No one personifies New Jersey high-school hoops like Bob Hurley Sr. The longtime basketball coach at St. Anthony High School has cemented the tiny Jersey City school into a national powerhouse that has produced seven NBA players (including Hurley’s son, former Duke superstar Bobby), sent more than 150 players to Division 1 schools on a scholarship and won 28 state championships.
Because of Hurley’s relentless, hard-nosed coaching style and consistent results, it’s impossible to think of the small Catholic school without hearing the sound of a ball bouncing on the hardwood.
But this season at St. Anthony, basketball isn’t just the centerpiece. Rather, it’s a conduit to tell the Friars’ larger story of survival.
After struggling with fund-raising for years, the inner-city school — which has eked by on the generosity of donors, the archdiocese’s credit line and Hurley’s hustle — is due to shut its doors for good at the end of the 2017 school year.
That is, unless it can raise $600,000 of its $1.8 million debt by the end of the year.
The daunting task includes more fund-raising from tapped-out donors, raising tuition (it’s currently $6,000 per student, even though it actually costs the school $14,000) and a new business plan that would cut operating costs.
The on-and-off-court drama is the focus of a new Showtime digital series called “Legacy: Bob Hurley,” which premieres Monday on Sho.com. The mostly 10-minute weekly episodes will chronicle what could potentially be the end of a legendary coaching career that has spanned nearly five decades.
“It’s bittersweet because it’s following something that’s live now,” Hurley, 69, tells The Post of the six-part series which runs through March 27. “We have a group of kids — a work in progress, with the possibility that this is the last time we do it.”
The first episode is a CliffsNotes explanation of St. Anthony’s place in the basketball pantheon and its positive role in the unforgiving ecosystem of hardscrabble Jersey City.
It also drops a staggering non-basketball statistic that proves the school’s effectiveness: Since 1992, every graduate of St. Anthony has been accepted to a college, be it a two- or four-year school. The school currently has approximately 160 students enrolled.
“There’s a misconception that it’s a basketball factory,” says Brian Dailey, the vice president of sports digital media for Showtime and executive producer of “Legacy.”
“All of these kids and alumni are on board with the fact there is no delusion of the NBA. They see basketball as a vehicle out. It would be a tragic loss if Hurley couldn’t do that anymore, because he has a lot of years to shape boys into men. The city would be losing a lot.”
For Dailey, this project is highly personal. His father attended St. Peter’s Prep with Hurley and coached with him in the ‘70s. The media executive grew up attending Hurley’s camps and idolizing his sons, Bobby and Danny (who played at Seton Hall and is now the head coach at the University of Rhode Island).
He’s been a lifelong witness to the many success stories that have emerged from its halls. In September, Hurley spoke to Dailey’s father about the dire financial situation, and it lit a creative spark.
“I always thought following them for a season was a no-brainer. For me it was one of two things. We are going to catch a very sad but captivating story of the end of a legendary era, or, hopefully, we could tell that story and help save the school.”
He and his crew have been embedded with the young team, gaining unfettered access to board meetings, practices and games.
“[At] everything we do, Showtime is around. We trust them,” says Hurley.
(One coach who wasn’t on board was disgraced ex-Rutgers coach Mike Rice, who is now at the Patrick School. He was the lone opposing coach who refused to be miked up.)
“It’s all been [Hurley] refusing to let it die. He doesn’t want to leave Jersey City. He feels committed to his life’s work,” says Dailey, who calls this a look into the coach’s unique “laboratory.”
Hurley — a retired probation officer who doesn’t take a salary and has every check he earns from speaking engagements and clinics written directly to the school — still famously runs his team as if the gym were a time machine set to 1955. And if his players don’t like it, they know where to find the door. There’s a scene in which the white-haired coach barks the content of his contract — a document that bucks the modern thinking that celebrates individuality over the unit. The players have his undivided attention, and none of them flinch as he lists his demands.
We are going to catch a very sad but captivating story of the end of a legendary era, or, hopefully, we could tell that story and help save the school.
There are no tattoos, no profane language and the school and team uniforms are to be worn “properly.” On school nights, his players must adhere to a 10 p.m. curfew. On weekends, it’s midnight. And the veteran coach sees no reason to soften his stance.
“I don’t want them to ever come back 10 years after high school and say, ‘Coach, I wish you would have pushed me more. I would have been a lot better in so many areas of my life.’ That’s why [we have] the contract,” says Hurley, who crows more about the boys’ academic success than their victories on the hardwood. For the last four or five years, the school’s valedictorian and salutatorian have been basketball players or team managers.
“It’s been our guys because of the value that’s placed on school by their families, who are happy with the discipline we give them. We’re not going to be talking about their scoring averages, but we’ll talk about the amount of kids who are in college.”
The winning coach insists he still has more good years in him, if the school is able to keep its doors open. While it has long benefited from the legend of the Hurleys (Bob Sr. and his two sons), the donors are all now retired, dead or simply tapped out. Dailey and Hurley hope this riveting series appeals to people with deep pockets who are looking for a worthy cause.
“Without being sarcastic, Kim Kardashian gets a million dollars for every appearance,” cracks Hurley.
If the school can’t be saved, they will help place the students in nearby Catholic schools. But the eternal optimist isn’t making any plans to look for a new job. Especially one that would make him second fiddle.
“I’ve been my own person for 50 years. I’ve coached freshmen, JV and varsity for 45 years. I’ve always been my own boss. I don’t know what next year would bring if I joined a staff and I was carrying a clipboard around and joking with kids on the sidelines. I just don’t know how that would go. I would feel like it’s a sham,” he says.
“I will cross that bridge if I have to.”
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