Just heard former San Francisco 49'er coach Bill Walsh passed away today at the age of 75. He'd been ill with leukemia for awhile now. A great guy and innovative coach who brought the 49'ers with players like Joe Montana at QB, Ronnie Lott on defense etc. to several Super Bowl championships. :rip: Coach Walsh

Truly one of the great coaches of all sporting teams in the US.

Been listening to the radio reports this afternoon of his death and the outpouring of affection for Walsh by his former players is very unusual for todays pro athlete.

I just now heard it nose and truthfully when i satrted thinking about it (I was a big 49'er fan during that era) it got me teary-eyed. Bill Walsh...remember the 1st Super Bowl he led them to? Off the bus from the airport as the players were climbing out and heading to the lobby, Walsh was there dressed up like a bellboy and taking their bags. Used some humor to ease their nerves and they went on to win the game. Not to mention his game plans. I knew it was coming but I'm down now.

When you think of legendary coaches mack, you have to put Walsh right there with Casey Stengel, Red Auerback and Knute Rockne.

they were talking on the radio today of the college of coaches that he helped to develope and the announcer ran off more than 20 names of NFL head coaches that he had a direct hand in developing.

Here's a front page story in the S.F. paper for a few of you interested in Bill Walsh and what he did for the NFL. I had no idea some of the things he had a hand in over the years. :cheers:

BILL WALSH 1931-2007
THE GENIUS
by Tom FitzGerald
Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Bill Walsh, the imaginative and charismatic coach who took over a downtrodden 49ers team and built one of the greatest franchises in NFL history, died Monday morning at his home in Woodside at the age of 75 after a three-year struggle with leukemia.
A master of using short, precisely timed passes to control the ball in what became known as the West Coast offense, he guided the team to three Super Bowl championships and six NFC West division titles in his 10 years as head coach.

It took more than an innovative offense for Walsh to become one of the most revered figures in Bay Area sports. With his white hair and professorial bearing, he conquered the pro football world with a combination of clever strategy and rugged defense. He was a new, cerebral kind of football coach - he even studied the leadership skills of Civil War and World War II generals. To 49ers fans used to years of losses, near-misses and inopportune fumbles, he was a savior.

The 49ers had been wrecked by mismanagement and unwise personnel decisions under former general manager Joe Thomas when owner Eddie DeBartolo Jr. cleaned house in 1979. Walsh, who had led Stanford to two bowl victories in two seasons as head coach, took a 49ers team that had finished 2-14 in 1978 and built a Super Bowl champion in three years. It was one of the most remarkable turnarounds in professional sports history.

His teams would win two more Super Bowls (following the 1984 and 1988 seasons) before he turned the team over to George Seifert, who directed the 49ers to two more championships (1989 and 1994). Walsh set the foundation for an unprecedented streak in the NFL of 16 consecutive seasons with at least 10 wins.
He had a knack for spotting talent and then developing that talent to its fullest. His touch was particularly deft when it came to quarterbacks. He drafted Joe Montana in the third round in 1979 and acquired Steve Young, then a backup with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, in 1987 for second- and fourth-round draft choices. Both were elected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

At his own Hall of Fame induction in Canton, Ohio, in 1993, Walsh revealed he nearly didn't make it to the end of his second season in San Francisco.
"In those first three years, we were trying to find the right formula," he said. "We went 2-14 that first year (1979). The next year we won three and then lost eight in row. I looked out of the window for five hours on the plane ride home from Miami after the eighth straight loss, and I had concluded I wasn't going to make it. I was going to move into management."

He changed his mind and finished the season, a 6-10 year. The 49ers gave notice of things to come in a late-season game against the New Orleans Saints at Candlestick Park. Trailing 35-7 at halftime, they thundered back to win 38-35 in overtime. At the time, it was the biggest comeback in NFL history.
But the real magic was yet to come. After losing two of their first three games in 1981, the 49ers would win 15 of their next 16 in a methodical yet astonishing march. Behind Montana and wide receivers Dwight Clark and Freddy Solomon and a defense led by linebacker Jack "Hacksaw" Reynolds, pass rushing whiz Fred Dean and a secondary that started three rookies - Ronnie Lott, Eric Wright and Carlton Williamson - they became the first NFL team in 34 years to go from the worst record to the best in just three seasons.

To do it, they had to shock the Dallas Cowboys 28-27 in the NFC Championship Game in January 1982. They won it on Montana's scrambling 6-yard pass to a leaping Clark with 51 seconds left. The play, dubbed "The Catch," is the most celebrated moment in Bay Area sports history.
"That was a practiced play," Walsh said. "Now, we didn't expect three guys right down his throat. That was Joe who got the pass off in that situation, putting it where only Clark could come up with it."
Walsh showed his zany side two weeks later in Pontiac, Mich. Arriving before the team, he borrowed a bellman's uniform at the hotel and collected the players' bags at the curb, even holding out his hand for tips. His players didn't immediately recognize him, including Montana, who got into a brief tug-of-war with him when Walsh tried to grab his briefcase.

In Super Bowl XVI, the 49ers built a 20-0 lead but needed a memorable goal-line stand in the fourth quarter to hold off the Cincinnati Bengals and win 26-21.
Pro football in San Francisco would never be the same.
Walsh and his players were stunned by the reception they received when they returned to San Francisco. "There was a suggestion of a parade for us," Walsh said years later, "and I remember thinking that with the general fatigue, I was reluctant to put the players through something that might be just a few people waving handkerchiefs on the street corner."
Instead, the city had basically been shut down for a celebration by more than half a million people, cheering San Francisco's first NFL champions as they were driven down Market Street.
"It was just an overwhelming experience, the realization that millions and millions of people had been following us," Walsh said. "That's when I realized what an accomplishment, what an historic moment for the city, it was to win a professional championship."
The 1984 team was probably Walsh's finest, an 18-1 powerhouse with a record-setting offense and the league's stingiest defense. It pounded Dan Marino and the Miami Dolphins 38-16 in Super Bowl XIX at Stanford Stadium. The following spring, Walsh drafted a receiver from Mississippi Valley State named Jerry Rice, and the offense would get even better.

A last-ditch catch by Rice on a pass from Montana stole a victory over the Bengals in 1987. The play was memorable not only because it won the game but because it prompted a bizarre reaction by the head coach: Walsh joyfully skipped off the field.
One of the most thrilling Super Bowls (XXIII) followed the 1988 season. Rice was voted the game's Most Valuable Player after making 11 catches for a Super Bowl-record 215 yards. But the 49ers needed a 92-yard drive engineered by Montana in the final minutes and a last-minute, 10-yard TD pass from Montana to John Taylor to beat Cincinnati 20-16.
A few minutes later in the locker room, Walsh hugged his son Craig and, to the surprise of others in the raucous celebration, burst into tears. A week later, he revealed why he was so emotional: He had decided he'd had enough earlier that season. He was stepping down. "This is the way most coaches would like to leave the game," he said.

Clearly that last year was a strain on Walsh, who was often at odds with DeBartolo and the media. The team struggled to a 6-5 start that year, and Walsh later said his intensity was waning, partly because he was "weary of the daily press-sparring."
He was ever sensitive to criticism, and said during the playoffs that year, "You become the victim of your success. Everybody expects nothing but wins. They ignore that 27 other franchises have equal desires and opportunities, and that so-called parity gives winning teams tougher schedules and poorer positioning in the draft.
"Owners demand high production. Fans get to where they can't understand why you lost, even if the team makes the playoffs before bowing. And the media, they always want to know how you lost, who screwed up, why it wasn't done differently and every detail about your personal life."
He later second-guessed his decision to step down, telling the San Jose Mercury News in 2002, "I never should have left. I'm still disappointed in myself for not continuing. There's no telling how many Super Bowls we might have won."

In his decade as the 49ers' coach, Walsh won six division titles and had a 102-63-1 record, a mark made even more striking by the fact his teams won only 10 of their first 35 games.
There were bitter disappointments during those years. The 1982 team couldn't handle success, suffered from drug problems and went 3-6 in a strike-shortened season. The 1983 team went to the NFC title game, only to lose at Washington 24-21, in part due to a couple of debatable calls by officials that set up the winning field goal.
Walsh criticized both calls, one of them a pass interference call on Wright. By the rules, if the officials determine that a pass could not have been caught, even without interference, no penalty is called. Walsh protested that the ball "could not have been caught by a 10-foot Boston Celtic."

Before the championship 1988 season, there were three straight years of first-round playoff defeats. Even though the 49ers compiled the NFL's best regular-season record in 1987, their playoff loss caused DeBartolo to strip Walsh of his title of team president. In the ensuing years, Walsh and DeBartolo patched up their differences, and DeBartolo was Walsh's presenter at the Hall of Fame.
He was named the "Coach of the '80s" by the selection committee of the Hall of Fame. His impact on the NFL was evident in the number of his assistants who went on to head coaching jobs, including Seifert, Dennis Green, Mike Holmgren, Ray Rhodes, Sam Wyche, Bruce Coslet, Mike White and Paul Hackett. Those coaches in turn spawned a host of other coaches, all imbued with Walsh's distinctive offensive schemes.

He was an expert in developing quarterbacks, including Ken Anderson, Virgil Carter and Greg Cook with the Bengals, Dan Fouts with the San Diego Chargers, Guy Benjamin and Steve Dils at Stanford and, of course, Montana and Young with the 49ers. He said he looked for resourcefulness, creativity and passing accuracy in his quarterbacks; arm strength was far down the list.
"We spent hours on everything a quarterback does: every step he takes, the number of steps he takes, how he moves between pass rushers or to the outside, when he goes to alternate receivers," he wrote in his 1989 book, "Building a Champion" (with former Chronicle columnist Glenn Dickey). "It's similar to a basketball player practicing different situational shots."
He told an interviewer that the West Coast offense started with the Cincinnati Bengals, where he was quarterbacks coach and offensive coordinator under coach Paul Brown from 1968-75. Walsh borrowed on the principles of Sid Gillman, the legendary San Diego coach, and others.
"It was born of an expansion franchise that just didn't have near the talent to compete," he said. "That was probably the worst-stocked franchise in the history of the NFL. ... The best possible way to compete would be a team that could make as many first downs as possible in a contest and control the football.
"We couldn't control the football with the run; teams were just too strong. So it had to be the forward pass, and obviously it had to be a high-percentage, short, controlled passing game. So through a series of formation-changing and timed passes - using all eligible receivers, especially the fullback - we were able to put together an offense and develop it over a period of time."
The West Coast offense meant the ball could be thrown on any down or distance. It meant having the quarterback get rid of the ball quickly, to limit the risk of sacks or turnovers. It didn't mean ignoring the running game, but it could make up for a weak rushing attack. For example, the 49ers' leading rusher in their first championship year was Ricky Patton, who had just 543 yards.
"The old-line NFL people called it a nickel-and-dime offense," Walsh said in his book. "They, in a sense, had disregard and contempt for it, but whenever they played us, they had to deal with it."

Part 2 on next post, the board can only put 20,000 maximum per post.

Continued, Pt.2:

He pioneered the idea of scripting a game's first 25 plays, a habit he started with the Bengals. At first it was just four plays, then six. When he went to the Chargers, it was 15, then 25. He refined the script at Stanford, and it later was a staple with the 49ers. The script was never a hard and fast list; he would stray from the list if the situation warranted, then return to it later.
"The whole thought behind 'scripting' was that we could make our decisions much more thoroughly and with more definition on Thursday or Friday than during a game, when all the tension, stress and emotion can make it extremely difficult to think clearly," he wrote.

Practices under Walsh were not the bruising sessions they were under most other coaches. "We didn't beat guys up," he said in an interview in Football Digest. He preferred to save the contact for the game and concentrate instead on preparing for every situation that might come up in a game.
"The format of practice and contingency planning - those, to me, are the biggest contributions that I've made to the game," he said.
Another contribution was the Minority Coaching Fellowship, a program he created in 1987 to help African American coaches improve their job prospects in the NFL and Division I colleges by inviting them to an up-close look at the 49ers' training camps. Among those who took advantage of the program were Tyrone Willingham, a former Stanford head coach and current head coach at the University of Washington; Bengals head coach Marvin Lewis and several NFL assistants. The NFL later turned the fellowship into a league-wide program.

When he quit as coach of the 49ers, Walsh moved into a vice president's position in the organization. He wasn't there long. He joined NBC Sports in 1989 and teamed with Dick Enberg for three seasons as the network's top analyst on NFL and Notre Dame telecasts. Although Walsh could be very glib, his TV work was cautious, and he didn't seem to enjoy it.
Walsh maintained his strong ties with Stanford and, in a decision that surprised the football world, returned as head coach in 1992. He immediately led the Cardinal to a 10-3 record, including a victory over Penn State in the Blockbuster Bowl. "If Walsh was a general," said ESPN analyst Beano Cook, "he would be able to overrun Europe with the army from Sweden."
After three years at Stanford and a 17-17-1 record overall, he left coaching for good. "It was time to move on," he said.
To him, diagramming plays and getting players to execute them exactly represented an art form. "I am a man who draws pass patterns on his wife's shoulder," he said.

He fostered the image of the articulate, white-haired professor who cracked jokes at news conferences and devoured biographies and history books in his spare time. In reality, his cool shell hid a feisty disposition.
Fred VonAppen, who coached with him on the 49ers and at Stanford, told an interviewer in 1993, "He's a complex man, somewhat of an enigma. I gave up trying to understand him a long time ago. In a way he has the kind of personality that creates a love-hate relationship. He's not always the distinguished, patriarchal guy television viewers are used to seeing on the sidelines. He's a very competitive guy, and he can be scathing, especially in the heat of battle. There have been times when I would have gladly split his skull with an ax. Then again, he's the greatest."

Over the years, Walsh served as a consultant in various NFL ventures. In 1994, he helped create the World League of American Football, which became NFL Europe.
He returned to the 49ers in 1996 as a consultant, but the organization was in turmoil. DeBartolo was under a federal investigation into his pursuit of a riverboat casino license in Louisiana. Walsh clashed with team president Carmen Policy, personnel director Dwight Clark and some of the coaches. He felt he couldn't get anything done. Meanwhile, salary cap problems were building.
He left but came back two years later. Policy and Clark had left for the Cleveland Browns. Walsh helped extricate the team from its cap difficulty and get it through the ownership change from DeBartolo to his sister, Denise York, and her husband, Dr. John York. He had a strong influence in restocking the roster and signed Jeff Garcia, a former San Jose State quarterback then starring in Canada. His faith in Garcia would pay off; the quarterback was elected to the Pro Bowl three times with the 49ers.
Walsh turned the general manager's position over to Terry Donahue in 2001, but continued to serve as a consultant. This was a tragic time in his life. His mother died in 2002. A week later his son Steve, a KGO radio reporter, died of leukemia at the age of 46. His wife, Geri, was still enduring the debilitating effects of a stroke in 1998.

He went back to Stanford for a third time in 2004 to work with then-athletic director Ted Leland on special projects and fundraising initiatives, as well as serving as a consultant for coaches and athletes. He also was in demand as a public speaker.
When Leland left, Walsh served as interim athletic director for seven months and was instrumental in planning for the rebuilding of Stanford Stadium, which was accomplished with breathtaking quickness in 2006. He gave up the athletic director position when Bob Bowlsby took over last summer.
William Ernest Walsh was born in Los Angeles on Nov. 30, 1931, the son of a day laborer who worked at various times at an auto factory, a railroad yard and a brickyard. When Walsh was 15, his father got him a job in a garage near the Los Angeles Coliseum. The family moved around California frequently.
He had only average athletic skills but was a running back on the football team at Hayward High. Unable to attract a scholarship offer, he played quarterback for two years at the College of San Mateo and went on to an injury-hampered career as a receiver at San Jose State.

In college, he met a pretty woman from Walnut Creek named Geri Nardini during a day at the beach. Shortly thereafter he proposed, and they married in 1955, the same year he earned his bachelor's degree.
After a hitch in the Army at Fort Ord, he became a graduate assistant at San Jose State under his old coach Bob Bronzan. When Walsh completed his studies for his master's in education in 1959, Bronzan wrote a recommendation for Walsh's placement file: "I predict Bill Walsh will become the outstanding football coach in the United States."
He took over a struggling team at Washington Union High School in Fremont - the team had lost 27 straight games - and took it to a conference championship in 1958 with a 9-1 season.
"When you went to a game, you or one of the guys you worked with had to drive the team to the game," he said. "That was just part of the job, so I learned to drive one of those big school buses."

He took a big step forward in 1960 when he was hired as defensive coordinator by Cal coach Marv Levy. In 1963, he moved up to administrative assistant, recruiting coordinator and defensive backfield coach at Stanford under John Ralston.
When he left Washington High at 27, he had hoped to be a college head coach by the time he was 30. Instead, he spent the next 18 years as an assistant.
In 1966 he took his first pro job with the Raiders and made the switch from defense to offense, coaching the backfield. Although John Rauch was the head coach, Walsh later called owner Al Davis one of his mentors. Another was Paul Brown, who was awarded an expansion franchise in Cincinnati and hired Walsh as an assistant coach for the first Bengals team in 1968.
Brown gave Walsh free rein to refine his sophisticated passing game, but when Brown retired in 1976, he named offensive line coach Bill Johnson as his successor. Had Brown named Walsh, it's conceivable that the Bengals, rather than the 49ers, would have been the Team of the '80s.

Walsh, who had turned down several promising jobs because he was sure he was Brown's heir apparent, was devastated. Miffed that "nobody would take me seriously," he considered leaving football. "It was beginning to look as if I would never make it as a head coach," he said.
Instead, San Diego coach Tommy Prothro hired him as offensive coordinator, and he guided the Chargers' high-powered aerial attack around Fouts. A year later he finally got a head coaching job, at Stanford at the age of 45, and quickly proved he was up to the task of leadership. Two years later, he was the 49ers coach. Three years after that, he was The Genius of San Francisco.

He disclosed his illness in 2006 after undergoing many months of treatment and blood transfusions.
Besides his wife, he is survived by two children, Craig and Elizabeth; his sister, Maureen; and two grandchildren.
Funeral arrangements are incomplete.

Agree, will always be remembered as a legend in coaching circles, an intellectual, innovator, and motivator, very nice statements from former assistants and players all over the sports. Man 75, can't believe it.

From some stories in the press, a steady stream of former players and coaches met with Walsh over the past year after it was announced he was fighting the cancer. They used to meet for lunch and he rarely talked about his illness, focusing on other subjects like football and what the people were up to in their lives. Days before he passed John Madden and Al Davis were with him at either the hospital or his room talking and trading war stories. He fought until the end and left life giving others an example on how to go out with class as well. :rip:

Irish and nose, I think you'll like this one:

Memories of Bill Walsh
Tom FitzGerald, Chronicle Staff Writer
Thursday, August 9, 2007

(08-09) 21:11 PDT -- Vignettes of Bill Walsh, gathered at Thursday's private memorial service at Stanford:

Mike Shumann, 49ers receiver (1978-79, '81), sports anchor at KGO-TV (Channel 7): "When we first went down to play the Rams, he was concerned that we were going to get influenced by Hollywood and break curfew and go out, so he got (assistant coaches) Bobb McKittrick, Sam Wyche and Denny Green to dress up as a hooker, a pimp and a drug dealer, just to show us what we had to stay away from. Can you imagine telling Bobb McKittrick, 'I need you to find a wig and a dress?' Those guys had to be thinking to themselves, 'What is he doing?' It was just his sense of humor. ...
"Of course, he played the hotel bellhop in Detroit (before Super Bow XVI). He tried to grab my bag, and I just fore-armed him away. I'm coming back down the elevator, and (guard) John Ayers says, 'Did you see Bill dressed as a bellhop?' I said, 'That was Bill? I'll never get in the game now.' "

Dick Vermeil, former Eagles/Rams/Chiefs head coach: "He was the least mechanical guy I've ever been around in my life. There wasn't a household chore that he could do comfortably. It was amazing because he was so gifted in so many ways. ...
"He flew in an F-16 fighter after he was out of coaching. Through the entire flight he had to go to the bathroom. He's in this jumpsuit. He gets out and they go through this whole parade and ceremony, and he told me later all he wanted to do was go to the men's room.''

Harris Barton, 49ers offensive tackle (1987-98): "A couple of years ago, I was having lunch with Bill, and I asked him what the best offensive drive he ever had was. He said, 'Harris, when I came back to Stanford, we were playing at Notre Dame. We received the kickoff, and they were heavy favorites. I stood and watched our 17-play, nine-minute drive, and told myself, "This is like art." And after we scored, Notre Dame ran the kickoff back for a touchdown.' "

Mike Holmgren, Seattle Seahawks coach, 49ers assistant (1986-91): "We were playing the Minnesota Vikings and Joe (Montana) was hurt and Steve (Young) was playing. Steve fumbled the snap from center early in the game. Bill was convinced that, behind his back, I had changed the snap count for all the 49ers. In the locker room, I said, 'I would not change the snap count,' He said, 'I know you did. Steve would not fumble the snap.' "

Dusty Baker, ex-Giants/Cubs manager: "The greatest thing he gave me was a manual about how he started with the 49ers and set up their organization. I've got to go find it. It was a big thing -- how to treat players, their wives, their mothers. The only person I ever let see it was (Giants GM) Brian Sabean. It's probably my most prized possession. I've got to pull it out and review some things for the next time. He has inspired me to want to manage again.''

Milt McColl, 49ers linebacker (1981-87): "On the bus to the Super Bowl, the second bus got stuck in the snow and the traffic, and they were just sitting there. Bill gets up and says, 'Don't worry, guys. I just got a call from the field. (Equipment manager) Chico Norton scored, and we're ahead, 7-0.' "

Dwight Clark, 49ers receiver (1979-87): "He told us, 'Men, we need to be as rested as we can to win this game. For some of you, that will mean a lot of sex and for the others, it will mean none at all. It's up to you to figure it out.' ...
"When Joe (Montana) and I were with him over the last few months, he was still accusing us of sneaking out of training camp. He even fined us one day, without any evidence. We paid him with Monopoly money, and he actually accepted it.''

Steve Young, 49ers quarterback (1987-99), Hall of Famer: "In 1988, he decided I was going to get in the game. Joe drives the team down to the 10 against the great New Orleans defense, and Bill tells me to go in and run that bootleg. It was probably the first time I stepped onto the field for the 49ers. I go in and call the play, but forget to put the tight end in motion. The guy I'm supposed to throw the ball to is on the wrong side, so Rickey Jackson comes in and sacks me for a 7-yard loss. Joe comes back on the field. Bill looked at me. 'You dumb SOB.' I spent months digging out of that hole.''

Jamie Williams, 49ers tight end (1989-93): "I was the only guy in the league with dreadlocks. I came from Houston and was worried he'd say, 'This guy is too crazy for us.' He said what great feet I had and what great hands I had. I said, 'So my hair doesn't bother you?' He said, 'Your hair isn't going to make plays for you.' That decompressed me and I ready to come on board."

Tom Holmoe, 49ers safety (1983-89), athletic director at BYU: "We were in minicamp at Santa Clara, and Bill asked for volunteers to go with him to a charity breakfast. About 15 or 20 of the players went. He spoke and said, 'I believe in this charity, and I would like everybody here to contribute. I'll start with a $10,000 contribution, and I know my players here -- please stand up -- will all give $1,000. We looked at each other, and said, 'What? Is he paying for us?' We got back to camp, and decided, well, he's our guy. There was probably $30,000 or
$40,000 raised, and he did it on the spot.''

Ted Leland, former Stanford athletic director: "Bill had made some comments in the papers about the Washington players, and this was when they were a very good team. We were getting angry e-mail and phone calls (from Husky fans). When Bill got off the plane in Seattle, all the press was waiting. He put on one of those fake noses and glasses. It diffused the whole thing. Even they had to laugh."

Mike White, ex-Raiders head coach, 49ers assistant (1978-79): "My wife and I were with him two or three days before he passed away. We told him about the wedding of one of our sons Sept. 14. And he said, 'Oh, I'll be back for that.' "

Marty Connelly, long-time friend: "He never saw a golf shot he didn't like. No matter where the ball was --in the deep brush, behind a tree -- you'd look around and the ball would be in the fairway. He had a better toe than Lou Groza. ...
"In college, we were called the Dateless Wonders. We'd go out to a beer joint, and even then Bill would map out a plan to go to a table full of girls. By the time we executed, they were gone.''

Jerry Rice, 49ers receiver (1985-2000), Hall of Famer: "He brought me up to his office after a game when I had three touchdowns, over 200 yards, about 12 catches. I thought he was going to pat me on the back. He told me he needed more from me. He brought up Ronnie Lott, Joe Montana, Keena Turner and said the same thing.''

Bill Ring, 49ers running back (1981-86): "One season it rained practically every day. At practice, guys had caps, gloves, anything they could to stay warm. Bill gathered us in the practice facility at Redwood City and really gave it to us. 'It's a little rain, for heaven's sake. Take all that crap off.' So we're out on the field, and five or 10 minutes go by. Here comes Bill dressed like a fisherman, with a big hat and a big yellow slicker, with boots and yellow pants."

Geri Walsh, widow of Bill Walsh: "I was registering for courses at San Jose State, and he was ogling me. He was ogling all the girls. He was an upper classman, and I was a freshman. He asked me my phone number, but I didn't have a phone yet. So he asked me to come to a boxing match with him. He was fighting in the Gold Gloves. So I went to the arena to see him box. He won. I remember how wonderful he looked.''

This is a poem written by Bill Walsh's sister, Maureen Walsh Tutton, and read at Thursday's private memorial service by Rev. Patrick LaBelle, pastor of the Catholic Community at Stanford. Tutton has battled lung cancer for eight years.


TO MY BROTHER BILL

Then, you were simply Billy,
Who took my hand crossing the street,
Held my doll while I combed her hair,
Who kept a spider collection in jars in the garage
And a snake in a box under your bed.
My big brother.
Billy, who tussled with the boys down the street,
Throwing punches while I kicked at their legs.
Used me like a duck in a shooting gallery
While you threw spiral passes as I crisscrossed the yard.
Picked me up when I fell off my Schwinn
And forgave me when I dropped a large rock on your pet lizard
Or left open the door to your homing pigeon coop.
My big brother.
Became Bill when you moved away to college.
Told your handsome football friends
I was thirteen when I was trying so hard to look seventeen.
Then you married beautiful Geri,
Came home in an Army uniform and then with a son.
My older brother Bill.
Coach Bill, looking so handsome on television
Filling me with pride as I watched you from afar
While you reached for the stars, something driving you to succeed.
Sharing you with so many,
Missing you,
Being with you for the big events, sharing your glory.
That's MY brother!
Bill, the famous coach whose pace had slowed
Who provided for the care of mom and dad until they passed.
The safety net who could always fix things
And give wise counsel and encouragement,
Sharing more time with family and friends.
Still the rock, my brother.
Then the path grew steep and slippery
And you let me be at your side as you climbed
Holding your hand as you fought the good fight
Even until the end when you told me
I was still beautiful with my bald head and hollow eyes,
Telling me to be strong but to let you go,
Promising we would see each other again,
Saying farewell.
Simply Bill, my beloved brother.
Sis

I met him briefly at an LA Raiders training camp in EL Segundo just after he had left the 49ers. I was real surprised to see him walking down the street to the facility.

To a mainly armchair fan this was akin to a God getting out of his van.

A true gentleman considering he was on some kind of business with the Raiders. He stopped and talked a while totaly unfazed by 3 adoring Brits with their mouths open in awe.

I think for a while he acted as some sort of consultant/mentor to Mike Shanahan when he was Raiders head coach.

Here is another from the paper today that is a good read:

Nancy Gay On the NFL Remembering Bill Walsh
A fond farewell
Memories of a 'man who cared' for people
Nancy Gay
Friday, August 10, 2007

Bill Walsh orchestrated so many exquisite plays, brilliant schemes and spectacular dreams throughout his rich lifetime, it was only fitting that his final script be just perfect.
And so it was.
Walsh's valiant battle against leukemia ended July 30, but he planned his exit strategy very meticulously. Very thoughtfully.
He wanted his family - his immediate one, his extended 49ers clan and the overflowing NFL and sports kin numbering more than 1,000 that gathered at Stanford Memorial Church on Thursday - to come together, to remember.
To rejoice, in one another.
This was not a funeral. That is not what Bill Walsh wanted.
Rather, he planned a magnificent family reunion as his final farewell, with the powerful voices of the Glide Ensemble filling the rotunda of the Stanford chapel with hymns of praise and comfort.
Walsh asked that his dear friend, Dr. Harry Edwards, lift up the mourners with a stirring eulogy that offered a message melding perspective, reflection and inspiration.
"Bill wanted to be remembered as a man who cared about people," Edwards said. "He believed that people are at their very best as individuals, when they are working with and for each other."
Teamwork. Walsh revered it so.
Before and after the service, amid the warm, sun-splashed gathering in Stanford's Serra Mall, the message of love and togetherness that Walsh hoped to foster at his memorial positively flowed.
Not through tears, or sadness. But through hugs and kisses and long embraces that reminded everyone there that they were all bound together, by a man whose commitment to perfection, to achievement and winning and sacrifice touched them so profoundly.
"I feel so much joy here today! This is my family! These are my people. And I love them. I truly do," exclaimed former 49ers wide receiver Freddie Solomon, who was one of countless Walsh charges to feel the exact same way.
Solomon - overwhelmed by the gathering of familiar faces before him - was absolutely jubilant. He hugged everyone's neck. So did a cavalcade of 49ers and NFL greats: Eddie DeBartolo, Joe Montana, Jerry Rice, Ronnie Lott, Dwight Clark, Steve Young, Roger Craig, Keena Turner, Guy McIntyre, Harris Barton, Steve Wallace, Jesse Sapolu, Jamie Williams, Merton Hanks, Bill Romanowski, Chris Doleman.
Too many family members to list.
Walsh's indomitable spirit, and his influence, soared across the Stanford campus. It was a Hall of Fame caisson of eminence, the likes of which you rarely see.
Don Shula stood to the left, Mike Ditka to the right, Dusty Baker in the middle. John Madden and Dan Fouts. Dick Vermeil, George Seifert, Steve Mariucci, Pete Carroll, Ray Rhodes and Dennis Green. Russ Francis, in a Hawaiian shirt.
Mike Nolan, the current 49ers coach, was humbled and honored to deliver Walsh's favorite Bible passage, Psalm 23.
Mike Holmgren, standing quietly in the back of the chapel, dabbed his eyes one minute and smiled the next.
Where else would former San Francisco mayors Frank Jordan and Dianne Feinstein come together with Franklin Mieuli and NFL commissioner Roger Goodell?
It was Walsh, Sen. Feinstein said during the service, who helped a tortured San Francisco heal through a time of enormous upheaval.
When the murders of Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk at the hands of one of her ex-colleagues, the Jonestown massacre and the frightening emergence of the AIDS epidemic all threatened to rip apart the Bay Area, Walsh's Super Bowl teams offered unity.
They provided light through the shadows.
"Hope came, to a city that had been in the dark for so many years," Feinstein said.
Walsh loved his family, near and far, so dearly that it was his final wish that they all cherish one another on one glorious day celebrating his life and legacy.
"Not one conversation with Bill that I ever had was wasted," DeBartolo said.
"He loved coaching quarterbacks," said Young, "and he was the master of the rhetorical question: 'How could you do that?'
" 'Can't you do it like Joe?' "
And Montana, perhaps the athlete Walsh admired and revered the most, struggled mightily to give his mentor due justice.
Montana stopped momentarily to gather his emotions. He spoke through tears. Then he smiled, because the memories are too wonderful to ignore.
There was a game, Montana told the assembly, when he threw two interceptions. On those occasions following mistakes, he always dreaded retreating to the sideline and facing Walsh's pointed stare.
On this day, Montana remembered, he felt particularly bold.
" 'What was that?' Bill asked me after the second interception," Montana recalled.
"That was an interception, coach," I said.
"Yes, and it was a darn good one. But let's not do it again," was Walsh's reply.
The church erupted in laughter.
That final script Walsh wrote? It was working.
Three days before Walsh died at the age of 75, Montana visited with him. Weak in body but clear in mind, Walsh asked Montana to deliver a specific message.
"He wanted to let all of you know that he loved you," Montana told the audience. "He loved all of you."
And that sentiment was returned, in volumes.
"Coach," Montana said in response, and in closing, "we love you, too."

Walsh service:

What: Bill Walsh memorial service
When: 11 a.m. today (gates open 10 a.m.)
Where: Candlestick
Admission/parking: Free
TV: {KRON}, KGO Plus, NFL Network
Radio: 680 AM
On the Web: cbs5.com
Transit: Muni has set up special service. See sfmuni.com.

Another tribute to Coach Walsh in today's S.F. Chronicle:

A vision beyond football
by Richard Rapaport
Sunday, August 12, 2007

The morning Bill Walsh died, my editor, Owen Edwards, sent an e-mail titled "a bad day." We had both worked with Bill, and the thought of the world without his elegant, laconic presence made it a bad day, indeed. In Bill Walsh, the Bay Area lost a heroic, defining figure and we lost a mentor and friend.

The confluence of Bill Walsh's cerebral reshaping of professional football and the phenomenon known as "Silicon Valley" wasn't coincidental and it is correct to place Bill Walsh alongside Robert Noyce, Bill Hewlett, David Packard, Gordon Moore and those who invented the technology/business phenomenon of which the Bay Area is ground zero. That Bill Walsh's "thinking man's" football routed the dumbos from around the NFL gave us a cachet and a confidence integral in crowning the Bay Area as a capital of intellect and accomplishment.

I first met Bill at a 1984 press event, after a Sunday in which the 49ers dismembered the Los Angeles Rams, 33-0. It could have been 133-0, except that humiliation was not in the Walsh's playbook. Bill refused to hand an opponent any potential future psychological edge. It exemplified Walsh's propensity to think improbably far ahead; "We have to remind ourselves," he explained in our 1993 Harvard Business Review interview, "that it's not just a single game we are trying to win. It is a season and a series of seasons ..."

At that 1984 press conference, I asked Walsh to compare that week's Rams blowout with the first game against the Dallas Cowboys in the 1981 season. This had been an early season match-up in which Joe Montana wrecked the powerhouse Cowboys, passing for four touchdowns in the first half. When I asked the question, Walsh got that far-ahead look and replied that while the Ram's game was important, "that first Dallas game made this franchise ... and what's your name?"

Having hit the right note, I was invited to hang around the 49ers headquarters. Walsh was willing to make time. It was often late, with game day approaching, when he would call me into his office to talk not about football, but rather about history, war, business and economics, unexpected subjects considering the setting.

It became clear that Walsh was a qualitative great leap forward from the Vince Lombardi/George Halas, "three-yards-and-a-cloud of dust,'' school of coaching. His teams similarly varied from the NFL norm of a strong-arm organization built to outmuscle the opposition. In Walsh World, the difference was, "we asked more of our players intellectually than our opponents were asking of theirs."

Walsh's brainy approach worked. The 1984 49ers went 15-1 and won Super Bowl XIX. In the following two decades the 49ers won three more Super Bowls, and a remarkable number of Walsh's assistants went on to become head coaches. In 1992, he returned to Stanford to coach and the Harvard Business Review asked me to interview him about the theory and practice of coaching in modern management.
The subject intrigued Bill. It was no coincidence that he would later lease space in the Sand Hill Road Business Park, the iconic home of high-tech finance. Bill fit with executives and entrepreneurs who, like him, recognized that traditional management needed to rethink what was a new business model. In our Harvard Business Review piece and his Forbes ASAP column, Bill recast his Super Bowl-winning philosophy in corporate terms. He spoke of the end of an era in which "an organization would simply discard a player who did not fit a specific, predefined role."
Instead, he suggested his 49er model, which tailored the system to fit the strengths of the players. The 49ers with Joe Montana, was offensively different that it was with Steve Young. Walsh also advocated that organizations be run "like open forums in which everyone participates in the decision-making process." Achieving this organizational buy-in made for a powerful collective will to win. To do it, however, Walsh stressed that the organizational fear factor needed to be eliminated, any idea, foolish or brilliant, would be considered without retribution. In Walsh's organization, ego wasn't an option, even for him.

Ultimately, Bill Walsh's winning equanimity derived from his own professional struggles. While head coaches were typically chosen in their early 40s, Walsh didn't get his shot until Stanford hired him at 47. "I was in a subordinate role as an assistant coach for a longer period of time than most," he noted, "so I was forced to analyze, evaluate and learn to appreciate the roles that other people play more than I might have. In retrospect," he concluded with the modesty that always became him, "I was lucky."
We were the lucky ones.

This article appeared on page C - 5 of the San Francisco Chronicle