When Al Schaffer turned 5 in 1939, his first hero was his cousin Art Guse. He was a basketball coach in New Troy, Mich., knee-deep in the game that was beginning to fascinate a young and impressionable boy.
The reverence, though, grew from something far more profound than a round ball, squeaking sneakers and snapping nets.
In 1941, the day after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Guse volunteered to join the military. One of his duties was to march Germans to common graves outside of World War II concentration camps, forcing them to dig up bodies to shine a jarring light on the horrifying scenes.
“Many Germans denied the atrocities because it was hid by Hitler and the Nazis,” Schaffer said. “A lot of people were in denial. But I saw the pictures of it at a dinner in 1945.”
In Schaffer’s mind, serving and coaching shared noble roots. In one chapter, his cousin put his life on the line to defend his country. In another, he taught a game and the broader lessons baked in to hungry generations.
On Saturday, Schaffer turned 90. Those early influences led to a life surrendered to a game, from rundown gyms on finicky buses during snowstorms to the shimmering California coast.
Basketball took hold and never loosened its grip.
Schaffer coached at three high schools in Michigan, one of which is about to dedicate an outdoor court to him. He later coached at Ramona High School and has been a basketball junkie routinely seen around San Diego State.
When Schaffer lost his wife, Lillian, in 2010 to a rare, incurable disease called amyloidosis, Aztecs coaches Steve Fisher and Brian Dutcher vowed to keep him involved with their program.
It provided a meaningful bridge after 45 years of high school coaching.
Basketball lifer, after all.
“My wife said I was obsessed with the game,” Schaffer said. “She would say, ‘I’m No. 2.’ I said, ‘For two hours a day, you are No. 2. I’ll admit it.’ She would ask me something at 10 at night and I was thinking about how to beat Torrey Pines or El Camino.”
As Schaffer talked, an hour melted away. He flawlessly remembers the names, stats and timeline of a journey buoyed by basketball from one of life’s baselines to the other.
He hits rewind, explaining how he became one of the first jump shooters in Michigan.
“We were right across the Lake (Michigan) from Chicago, so we listened to radio coverage and read the papers,” Schaffer said. “One day, the Chicago Tribune had a headline, (Minneapolis) ‘Laker Star’s New Shot’ about Whitey Skoog. It had images of his jump shot.
“I cut it out and emulated him. I had my feet like him. I held the ball like him. It changed my life. Nobody knew how to guard the jump shot then.”
Think about how many basketball miles Schaffer has logged. He was there as the jump shot was gathering its newborn legs like a baby giraffe.
Decades upon decades later, and Schaffer is still at it without a hint of slowing down. He recently returned from a third straight year volunteering at a basketball festival in Lisbon, Portugal.
Nothing, though, resonates in his core more than helping lead the charge with “Team Mark” in San Diego’s annual walk for ALS research. The team rallies around Mark Fisher, the son of the former Aztecs coach who is an assistant coach with the program.
How much money has Schaffer helped raise?
“Hundreds of thousands of dollars,” said Steve Becvar of the ALS Association, who previously served as executive director of the group’s San Diego chapter. “That’s just direct impact. He’s chaired our biggest event. He hands out flyers right and left at football games. He hands out ALS pins at Viejas Arena.
“He’s been amazing.”
Basketball has always been the glue.
It was not the winning, though plenty of those would come, 596 in all. It was the process, the relationships, the sound of a bouncing ball echoing in a quiet gym.
Schaffer’s first head coaching gig at Litchfield (Mich.) High School seemed an exercise in tilting at windmills. The team owned the longest losing streak of any school in the state with 700 or more students.
“I turned down a job in Ohio where I knew they would be terrific,” he said. “We didn’t win a game all year. It was a marvelous experience. I tell coaches it’s an invaluable life lesson to lose every game.”
Those relationships? Priceless.
When they readied to retire Schaffer’s “jersey” in Ramona, Dutcher and a member of his staff asked what number he would use. The Aztecs coach suggested his career win total.
“Then Dutch said, ‘Just don’t let them put the 700 you lost on there,’” Schaffer said.
“I mean, the guy loves basketball,” Dutcher said. “I’ve known Al since I got here 25 years ago. I love Al, love his enthusiasm at 90 for the game of basketball and for young people. What he does for ALS and the walk, he’s just a motivated, high-energy guy at 90. He’s just fun to have around.”
The kindness to keep Schaffer around Montezuma Mesa has not been lost on the former coach.
“Either they appreciate an old coach’s input or they’re humoring an old man,” Schaffer said. “As long as I get the (game) tickets, I don’t care.”
Another laugh. Another memory.
In the basketball-bouncing life of Al Schaffer, there have been plenty of both.
