Legendary High School Basketball Coach, Bob Hurley

On defense at St. Anthony's
By Jill Lieber, USA TODAY
JERSEY CITY — Bob Hurley is a giver. As head basketball coach at St. Anthony's High School the past 31 years, he has given 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days of the year to aspiring students from the downtrodden, drug-infested neighborhoods of this city.
Basketball star Terrence Roberts rests inside decrepit St. Anthony's gym. The wall behind him is rotten and falling apart.
He has given as a coach, teacher, father figure, advisor, mentor and friend.
He has nurtured his players with love and nourished them with meals. He has carted them to and from practice and found them jobs. His wife, Chris, has tutored them and prepared them for their SATs. The Hurleys have hauled them to tournaments in California, Hawaii and Florida and taken them on family vacations to their house on the Jersey Shore.
And when his players have been hassled, stabbed or shot at, Hurley has vehemently protected them, standing up to the gang members in the projects.
Now the time has come for Hurley to switch roles, and he's in quite a quandary. Because of a decrease in charitable donations since the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, St. Anthony's has fallen into such dire financial straits that it will probably be forced to close at the end of this school year.
"St. Anthony's is a value center in that community," says Duke men's basketball coach Mike Krzyzewski, who lists Hurley's oldest son, Bobby, among his prized pupils. "To remove that, you stand to risk losing the worst you can lose, a place kids learn to play together, to be honest people. That would be such a shame."
After saving hundreds of lives, Hurley has no clue how he's going to save the tiny, yellow brick school on Eighth Street.
"I'm very uncomfortable asking for help," he says. "I've never done it, and I don't know who to ask. Who is my potential audience? Do I say, 'These are good kids who grow up to become productive adults?' I'm happy with that, but is it enough for a potential donor?"
Being in a financial crisis is nothing new for St. Anthony's. Founded in 1952, it was the parish school of the Polish Catholic church five blocks up the street. "Konfesjonal" is still embossed on the confessional booths, but most of the congregation has moved on, a result of "white flight" in the late '70s and early '80s. The dying parish declared St. Anthony's an "independent" school, which eliminated the church from any financial obligation.
By 1991, the school was on the verge of shutting down. St. Anthony's now has a $1.6 million annual operating budget. But because of a steadily declining enrollment, and the school's inability to raise tuition because students can barely pay as is, the school needs at least $500,000 a year to remain up and running. A board of trustees was formed to raise the money each year.
"And every year it's a survival test," says Sister Felicia, the school's principal.
Dual-career track
Although he's too humble to do so, Hurley, 55, probably ought to tell potential donors his story, because that unique little school, and that legendary basketball program, truly are his heart and soul. He's Jersey City, through and through. Born in the Greenville section, in the southern part of the city. Raised in St. Paul's parish. His father a Jersey City cop. His wife a Jersey City girl, from neighboring Sacred Heart parish.
During his sophomore year at local St. Peter's College, Hurley realized he wasn't in the Peacocks' plans, so he walked off the varsity basketball team and right into a volunteer job coaching a CYO grammar school team in his parish. Although he'd wanted to be a teacher, a substitute stint after graduation turned him off. His father suggested he apply as a probation officer, and he held that post for 30 years until retiring last July. He now heads the city's department of recreation.
Coaching, Hurley says, is his avocation, his salvation.
"After working 8:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m., supervising men on probation, poor souls who made bad decisions and wound up with no education and criminal records, I'd be wigged out," he says. "Then, I'd open the gym in the late afternoons, have kids from the same neighborhoods, but see they've got tremendous potential as people. There, I could make an important, lasting impact."
His youngest son, Danny, a former Seton Hall star who's now the head coach at St. Benedict's Prep in Newark, says his father's greatest gift is his ability to "penetrate the hardest hearts and the stiffest souls," a talent put to the test in the probation department and in coaching.
"He has an innate feel for kids and what they can do," Danny says. "He knows how to make the most out of what others see as seemingly very little."
Over the years, Hurley has built the Friars into a national powerhouse, and himself into a mythical figure in basketball, amassing a 755-86 record. His teams won 23 state championships, one shy of tying the national record held by Cheyenne (Wyo.) Central.
He makes $6,500 at St. Anthony's but ends up spending more than that on basketballs, Gatorade, water, pizzas, Quarter Pounders and anything else that fuels teenage boys. He regularly donates money to St. Anthony's from his speaking engagements and basketball camps.
Because the school has no gym, the Friars practiced at 25 facilities, the main site at the White Eagle Bingo Hall on Newark Avenue. Hurley renovated the joint, refinishing the basketball court and building a weight room in the basement.
The Friars have played "home" games in nine gyms, including the Jersey City Armory, where Hurley also constructed a court and put up a scoreboard. The team currently plays "home" games at the Golden Door Charter School, across the street from St. Anthony's.
His house is their house
All but one of Hurley's players have gone onto college. Five have played in the NBA, including his son, Bobby, an All-America guard at Duke. Two others are playing Major League Baseball: John Valentin of the New York Mets and Willie Banks of the Boston Red Sox. A dozen have become coaches. Three dozen work with at-risk, inner-city youth, teenagers and adults.
Hurley has inspired the faculty and student body to strive for excellence, too. Although 60% of students come from families living below the federal poverty line of about $15,000 a year, every graduate has been accepted to college each of the past 10 years. Last year's valedictorian, Joshua Madrid, who played basketball on the freshman and junior varsity teams, is now at Dartmouth. His parents are laborers who speak little English.
"We really have a place that's almost too good to be true in the way people care about kids," says Sister Alan, the school's athletic director. "You warm to these kids. You love them. St. Anthony's is a place you give your heart to."
It has often been said that kids don't play for Hurley, they enlist. A strict disciplinarian, Hurley demands total commitment. They attend study halls before practice, train all year and live by a narrow set of rules. But in return, the Hurleys are even more committed, embracing their players as family, showering them with unconditional love and support.
"Melissa has been to every game," Chris says of their 21-year-old daughter. "She started going when she was two months old. Bob would take Bobby and Danny to practice to give me a break, and they'd fall asleep on a bed made out of the players' coats."
Just the thought of the school closing has ripped people's hearts out. "Coach Hurley and the St. Anthony's program have been one of the few, if not only, pathways of light to getting out to areas of opportunity," says former Notre Dame star David Rivers, an '84 St. Anthony's graduate. "It's a place rich with discipline, tradition and honor. It prepared me for life. It would be a tragedy, a devastation to Jersey City, if St. Anthony's closes."