructing the team to get out there and practice those twenty hand one footers. “Some around the court might have laughed, but the players didn’t.”
The team was in New York playing in Madison Square Garden. A team manager pointed out to Coach Diddle that their hotel’s elevator was not large enough for the entire team if the hotel caught fire. The Coach hadn’t thought about that so he called an urgent team meeting. “If this hotel catches on fire, I want you regulars on the elevator and you reserves to take the stairs.”
No other Diddle story, however, has lasted longer than when the coaches prized Irish Setter Rex went missing. The coach proclaimed to his team, “No one eats, no one sleeps, and no one practices until we find Rex.”
It was an all out search. Radio stations announced bulletins, townspeople were looking everywhere. At the time no one in Bowling Green had seen such a search.
A couple of days later Mister Diddle opened the trunk of his car and guess what? Out popped Rex. Apparently he had been there since a recent hunting trip. “Where you been?” Diddle asked Rex.
In my growing-up days Dee Huddleston, before he was a U.S. Senator, had given me a job for his WIEL radio station calling in Little League ball scores. Our friendship developed over the years and I ask him about Coach Diddle.
Like many in the media back then, coaches provided lots of stories, especially Diddle.
“Coach Diddle was such a pleasure to be around,” he offered. “For a long time he called me Dee Gibson, one of his past greats. His misuse of the English language was legendary. I was in his office one day and he was dictating a letter to another coach. He sounded like a college English professor. It made me wonder if his use of language wasn’t a product of his natural showmanship.”
But, Dee had one more.
“I took my two-year-old son, Stephen, to a Western baseball game. Mr. Diddle also coached baseball. “In about the third inning a batter fouled one into an adjoining field that was grown up in weeds. When the ball was not immediately found, Coach Diddle stopped the game and had players from both teams looking for the ball. After about ten minutes the ball was found and handed to the coach. He walked back to the stands where my son and I were sitting and handed the ball to Stephen. Never before have so many looked so long for a foul ball that would not be in play again.”
That was Coach Diddle. He coached at Western 42 years from 1922 to 1964. He won 759 games, and there’s at least that many stories about him. He died January 2, 1970.
There’s no excuse, get up, get out and get going! Gary P. West can be reached at westgarypdeb@gmail.com.
