Faith Healing : Braswell Still Counts Blessings Despite Loss of Father, Brother in First Season at Northridge

It seems so cruelly ironic, this hand life has dealt Bobby Braswell.

During his first season as a college basketball coach--a period that should have been one of the happiest times of his life--he has buried his father and brother, six weeks apart.

But somehow the Cal State Northridge coach can talk about his family’s recent tragedies without even a touch of bitterness or anger.

“In human terms, it does not seem fair,” he said. “But from a faith standpoint, I know that God is in control of all things and he chose to allow these things to happen. I accept that.

“God blessed me to have my brother for 34 years and for me to know my father for 34 years. I’m thankful for the opportunity I’ve had to know both those men.”

Braswell’s emotional roller coaster began Nov. 26, three days after he had coached his first Northridge game and a day before he was to coach his first home game. His father, James Braswell Jr.--a loving disciplinarian who had sometimes worked as many as three jobs at once to raise seven children--finally had succumbed to his steadily deteriorating health. He died of complications of pneumonia at 68.

The more shocking news came Jan. 4, a day that was supposed to be a happy one in the Braswell home because it was the first birthday of daughter Kyndal, who had been born prematurely and whose life had been tenuous in her first weeks.

But Braswell’s phone rang before dawn that day, and he was stunned to hear that his older brother Victor--the best friend who used to fly to Oregon to watch the Ducks when Braswell was an assistant--had died of a heart problem that still hasn’t been fully explained. He was only 40.

“So much tragedy,” said Eddie Hill, a Northridge assistant who became like a son of Braswell when he played for him at Cleveland High in Reseda. “It’s so hard to accept there’s any reason for it. I’m amazed [Braswell] is able to bounce back so fast.”

Remarkably, Braswell coached the Matadors to victories the night after his father died and the night his brother died.

The day Victor died, Braswell showed up for the Eastern Washington game about five minutes before tipoff. After originally saying he wasn’t going to coach, he showed up after his wife, Penny, had reminded him that his “other family” needed him too.

“It meant a lot to us,” said Trenton Cross, a Northridge point guard. “It showed us that even though he was going through problems that he had with his immediate family, he also feels that we are part of his other family. And that said a lot.”

Braswell did have to miss Thursday night’s game at Montana State because he couldn’t get a flight after the game that would have had him back in Los Angeles in time for his brother’s funeral on Friday.

These days, Braswell maintains the same happy, easy-going and fatherly demeanor off the court, and the same fiery, no-nonsense, box-out-or-you’ll-run-till-you-drop attitude on the court.

Basketball, he said, is therapeutic. But the peace Braswell seems to have found, the acceptance of what seems cruelly unfair, can primarily be traced to one source.

“I don’t know if I could have dealt with it if I didn’t have the faith that I have in God,” he said. “That’s the only thing that pulled me through.”

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Braswell believes everything happens for reasons, although they aren’t always clear.

When he was a senior at Cleveland High, he accepted a scholarship to play football at Howard University in Washington. Shortly before he was to leave, however, his father had a stroke, so Braswell decided to stay home to help the family.

Because Braswell went to Northridge instead of Howard, he was around the San Fernando Valley when his former high school basketball coach offered him a job as an assistant.

Braswell would not have become a coach, he said, if his father hadn’t had a stroke and he had gone to Howard, which indicated to him that God was directing his life.

After five years at Cleveland, four as head coach, four as an assistant at Long Beach State and four more at Oregon, Braswell was hired in May to coach at Northridge.

He now says he believes his hiring at Northridge was God’s way of bringing him home to be close to his father and brother, who lived in Los Angeles, for what would be the final months of their lives.

“It really eases me and makes me feel good,” he said. “I felt that God allowed me to come back here to be with my dad and brother.”

Much has come clear to Braswell in the days since his brother’s death.

Braswell says he now understands why he and Victor had spent so much time together or talking on the phone since he was hired at Northridge, more than while Braswell was coaching at Cleveland or Long Beach State.

And he understands a phone conversation last month. Victor called him and said, “I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you.” The brothers then each said, “I love you.”

“I look back at that now and it just came out of nowhere,” Braswell said. “Because we knew, of course, we loved each other. We didn’t have to affirm that every day. But I can’t tell you the last time we said that to each other. That’s a day I will always remember now. . . .

“You know how people have regrets when someone dies, but there’s no regrets here.”

And Braswell understands the impromptu speech he made to his team after practice, just before he was to let the players go home for a few days around Christmas.

“Make sure you spend time with your family,” Braswell told the team. “Don’t just go hang out with all your old buddies. Be with your family.

“And make sure you tell them you love them.”

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Braswell is trying hard to get his life back to normal, back to the routine of spending nearly all of his waking hours trying to make something of Northridge’s basketball program.

When he’s on the court, he seems as focused as ever. He still yells about setting good screens and playing hard defense. And on Saturday night at Montana, there was no shortage of intensity. He had to be restrained while arguing a call with an official.

In a sense, Braswell’s personality is a running tribute to his father, a former Army drill sergeant who was equally adept at dishing out discipline and affection to his children.

In his more relaxed moments, Braswell still finds himself sitting in his office expecting a call from Victor, asking what time the game is, or a fax from Victor with a newspaper article he knows his brother would like to see. At home, Braswell sees something funny on television and he thinks about calling Victor and telling him to flip the channel.

But he gets through those moments with the support of his two families--one by blood and one by red and black uniform--and with his faith.

“I know [my father and Victor] have gone to a better place,” he said. “And someday I’ll see them again.”