Temple staff shares John Chaney memories on the anniversary of the Hall of Fame coach’s death

One year after he died at 89 and 16 years after his final season on North Broad Street, John Chaney’s influence remains deeply rooted at Temple.

Those old enough to have close relationships with Chaney all have favorite stories about the charismatic, larger-than-life, Hall of Fame coach.

His prudent basketball teachings, the unabashed affection he showed for his players, and his willingness to stick up for others are why he’s most remembered. But Chaney never took the credit.

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Chaney’s resumé speaks for itself. He coached the Owls for 24 seasons (1982-2006), winning 516 games while making 17 NCAA Tournament appearances, including five trips to the Elite Eight. Before that, he went 232-56 in 10 years at Cheyney State College — now Cheyney University — and won the 1978 Division II national championship.

“I came from a humble background and devoted a great deal of work in teaching to youngsters who ultimately gave me a chance to become a better person,” Chaney said in a 2020 phone interview. “If it were not for the help of others, there would not be me.”

Here are a few memorable Chaney stories shared by members of Temple’s current coaching staff.

Looking at stat sheets after a game was impermissible in Temple’s locker room during Aaron McKie’s playing days (1991-94). It was Chaney’s way of keeping his players off guard and even-keeled.

If you picked up that piece of paper postgame, he’d grab it out of your hands and say, “Gimme that stat sheet! I’ll tell you how good you played.”

McKie remembers basking in the glory of a win behind a well-rounded individual performance. Then Chaney would lay into him about all the things he did wrong.

You could’ve gotten one more rebound. You could’ve made one extra pass. You could’ve kept this guy in front of you better.

“I’m sitting there scratching my head,” McKie said. “Like, what is he talking about?”

When Temple lost to Kansas State, 86-63, on Jan. 30, 1993, a flu-stricken McKie had a completely different performance. He admitted he lacked energy and while struggled to find the bottom of the net.

Chaney went up to McKie after the loss, put his arm around him, and said, “You gave your best. That’s what I like about you.” The program’s sixth all-time leading scorer, who finished his career with 1,650 points, was taken aback by the congratulatory nature of Chaney’s response.

McKie didn’t necessarily understand it at the time, but it clicked years after his playing days on North Broad under the legendary coach.

“That’s what drives you as a person,” said McKie, who went on to a 13-year NBA career, including eight with the Sixers. “Most good companies will pat you on the back when you’re least expecting it. They’ll dig into you when you feel like you arrived. That’s how he was, that’s how he motivated his players, and it has helped me in so many ways.”

Each of Chaney’s former players laugh when they think about his propensity to stop practice and share long-winded parables.

Chris Clark, who played for Chaney the first two seasons of his Temple career (2004-06), said after 40 minutes, he’d say, “Alright, let’s pick it back up!” By then everyone’s legs had already gone cold.

But those teachings laid foundational knowledge.

“If you didn’t understand it at the moment,” Clark said, “because you heard it enough, it opens you up for understanding later down the line when you’re experiencing life.”

Those long days become front of mind during aha moments as former players make subconscious decisions that directly correlate back to Chaney’s teachings. For Clark, the phrase he heard a million times that still sticks with him is that discipline is the highest form of intelligence.

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That became clearer to Clark after college and after having kids of his own, despite hearing it thousands of times. He’ll face decisions, major or minor, and think about that phrase.

“[I think about it] every time I’m talking about finances or trying to get in the gym more or whatever my goals are,” Clark said. “There are some days I don’t feel like going to the gym or some days I feel like buying something maybe I shouldn’t buy. The discipline behind that is what’s going to carry you through. To me, that’s gold right there.”

Temple’s staff may emphasize Chaney’s influence more on the anniversary of his passing, but according to Clark, he comes up almost every day.

Chaney’s teaching methods, sculpted by stories, gave way to paramount lessons. All of it gets passed down to the next generation.

“He’s always within us,” Clark said. “We were taught by him, he’s the teacher. All of his lessons, and who he was, is within each and every one of us. … A lot of what we’re saying and what we’re doing comes from him.”

A young Jason Ivey, living in Gadsden, Ala., owned a sports blooper tape he used to watch repeatedly.

It was filled with funny clips from each of the major professional sports and a segment of college basketball. The college hoops section was predominantly showcasing Philadelphia’s Big 5 — which the Southern native had never heard of.

Villanova coach Rollie Massimino (1973-92), La Salle’s Speedy Morris, and, of course, Chaney, each had cameos.

“I see [Chaney] yelling and screaming and cussing, just acting a fool,” said Ivey, who played at Temple from 1992-96. “I’m like 11 years old and I said, ‘Man, that guy’s crazy. I’d never play for anybody like him.’”

A few years later, Chaney was in his home on a recruiting visit, joining a family dinner. Ivey, who was named the 5A Player of the Year his senior season at Emma Sansom High School, accidentally told Chaney that night he was committing to Temple.

“I told him I was coming and didn’t realize I said it out loud,” Ivey said, with a hearty laugh. “Everyone was celebrating, but I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience.”

He eventually told Chaney about his reaction to first seeing him on that tape. Mimicking his response, Ivey channeled his coach’s notoriously deep, raspy voice, laughing through the imitation.

“It was meant to be, me coming to get you!”

After the culmination of the 2005-06 season, which also marked the end of his coaching career, Chaney was succeeded by Penn coach Fran Dunphy. But retirement couldn’t keep him away.

When Raheem Mapp reminisces about his time as the team’s manager in the early part of Dunphy’s tenure, his mind jumps to Chaney’s infectious, radiant smile when he visited practice.

“It lit up the room,” Mapp said. “And he always left you with something that was a jewel of some type of knowledge. You took back something every time you came around him. Not everybody’s like that. That’s a special person.”

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Charlie Mapp, a South Philly native and Raheem’s grandfather, went to Benjamin Franklin High School around the same time as Chaney. He always liked to bring his grandson around the legendary coach.

Fast forward, Mapp joined the program his sophomore year at Temple as a manager in 2006, which gave him the chance to reintroduce himself and share laughs about his grandfather. He then worked his way up to video coordinator and is now director of basketball operations.

Mapp’s interactions were unique because he never played through a Chaney-led practice, he never took trips to South Philly with him, nor was he ever recruited by him. For Mapp, he was often just a fly on the wall. He liked hearing every story and soaking up every lesson.

“I always knew he had a great smile and how much he loved everybody,” Mapp said. “That’s something I truly aspire to continue to live on with my life. Whether it’s with basketball or life in general, just be a good person. Be tough but make an impact as much as you can.”

Mark Macon’s first day on Temple’s campus in 1987, he told Chaney he hoped to learn everything he could offer.

The program’s all-time leading scorer (2,609 points), whose number is also one of four retired jerseys, said without hesitation he spent every day in Chaney’s office over the course of the next four years to achieve that goal.

They forged a genuine connection between summer classes and offseason workouts.

“He’d take me down to the market in South Philly,” Macon said. “He knew I liked spicy stuff so he’d see who could handle the hottest foods. We ate these spicy pork sandwiches. We’d be sitting there eating, just looking at each other, like how you blow in the air when something is too hot.”

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Food really was Chaney’s muse away from basketball. Macon remembers being in film study when someone would come in with barbecue or sweet potato donuts for the team to share laughs over.

“Then we’d get back to the business at hand,” Macon said.

Macon saw every side of his coach. Between their time shared on the court, in Chaney’s office or venturing around for the spiciest foods in South Philly, he got the whole picture.

“Super competitive, super intense, always angry, but not the kind of angry where he’s mad at the world,” Macon said. “He’s just super, super competitive between those lines. And it was more than just basketball, it was life.”