Al Williams was a sophomore at North Idaho College in the spring of 1979 when he entered Don Monson’s office with a question: Could he walk on at Idaho?
Monson had just finished his first year as a Division I head coach with 11 wins and 15 losses. He was rebuilding. He had no scholarships left. But he looked at Williams and said, “I’m wide open right now. I can’t guarantee you anything, but I’ll give you a shot.”
The rest is now a bond that stretches back 46 years.
“He was a good person, a good family man, coach, mentor and, for me, a good friend,” Williams said. “He gave me a chance to fulfill my dream. I always appreciated him giving me that opportunity. He remained a friend and an impact on my life. When I became an athletic director, I would be able to call upon him. He was there for me, and it was nice that he was with us for as long as he was: 92 years, a pretty good run.”
Don Monson’s legacy was never about the wins. It was about the lives he changed.
The Coeur d’Alene native, who was not just a coach but a father figure and mentor to so many, died on Wednesday, Oct. 1, announced via his son’s social media, at 92, a Vandal until his final breath, proving that loyalty runs deeper than any game.
“Anybody that lives until 92 years old should be celebrated,” said Dan Monson, son of Don Monson and current head men’s basketball coach at Eastern Washington University. “My dad was who he was. What you saw on the court was what you’d see at home Friday night, what you’d see at church on Sunday. My dad wasn’t trying to be somebody else. He was a good man, coach, dad, husband. What he showed me is you can be successful in your profession and still not compromise who you are as a person.”
Current Idaho men’s basketball head coach Alex Pribble feels his loss and impact he had to this day on the Idaho basketball program.
“Coach Monson is Vandal basketball,” Pribble said in a Vandal Athletics press release. “He built this program into a powerhouse during his time here and impacted this university and this community in an incredible way. We are forever grateful for the foundation that he laid here. Our hearts are with the Monson family, along with the many players that he coached and impacted throughout his career.”
Five years that changed everything
Don Monson is a legend at the University of Idaho, and his five-year tenure changed the path of Vandal men’s basketball forever.
From 1978-83, Monson posted a record of 100-41, turning a program that went 4-22 the season before his arrival into a powerhouse with two NCAA tournament appearances and an NIT bid.
Fresh off helping Michigan State win a national championship as an assistant coach, Monson returned to Idaho, this time with a whistle around his neck and the weight of a program on his shoulders.
His first step was his first recruiting class, which included Vandal Hall of Fame members guard Brian Kellerman and forward Phil Hobson. Williams joined the following year, making the team and playing his final two seasons under Monson as the foundation came together in Moscow.
“As a coach, he was a fierce competitor, and I think that’s the way he was perceived by a lot of people,” Kellerman said. “To his players, he was hard, but in a good way. Off the floor, he was a warm, caring individual and a special person.”
Monson’s fierce coaching style and his hunger to win quickly rubbed off on his players. After an 11-15 start in year one, he improved the team to 17-10 in year two. That was only the beginning for the guys in black and gold.
In his third season, Monson led the Vandals to a 25-4 record and the school’s first trip to the NCAA tournament. Their magical season ended against the University of Pittsburgh, but something had shifted in Moscow.
The next season, the Vandals went 24-2 and climbed as high as no. 6 in the AP Poll. Idaho earned a first-round bye in the NCAA tournament before hosting sixth-seeded Iowa at a sold-out Beasley Coliseum, just eight miles from campus.
After a back-and-forth battle, Kellerman hit a game-winning jumper that sent the Kibbie Dome into chaos and the Vandals to the Sweet 16, where their season would end against Oregon State.
In Monson’s final year at Idaho, he finished 20-9 before taking the head coaching job at the University of Oregon.
Beyond the wins
The wins, trophies and banners were nice. But what Monson did for his players, both on and off the court, was what made him who he was and his legacy unbreakable.
“He did so much for so many people and impacted so many people in ways that other people never really knew about, beyond basketball,” Kellerman said. “He was a great coach, but a loyal-to-the-core person, big-hearted. He was a father figure to a lot of players.”
Williams expressed similar sentiments and recalls his favorite memory of Monson and his superstitious ways.
“He was really superstitious,” Williams said, laughing. “If we had a winning streak going on, we had to make sure we stayed at the same hotel, whatever city we played at. Matter of fact, he even had his lucky underwear that he wore during winning streaks.
“I remember he would walk around the arena, we played in the Kibbie Dome, and he would take walks before the game. Unbeknownst to him, he was superstitious, so if he found a lucky coin on the ground, he thought it was going to be a good game. What he didn’t know was that the assistant coach on the squad at that time, Barry Collier, would strategically place coins around the Kibbie Dome. He thought it was going to be a lucky day, but he didn’t realize those coins were placed there by the assistant coach.”
A family legacy
Along for the ride throughout his coaching journey was his family: his wife, Deanna, and his three children, Dana, Dan and Darla.
Dan Monson was especially close to his dad, looking up to him both on and off the court. As he watched his father prowl the sidelines, a passion grew, a desire to be like him. All the lessons he learned led him to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a college basketball coach himself.
“I learned how to coach from Dan Fitzgerald, the former head coach of Gonzaga, during my first job as an assistant. But I learned what it is to be a coach from my dad,” Dan Monson said. “There’s really a distinction there. To be a coach, you have to manage a lot of people, and every kid you can’t coach the same.”
“For my dad, I watched him take orange juice to players in the morning that were sick, or be there when their dads weren’t there, or discipline them for things that might not seem important to them. But he knew, as they grow up to be men…I learned so much from my dad. I went to every practice when I was a kid, and I just wanted to be able to impact other people’s lives as much as he did.”
Williams echoed the sentiment, remembering fondly his time playing under Don Monson.
“He was tough on us,” Williams said. “It was like tough love. He had to make us believe that we were winners and believe in ourselves first. He was able to bring that winning attitude to the program. It wasn’t easy. It was hard to play for him, I’ll be honest. But the ones that stuck around and believed in him and his program, as a coach, I don’t think his legacy will ever be surpassed in the history of Idaho basketball.”
A Vandal to the end
Until his final days, Don Monson was a Vandal.
Last weekend, Dan Monson went to visit his father, who asked him to pull up the Vandals football game on the iPad. It wasn’t on TV, so they had to stream it.
“I read somewhere where he proclaimed that he’s a Vandal for life, and he was a Vandal for his adult life,” Dan Monson said. “Last Saturday, I went down to see him, and he said, ‘Bring the iPad. I got to watch the Vandals football game, and it’s not on TV, so I got to get it on streams.’ He died a Vandal. And I appreciate what that means, because for him, he was very proud to say that.”
From the kid from Coeur d’Alene who grew up an hour and a half away, to the man who roamed the sidelines and led his alma mater, the team of his heart, to glory time and time again, Don Monson now rests.
But his legacy doesn’t rest with him. It lives in every player he gave a shot to. Every morning he showed up with orange juice. Every hard truth he told because he cared too much not to. Every coin strategically placed by an assistant coach who knew superstition mattered to a man who believed.
He died a Vandal. He lived as something more, a father when players needed one, a coach who saw potential where others saw walk-ons, a man who proved you don’t have to compromise who you are to be great at what you do.
Monson left behind 92 years, a life well-lived, a legacy that won’t be forgotten.
Jayden Barfuss can be reached at arg-s[email protected].