Dean Smith and the Friends He Made Along the Way

A promise is a promise, and Dean Smith promised his players that he would attend their weddings—their first ones, at least. So when Pete and Monique Chilcutt got married, Smith showed up, even though the wedding was all the way across the country in California and Smith lived in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.

Smith, who coached Chilcutt in basketball for four seasons plus a redshirt year at North Carolina, hung around after the ceremony for a bit. It was 1995, late enough in Smith's career that he was already a legend but early enough in the modern media age that he was not instantly recognizable that far from ACC country.

"Guys were just sitting there talking to him in the lobby. It was good that we were so far from the East Coast. It wasn't that craziness that he might get on the East Coast," Pete Chilcutt says. "People were just talking to him like he was anybody else. It was a great memory to have, him talking to my buddies and talking to people at the wedding."

This little wedding story might sound silly and unsubstantial. But it contains everything that those who loved Smith loved about him: the integrity to do what said he would do. A complete lack of ego. And an uncanny ability to connect with people in any setting.

As the North Carolina Tar Heels and the college basketball world mourn Smith, who died Saturday at 83 after a long battle with dementia, it becomes clear he'll be remembered for no one reason. Some will point to Smith's incredible knowledge of and attention to detail—he once got a technical for telling a referee what North Carolina's won-loss record was in games in which that official worked … because Smith also pointed out it was the team's worst record among all refs.

There's also his bluntly honest talk; he told even the best recruits they would have to earn playing time; they would not just be given it. That honesty goes hand-in-hand with a competitive streak that saw him win 879 games, a gold medal, two national championships, and four national coach of the year awards.

And then there's his work on civil rights and liberal causes. In 1966, he recruited Charlie Scott, who became the first African American to get an athletic scholarship to UNC. Beyond that, his outspoken opposition to segregation, the Vietnam War, and the death penalty made him college basketball's version of a liberal lion.

But for those close to him, Smith is remembered for the way he connected with people—whether he was wooing a recruit, charming parents, or schmoozing at a wedding in Sacramento. Until dementia robbed him of his memory, Smith had an incredible ability to recall names, places, and events—and to form personal connections based on that memory.

Eric Montross knew Smith was there before he saw him. Montross was a star high school basketball player in Indiana in the late 1980s, and the coach of every major program in the country wanted him. Smith showed up at Lawrence North High School in Indianapolis for open gym one summer day.

"One of my buddies runs out and says, 'You're not going to believe it! You're not going to believe it! Do you know who's sitting in a plastic chair at the end of the court?'" Montross says. "I said, 'I don't know, who?' He said, 'Dean Smith! Dean Smith's here!'"

Montross was already familiar with Smith, of course. His dad had been reading books by and about Smith. He once pointed to a passage about Smith benching players for making mistakes, and asked, "Is that the right place for you?"

Recruiting rules prevented Montross from talking with Smith that day, but soon enough Smith was in Montross's house, telling him and his parents he would play only if he earned it.

Then the letters started. Throughout the recruiting process, Smith sent Montross letters containing tips on what Montross should work on to make his game better. This was advice from an all-time coaching great, and Montross devoured every word.

When Montross arrived on campus, the relationship deepened. Montross was mesmerized by Smith's passion. "It wasn't just basketball," Montross says. "It was the idea he was grooming us as young men to be vibrant parts of society, and that basketball could be used as a platform to speak from."

A 7'0" center, Montross played for Smith at North Carolina for four years. He won an NCAA championship in 1993 and was a two-time All-American. "I feel like I'm a better person because I was around him," Montross says. "I know there's a lot of sensationalism both in speech and in writing these days. You can go overboard on things. You will not go overboard in your description of him as a good man. I can assure you."

The letters continued after Montross left UNC for the NBA. The relationship between the two men changed from player and coach to friend and friend. On opening day of every NBA season, Smith sent Montross a telegram wishing him well on the upcoming season. Under the typed note, Smith always scrawled a personal greeting, asking by name about Montross's family. (Smith attended Montross' wedding, too: "He slipped in at the last moment," Montross says. "He said, 'I'll be there, just hold the spot for me, just inside the door on the right.' And he was there.")

Cards from Smith came at Christmas and other times throughout the year, always with a personal note. And the fact Montross knew that every other former Tar Heel received similar correspondence did nothing to diminish the warmth he felt when he read each one.

"It was like the guy had 15 desks and all of them were full of things that were happening, and he just worked through them without batting an eye," Montross says. "He knew everything that was going on and cared enough to make an effort individually to make it feel like you were the focus of his attention at any one moment of time."

And it wasn't just players Smith remembered. "I was walking through the Raleigh-Durham International Airport on the way to a game with him. We went through security," Montross says. "We're walking through the main terminal. Somebody stopped him. Let's just say his name was Tom Jones. He says, 'Coach Smith.' Coach turns to him. Coach says, 'Hey Tom, how are you doing?'

"They proceed to have a short conversation. I had stopped behind him when he was talking. When we were walking again, I said, 'Coach, who was that?' He said, 'Oh, that was Tom Jones. I played golf with him at a charity benefit five years ago and haven't seen him or talked to him since.'"

"It's not like it was 'Tom Jones, my old college roommate.' It was a guy you got paired with at a charity golf tournament that you never met."

Chilcutt, who played for North Carolina from 1987 through 1991, received personal, hand-written notes, just like Montross. And phone calls. Lots of phone calls. Chilcutt jokes that Smith talked him up so much Smith should've been his agent.

"Some of the insecurities I had carried on about my basketball abilities kind of carried on in my subconscious throughout my NBA career," he says. "He was always telling me I can do this, I can do that. I was thinking, 'Wow, this guy has more confidence in me than I do.' I was taken in the NBA as a spot-up-shooter kind of guy. He would tell me, 'No, you can drive. You can rebound. You can play defense.'"

The calls and notes continued for 10 years after Chilcutt played in Sacramento, Detroit, Italy, Houston, Vancouver, Utah, Cleveland, and Los Angeles (Clippers). They continued when Chilcutt retired from basketball and became a teacher.

When the newlywed Chilcutts opened their wedding gifts, they found a unique present from the Smiths: a stepladder. Smith's wife, Linnea, had hand-painted it Carolina blue. She added familiar scenes from Chapel Hill, including the Old Well, the centerpiece of the UNC campus.

Twenty years later, Chilcutt and his wife still stand on that ladder when they need to grab something—it's the only gift they still use from their wedding.