The arc of a life rises, then slopes, then falls, because time is the curvature that ensures nothing is forever. And then there is the exception: the flat line that extends beyond sight, in perpetuity, faithful to its path and resolute in its straight purpose. Dean Smith is the line that flattens the arc.
J.R. Reid was a 12-year-old sixth grader from Virginia Beach when he and his family first met Smith. For Reid, this is where the line starts: a middle schooler meeting a man from the school of higher love.
It was 35 years before Smith bequeathed $200 to Reid and the 179 other lettermen who played for North Carolina during Smith’s 36-year reign. Mailed on March 23 — almost two months after Smith’s death at 83 — to all players who amassed enough time on the varsity roster, the gift included a Smithian directive: “Enjoy a dinner out compliments of Dean Smith.” The $36,000 bequest wasn’t so much a bill as it was a gratuity. When it came to those closest to his heart, Smith could never tip enough.
“It’s very rarely,” Reid said, “that you meet someone that is truly as good as advertised.”
In the fall of 1986, Reid made his official visit to Chapel Hill. Smith had plenty on his mind, or at least he should have. He asked Reid about his favorite food. “New York strip steak,” Reid said. Smith said he’d make sure Reid would get it. And when Reid dined with Smith at Slugs At The Pines, his plate hosted a slab of New York strip. The future forward would have more steak that weekend — along with salad and sweet potatoes — at Smith’s home, where Smith and his wife, Linnea, hosted Reid and his parents, Herman and Cora Jean. Little else provides as much sustenance for the soul, Smith knew, as a meal among friends.
“When I think about the deeper meaning from Coach Smith’s perspective, I would surmise that he lived with the recognition that relationships needed to be more than surface,” said Eric Montross, a center on UNC’s 1993 national championship team and a UNC basketball analyst for Tar Heel Sports Network.
It started with team meals — at the training table, before games, on the road, where Smith always managed to find a steakhouse in whatever city his team visited. Buzz Peterson, a guard on UNC’s 1982 championship team and now a scout and consultant for the NBA’s Charlotte Hornets, would return to Chapel Hill for summertime coaching summits that Smith would hold for his disciples. The dinners sometimes lasted three-and-a-half hours, with Smith keeping a rapt audience the whole time.
Reid would also decamp to Chapel Hill during the summer to train with former players and meet with Smith. Their old coach would insist on taking the players out for lunch, whereupon he managed, without fail, to snag the bill before any player could so much as breathe on their wallet.
“Sometimes you could sneak and maybe get one in on him,” Reid said, “but most of the time I think his record was pretty good at snatching meals.”