The greatest college coach of all time died on Tuesday:

Legendary crew coach Harry Parker, who joined Harvard in 1960 and helmed the Crimson’s heavyweight program starting 50 years ago, died Tuesday. He was 77 and had mentored generations of Harvard rowers and U.S. Olympians.

“Generations of Harvard students will forever remember his formative influence,” said Harvard President Drew Faust of Parker. “He was a living legend at Harvard and in the world of rowing, and his legend will long endure.”

I was third coxswain on the freshman heavy weight crew at Harvard in 1978-1979. Despite not coaching us directly, Harry knew us, and if I were walking down the street and Harry saw me he’d wave and say hello. When I showed my parents the boat house at the end of the year, Harry met and spoke with them as if he knew me well. I’ll always remember him fondly.

Harry was known for not talking. He’d set the workout, and his crews would row, and might go a whole workout without a criticism or a compliment. When he did decide to speak, however, it was like the voice of God coming across the water. The oarsman who was the focus of the coaching listened intently, as he may never hear from Harry again. It turned out to be an effective coaching style.

In the spring of 1979, just before the season was to begin, I was bringing my boat downstream toward the Charles River basin. In front of us were the Harvard heavy weight varsity and JV eights, tuning up for a trip to San Diego. The boats were perfectly balanced. There was not a wiggle as each set of oarsmen moving in perfect synchronization with another. It went beyond that, however. Not only was each boat rowing perfectly, the two boats were rowing in unison. It was as if 16 oarsmen were rowing with one mind; each oar going in the water together, feathering together, reloading together. It’s one of most beautiful sights I’ve seen.

A week later, they demolished the competition in San Diego in an old, borrowed boat:

They did it by open water over California, with Wisconsin another three quarters of a length back, Penn the same distance behind Wisconsin, and Brown and Navy bringing up the rear. Harvard had started moving strongly at 400 meters, with Coxswain Harry You shouting, “O.K., no one’s moving on us now.” They passed Wisconsin at 650 to go, Cal at about 750 and inexorably moved away. Two Oar Tim McGee said later, “I said to myself, ‘This crew’s so damned solid and strong I can’t believe it.’ I’ve been with fast crews before, but I’ve never felt anything like that.”

“A little sweet revenge,” said a grinning Warren Perkins, the six oar, summing it all up. But that did not fully explain the wild demonstration Harvard put on when the race was over, which couldn’t be separated from the atmosphere of the most colorful and zany crew classic in the seven-year history of the event. Simply put, there were four crews everyone at San Diego was talking about before the race, and Harvard was not one of them; to lose was one thing, but to be ignored….

I also had the good fortune to room with one of Harry’s sons. My thoughts go out them and Harry’s whole family, his friends, and the entire Harvard community. Harry will be deeply missed.