Legendary Coach Lou Holtz Dies at 89 — and more

Lou Holtz was one of one. He owns a permanent place on the Mount Rushmore of Notre Dame football coaches. Rockne and Leahy, Parseghian and Holtz. No one else need apply. For now. 

There wasn’t anyone like Holtz before he arrived in a flurry of force and focus from the University of Minnesota in November 1985 to provide Irish football with a sense of purpose and direction. He was the man with the plan and for 11 seasons, for 100 victories, for one national championship (1988), Holtz carried out that plan until the day he walked away from the only coaching job he ever wanted. 

Maybe the only one he ever loved. 

On Wednesday, March 4, at age 89 after a brief stay in hospice in Florida where he moved after his coaching days ended in 2004 after six seasons as South Carolina, Holtz died. Many knew this day was closing quickly. Still, in the end, it was a shock. 

The Notre Dame campus that Holtz so loved will feel a little more empty without him. Go to certain spots, take a minute and you can still see the man with the tan khakis, the blue ND windbreaker and ball cap, the black shoes and white athletic socks playing his part as head coach. 

Stalking the back practice fields, zipping out the blue-tarped gate in his golf cart, taking Notre Dame to places it had longed to again revisit, nobody on the campus stood taller, except for maybe Father Hesburgh, but a man of the cloth never devised a gameplan good enough to beat USC. Or Michigan. 

Lou's legacy: Lou Holtz, legendary Notre Dame football coach, analyst, died at 89

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College football was different during the Holtz years. It was a time when reporters had to be at every single practice during the week. Not for a five-minute viewing window. Not for the first handful of practice periods. You were there for stretch; you were there for pass skel. You were there for special teams. You were there when Holtz would blow his whistle and gather his guys at midfield, after which he would hop on the waiting golf cart and speed into the waiting darkness of another Northern Indiana night. 

Sometimes, he would stop at that blue-tarped main gate, stay seated in the driver’s seat, pack the pipe and fire it up while he fielded questions. He would look at you, consider your query for a beat or two and answer. The pause would feel like an eternity. Nobody so small could strike more fear into a young reporter’s heart. 

You grew up in a hurry on the beat covering Holtz. You had to. 

Standing on those back practice fields day after day, week after week, month after month was like attending a graduate class in Coaching 101. From 20 yards, Holtz could tell that the right guard’s hand placement was not proper. It was a few inches off. He’d tell the guard to fix the hand. The hand would be fixed. The play would be aligned properly. 

Practice would continue, but not before the right guard would be asked a yes (nod) or no (head shake) question by Holtz where the answer was always no. 

“Don’t shake your head,” Holtz would bellow, “I can hear it rattle!” 

Laugher around, then a whistle from Holtz. Right back to work. 

Chaos was a constant companion of his football program. He’d suddenly dart from staff meetings promising to return but never would. He’d head for his Granger home for a nap, or a golf course in Elkhart County. He'd eventually circle back, finish the meeting and the game plan and then watch the Irish put it all together on Saturday afternoon. 

Even offseasons were not safe from insanity. Sitting with former defensive coordinator Bob Davie in a conference room reserved for the Notre Dame defense, a reporter could hear a commotion on the other side of the door. It was Holtz, stalking the interior hallway in search of assistant coach Charlie Strong. 

You can still hear that voice. 

“Charlie Strong! Charlie Strong! Where the hell is Charlie Strong!” 

The door swung open. Holtz shot a stare at the reporter. He sized up defensive coordinator Bob Davie. Neither were Charlie Strong. The quest continued. Holtz was gone as quickly as he had arrived. He didn’t bother to shut the door. 

Davie got up from his chair, closed the door, offered a smile and a shrug as he returned to his seat. That was life with Lou. 

That’s the best way to remember Holtz, as the tortured genius/perfectionist. Not the caricature he became late in life with those Dr. Lou segments on ESPN and petty fights picked with Ohio State’s Ryan Day. Holtz wasn’t the same after Notre Dame. 

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Home games under Holtz were happenings. At the end of the third quarter, the Notre Dame marching band would perform the 1812 Overture. It was tradition. So was the student body seated there in the left-hand corner of Notre Dame Stadium to the side of the Irish bench. Up there, they would make Ls with their thumbs and index fingers and chant in unison with the 1812. 

“Lou! Lou! Lou!” 

No Notre Dame coach since has been as beloved as Holtz. Marcus Freeman has a chance, as long as he delivers what Holtz did ― a national championship. 

In 1996, Holtz, into his 11^th year now but looking like the job had aged him 31, wanted to be loved by the administration. When the love wasn’t offered, when no one told Holtz he was still needed and wanted, Holtz was done. On a cold, gray day, after a 62-0 victory over Rutgers, Holtz stepped into a tent outside the construction of Notre Dame Stadium for his final home game press conference. By then, everyone knew he was done. 

When he left that tent in tears, you knew Notre Dame football would soon never be the same. 

For decades, it wasn’t. 

Notre Dame cycled through its share of head coaches post-Holtz. Bob Davie didn’t work. George O’Leary never worked. Tyrone Willingham didn’t work. Charlie Weis didn’t work. Brian Kelly won more games than anyone in program history. His biggest criticism? 

He wasn’t Holtz. 

Each time a job search commenced, many longed for Holtz to return and pull Notre Dame back to relevance. He never did. His time at Notre Dame had come and gone. 

Now he’s gone. No more visits to Armando’s for haircuts or to the stadium for reunions. Memories of all those 11 seasons and all he did for the university he loved live on. All those stories, hundreds of them, will be retold forever. Each will end the same. 

Laughter. Head shake. Comment.

That guy was one of one. 

Follow South Bend Tribune and NDInsider columnist Tom Noie on X (formerly Twitter): @tnoieNDI. Contact Noie at [email protected]

This article originally appeared on Indianapolis Star: How Lou Holtz revived Notre Dame football to national championship