CHAPEL HILL, N.C. — It was an ordinary Primary activity, something that wouldn't stick in anyone's memory. But this day in a North Carolina chapel has been seared into the mind of one of college sports' most legendary coaches.
An activity for fathers and daughters to strengthen their relationships morphed into a chance for dads to show off their fatherly abilities to other men. The task of Anson Dorrance, the architect of the University of North Carolina women's soccer dynasty, was simple: read a story to his second daughter, Natalie, in front of the rest of the Primary.
But it wasn't. He motioned for Natalie to sit on his lap to read the story, but got nothing but a head shake. He tried again. A third time. The child didn't budge. For the man who had built Tar Heel soccer from the dirt and won more hardware than college basketball legend John Wooden, the rebuff was scathing.
"I thought, 'there could be nothing more embarrassing than this,' " Dorrance said. "It was indicative of the fact that I needed to spend more time at home."
At the time, Dorrance was coaching the men's and women's teams at UNC, as well as the U.S. Women's National Team. He'd won multiple national titles and even the inaugural Women's World Cup.
The words of President David O. McKay stung his mind: The coach had all the accolades you could want, but felt he was a failure at home. It was an experience that drove the coach to change his game plan for life, and he would later coach only the UNC women.
"I was stretched too thin. I remember one year that I had one Thursday off all year, and I've recruited on Christmas Day before," Dorrance said. "I never could say no when people asked me to do anything. I always said yes. I was crazy. But (that event) made me realize there was no way I could do all this if I wanted time with my family."
While it was a turning point in his life, everything else good in it could be pointed back to a decision made nearly 20 years earlier in Chapel Hill.
Sales, spiritualized
Anson Dorrance grew up the son of an American oil executive, skirting around India, Kenya, Ethiopia and Singapore as a child. He dodged bullets in Addis Ababa and received a Catholic school education at Villa St. Jean International School in Switzerland. There, he became a "man's man" — excelling in almost every sport one could play — as well as theology. He was an argumentive kid with a strong warrior mentality on the fields and in the classrooms.
After starting studies at St. Mary's University in San Antonio, he graduated from UNC in 1974 and married M'Liss Gary, a professional dancer and daughter of an Air Force attaché; their families had crossed paths at various intervals through the years. They started out life like any other newlywed couple, trying to make ends meet, which at the time meant selling insurance door-to-door.
"My partner and I were banging on doors, and I noticed two other guys doing the same thing," Dorrance said. "I asked them what they were selling, and they said, 'Do you mind if we tell you?' "
The Dorrances were intrigued by what the two well-groomed men in ties and name tags had to say. Growing up around the world, they always questioned what would happen to those who hadn't heard of Jesus Christ; most faiths taught that they didn't have a chance for salvation.
"It bothered me a bit, because I thought that good people were good people. I'd met many who I thought were well worth being saved," Anson said. "What struck me as absolute truth is when (the missionaries) taught me about baptisms for the dead. I thought, 'This is exactly how it should be.' "
The couple heard the discussions from six sets of missionaries and attended ward meetings. Something just wouldn't budge.
"We were gun-shy," M'Liss said. "We had cold feet."
Finally, one elder whom they barely knew inspired them to be baptized.
"This missionary walked into our house and his face fell," M'Liss said. "He said, 'I feel moved to tell you that it's important you be baptized now.' I could feel the Spirit. I knew it was right.
"I could have fallen off the floor when Anson said he was ready, too."
The decision came not a moment too early. Three days after their Jan. 31, 1976, baptism, M'Liss' parents and 14-year-old sister died in a house fire in Washington, D.C.
"We had just learned about baptisms for the dead and eternal families," M'Liss said. "It was such a huge moment for us. Never in a million years would I have guessed that would carry us through a tragedy."
LDS principles, secularized
The doctrines of the gospel have done more than carry the family through tough times: Dorrance has built his entire program on them, as well as the lives of those who wear Carolina Blue.
Each of UNC's "core values" — toughness, discipline, focus, relentlessness, resilience, positivity, class, caring, nobility, selflessness, galvanizing, gratitude, or what Dorrance calls "gospel principles secularized" — is a key word, a short description and a quote. Team members live all of the values and memorize three per academic year. Each of them deals with issues involved in the players' collegiate progression, Dorrance said.
"He's so interested in this Mormon concept of a higher law, where you basically do things and operate on a principle base instead of a rule base," said Brad Kramer, a close friend of the Dorrances. "He's one of the reasons all those women from UNC saw themselves as role models for other people. There's a big difference in women's soccer and other professional sports in how people see themselves as role models."
For the Tar Heels, the greatest award given at the annual banquet is not the MVP award but the award for the player who best exemplifies the values from an average of peer and coaches grades.
"His core values don't seem to be religious, but they're the principles that are taught by our church," M'Liss said.
Dorrance, a member of the Chapel Hill 1st Ward, Durham North Carolina Stake, says he is inspired by the admonition of Paul, found in Philippians 4:8, and the 13th Article of Faith. He reads motivational and philosophical books ad nauseam, usually three at a time. He keeps a journal devoted to his scripture study and is inspired equally from his high priest group lessons and the movie "Groundhog Day" — even Calvin and Hobbes. He keeps one of Calvin's particular musings in his office; it talks about a "never-ending ascension," something the coach has tried to apply on the field and in life.
He asks his freshmen to read "The 10 Natural Laws of Successful Time and Life Management" by Hyrum W. Smith, while his sophomores read "The Seven Habits of Highly Successful People" by Stephen R. Covey. Juniors are asked to read Victor Frankl's "Man's Search for Meaning," his favorite book.
"(What) I've always loved about our leaders is their connection with the truth," Dorrance said. "That's what I love about teaching principles through those books. It just resonates, and I think it's had a positive effect on my teams.
"Then the fringe benefit of this is that our teams are tough to beat," he added with a chuckle.
The players know about his commitment to the faith early on. His conversion story and desire to serve a mission with M'Liss when he retires are explained in his biography, "The Man Watching." The book led to a Florida man's conversion after he sent an e-mail to Dorrance, asked him about his faith, and connected with local missionaries.
The women on his team seek out Brigham Young University — which he hopes to one day add to his non-conference schedule — on the tournament bracket every year, and joke with their coach about beating "the righteous."
Dorrance believes his transparency — about religion and other matters — helps his team have faith in him as a person, as well as what he teaches them about life and soccer.
"I think a part of what helps all of us is that I never sit in judgment of any of these kids. I know what college life is like," Dorrance said. "There's certainly a code of conduct I'd like them to follow, but if they don't follow it, I don't sit in judgment of them. They know my genuine affection and respect for them. So it's helped me coach them."
It's also helped plant a few gospel seeds.
A few years ago, the Dorrances were invited to dinner at the home of a few players. Team captain Ali Hawkins, the core value winner for the past few seasons, along with Tobin Heath, Nikki Washington and Casey Nogueira, fixed the couple a nice meal on the front porch. What the couple didn't know was the four young women — all of one Christian denomination or another — had planned to pepper them with questions about Mormonism.
"We were so happy someone finally asked us," M'Liss recalled. "They were part of a scripture study group led by someone attacking our church, and they wanted to hear our side."
The discussion went so well that the Dorrances invited the four over to their house another day to continue, and let them invite their leader, while the Dorrances invited Kramer and his wife.
"We had this great discussion, and they had all these great questions about the church," Anson recalled. "These kids were exploring their spiritual lives, and they were curious about the Mormon faith. What I'm hoping is that one of these days, if two guys show up at their door in white shirts and ties, that they'll let them in. And one reason I hope they do that is because of their experience at UNC and our discussions cause them to think it might be worth investigating."
And hopefully, because of the example of their head coach.
"(Dorrance) is an example of what the essence of Mormonism is," Kramer said. "He's someone who puts himself into everything he does, seeks excellence and inspires excellence in others in a holistic kind of way. He treats people with respect, even those he shouldn't."
Liberty Jail, personalized
For a decade, the gospel, along with family and his team, buoyed him up from a lawsuit he calls "a wonderful education;" his wife calls "reckless and ridiculous;" and friends call "mean-spirited," "humbling" and "a religious experience."
In the summer of 1998, two former UNC players — striker Debbie Keller and goalkeeper Melissa Jennings — sued Dorrance and the university for $12 million on sexual harassment charges. The accusers felt that, according to Title IX guidelines, he should be removed for not allowing them the "benefit of college athletics," according to court documents.
The athletic director and university president stood behind Dorrance the entire time. The community and the members of the stake stood behind them, too, letting the coach know of their support.
"That was a very difficult period for him and his wife. I think he has come out of that stronger," said Kerry Lee, who served in the Durham Stake presidency. "He's had to rely on the Lord, and to some extent, I think he's been humbled. I think that's made him stronger, with an increased conviction of the hand of the Lord in his life."
After a lengthy battle, the case was dismissed by a federal judge in 2004, revived in 2007, and finally settled out of court by the university in 2008.
"It made our family unbelievably strong. The kids were protective of their dad and his reputation," M'Liss said. "I think it drew him deeper into connecting with his faith as part of the fabric of who he is because he had to hold onto it. Church was a haven for him."
In December 1998, Sports Illustrated wrote a 10-page article that chronicled Dorrance's legacy and the beginning of his "Liberty Jail" experience. The coach called it an embarrassing piece by the national magazine that catered to the plaintiffs — demonizing an "incredibly humiliating" part of his life. But to nearly 1,000 friends, it was a masterful article about a person they loved, and they asked him to sign their copies to scrapbook it.
"It was incredible how many people came to my defense, some of which I hadn't heard from in years," Dorrance said. "The attorney general of North Carolina had to investigate this, and they had to contact every player I had ever coached. Some of the things they wrote about me were unbelievable. It was like I had the opportunity to attend my own funeral."
Life, reorganized
Dorrance is a winner. His 20 national championships are more than UCLA's Wooden, former UNC basketball guru Dean Smith and Duke coach Mike Kryzewski — combined. He's graduated players to the World Cup and an assortment of pro leagues. He's compiled 628 career victories, with a mere 28 losses.
But those aren't his greatest victories. Trophies stay on campus. Medals remain encased. Once terrified to teach gospel doctrine to a ward full of academics, the man who characterizes himself as having "the spiritual depth of a warm stone" now feels at ease discussing doctrines with scholars from Duke, UNC and "the scriptorians from BYU."
His real trophy sits in his Chapel Hill office — family photos. One features 7-year-old M'Liss when they met in Ethiopia, and others include his children at the wife-mandated, week-long annual retreat to the beach; Michelle, a professional dancer in "STOMP," an off-Broadway production; Natalie, sealed in the Raleigh North Carolina Temple and the mother of the coach's first grandchild; and Donovan, the missionary-age baby of the family, in his sophomore year at UNC. All are active in the church; all are happy.
President McKay's promise of failure no longer haunts him; the challenge of softening his aura for the semi-terrified grandson devours enough time without worrying about legacies and three-peating this season.
And as he looks at those pictures, he thinks back to that long-ago day in Primary, he smiles, and utters a revered line from the movie "Broadcast News."
"What do you do when life exceeds your dreams?"