Joe Margiotta, the Long Island political legend who was one of the most pivotal figures in Hofstra history, died Friday at the age of 81 following a brief hospitalization. Newsday has done a nice job this weekend of summarizing Margiotta’s life and the legacy he left on the Nassau County Republican Party, which was among the most powerful in the nation during Margiotta's tenure as its chairperson.
I certainly hope the lack of a similar retrospective at the official Hofstra site (as of the time of this posting) about his impact on the school is a matter of Hofstra being closed for the long Thanksgiving weekend and not something more sinister or careless. To not acknowledge Margiotta would confirm, in far colder teams than I could have envisioned, that those now running Hofstra have no real attachment to the University or its traditions.
It’s one thing to ignore the days of Division III football and East Coast Conference hoops. Say what you want about Margiotta’s colorful past—I wasn’t at Hofstra when Margiotta Hall was built, but I remember reading plenty of clips in The Chronicle critical of the University’s continued support of Margiotta following his imprisonment—but it’d be something else entirely to ignore a man who was one of Hofstra’s most prideful grads.
Margiotta, who enrolled at Hofstra in 1946 after serving in the Navy during World War II and played for the Flying Dutchmen football team with James Shuart, often referred to his relationship with Hofstra as a five-decade love affair. And unlike the rest of us, he spoke as much with his wallet as his lungs.
According to his biography in the 2007 football media guide (page 69), he helped land state approval for the law school at Hofstra as well as the original Unispan. Margiotta served the University in a variety of capacities and was among the founders of the Pride Club as well as its predecessor, the Fifty for Hofstra Club.
In his biography, Margiotta was described as “…an ardent and faithful fan, whose attendance at Hofstra athletic events would be hard to match.” He was most passionate, though, about football. Margiotta was the most vocal advocate of upgrading the program and facilities and hand-picked Joe Gardi to become the head coach in 1990, a decision that led to previously unimaginable prosperity for the Flying Dutchmen.
And Margiotta Hall wasn’t named after him because he was the highest bidder after the fact. The first time I met Margiotta was when he sat in on my season preview interview with Gardi in August 1994. It was a little different than any interview I’d ever done, but I was smart enough to figure out that if Joe Margiotta wanted to sit in on an interview conducted inside a building that he built, well, he could do that.
Margiotta continued to dream big about Hofstra football, which he hoped would someday make the leap to Division I-A, but the current powers that be did not share his enthusiasm for a sport that loses the school money by the buckets. And it was impossible not to notice that Margiotta seemed to become another long-time Hofstra athletic figure whose impact was marginalized under the new regime: His biography was not included in this year’s football media guide for the first time since I began following the team in 1994.
Such an absence is inexcusable. So, too, would a continued lack of acknowledgment about Margiotta’s life and legacy by Hofstra.
Email Jerry at defiantlydutch@yahoo.com.
Showing posts with label Hofstra football. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hofstra football. Show all posts
Monday, December 1, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
Did I say wait til ’09 to see Marques Colston get his uniform retired? I meant wait ‘til Saturday
I have a reputation among friends and family for never being right. My lovely wife, in particular, likes to take my guarantees and begin making plans for the opposite to occur. It’s like she’s never forgiven me for declining tickets to see a Yankees game on May 14, 1996. She even said “If Doc Gooden throws a no-hitter, you’re a dead man.” What were the freaking odds?
She’s been having fun the last few months reminding me that I often guaranteed her the New Kids on the Block would never get back together and tour. Now she’s eagerly counting down the days, no matter how often I say please don’t go girl.
Of course, when everyone is making fun of lil’ ol’ me, she never mentions all the times I’m right. Like Wednesday night, when we were watching the Red Sox-Rays game and I guaranteed the Rays would win once Mike Timlin came in to pitch for the Sox in the 14th inning. Of course, in her defense, it didn’t take a genius to figure that one out.
Anyway, you can imagine the fun she had today, when another one of my guarantees was proven wrong—and in uncommonly rapid fashion. Less than two days ago, I wrote you shouldn’t expect to see Marques Colston get his number retired before 2009. One guess as to who’s getting his number retired tomorrow night…though the press release from Hofstra doesn’t indicate if he’ll be in attendance.
Even before this news, my wife and I were planning to go to the game (it takes a lot to get her to leave the iPod and the New Kids at home, you know). I’d already viewed the home opener against Albany as an opportunity to begin reversing the damage I’d done over the previous 12 years, when I not-so-gradually morphed into the person I once railed against as an idealistic and cynical collegian.
No, I haven’t sold out to The Man, and my political beliefs haven’t changed. I’ve done something even worse: I became the dreaded Hofstra fan who doesn’t go to football games.
In my defense, this time of year is usually my busiest, and by the time I’m free, there’s only one or two home games left on the schedule. But still…the 21-year-old me never would have accepted being busy as an excuse for why I haven’t seen a game at Hofstra since this guy gashed the Flying Dutchmen in a 54-34 win in 2001.
The 21-year-old me was livid in 1994, when Hofstra had the type of out-of-nowhere success that should have galvanized the student body and the Island alike. Instead, the free tickets that the school gave out every Friday ended up littering the first floor of dorms and the Flying Dutchmen went 8-1-1 in near-anonymity. (Though I still wonder what would have happened if Hofstra stormed back from a 24-7 fourth quarter deficit to beat Towson in front of about 5,000 fans on the final Friday night of October. Then again, considering the average attendance at men’s basketball fell from 3,623 in 2006-07 to 2,740 last year, I’m guessing the boost would have been short-term)
I was even madder in 1995, when the Flying Dutchmen started out 10-0, flirted with the nation’s no. 1 ranking…and still had to scramble for attention on campus. I wasted untold column inches railing at students who would rather watch Nebraska and Ohio State in their dorm rooms rather than walk across campus to Hofstra Stadium and watch their very own national title contender.
So here I am, within easy driving distance of Hofstra since the fall of 1997, and I can count on two hands the number of games I’ve been to in the last 11 years. I’m not completely the guys I used to criticize: I don’t watch I-A football on Saturdays. And until the pinheaded college presidents who run I-A figure out a way to determine their national champ via a tournament, I’ll continue to spend most fall Saturdays channel surfing for awesomely awful movies.
Yet I can’t pinpoint why my interest in Hofstra football has lagged. Maybe it’s the sense that I’m hopelessly behind by the time I’m able to attend a game most seasons. And basketball has always been my favorite collegiate sport to watch. Is it because the dangling carrot—the possibility of participating in one of our nation’s truly collective experiences—in basketball is more exciting than the one in football?
Maybe. Worst yet, is it because I’m—gasp—a front-runner. Hofstra hasn’t made the playoffs since the last season in which I attended a game.
Or perhaps I’m the good-luck charm Hofstra needs to recapture its past glories. Yeah, that’s the ticket. I’m out of work but the Flying Dutchmen football team is back in business.
It’s time to stop being one of Them and start being the man I expected me to be at 21. The road to Chattanooga begins tomorrow. See you there. I’ll be the guy yelling about Jeff Yeakel.
She’s been having fun the last few months reminding me that I often guaranteed her the New Kids on the Block would never get back together and tour. Now she’s eagerly counting down the days, no matter how often I say please don’t go girl.
Of course, when everyone is making fun of lil’ ol’ me, she never mentions all the times I’m right. Like Wednesday night, when we were watching the Red Sox-Rays game and I guaranteed the Rays would win once Mike Timlin came in to pitch for the Sox in the 14th inning. Of course, in her defense, it didn’t take a genius to figure that one out.
Anyway, you can imagine the fun she had today, when another one of my guarantees was proven wrong—and in uncommonly rapid fashion. Less than two days ago, I wrote you shouldn’t expect to see Marques Colston get his number retired before 2009. One guess as to who’s getting his number retired tomorrow night…though the press release from Hofstra doesn’t indicate if he’ll be in attendance.
Even before this news, my wife and I were planning to go to the game (it takes a lot to get her to leave the iPod and the New Kids at home, you know). I’d already viewed the home opener against Albany as an opportunity to begin reversing the damage I’d done over the previous 12 years, when I not-so-gradually morphed into the person I once railed against as an idealistic and cynical collegian.
No, I haven’t sold out to The Man, and my political beliefs haven’t changed. I’ve done something even worse: I became the dreaded Hofstra fan who doesn’t go to football games.
In my defense, this time of year is usually my busiest, and by the time I’m free, there’s only one or two home games left on the schedule. But still…the 21-year-old me never would have accepted being busy as an excuse for why I haven’t seen a game at Hofstra since this guy gashed the Flying Dutchmen in a 54-34 win in 2001.
The 21-year-old me was livid in 1994, when Hofstra had the type of out-of-nowhere success that should have galvanized the student body and the Island alike. Instead, the free tickets that the school gave out every Friday ended up littering the first floor of dorms and the Flying Dutchmen went 8-1-1 in near-anonymity. (Though I still wonder what would have happened if Hofstra stormed back from a 24-7 fourth quarter deficit to beat Towson in front of about 5,000 fans on the final Friday night of October. Then again, considering the average attendance at men’s basketball fell from 3,623 in 2006-07 to 2,740 last year, I’m guessing the boost would have been short-term)
I was even madder in 1995, when the Flying Dutchmen started out 10-0, flirted with the nation’s no. 1 ranking…and still had to scramble for attention on campus. I wasted untold column inches railing at students who would rather watch Nebraska and Ohio State in their dorm rooms rather than walk across campus to Hofstra Stadium and watch their very own national title contender.
So here I am, within easy driving distance of Hofstra since the fall of 1997, and I can count on two hands the number of games I’ve been to in the last 11 years. I’m not completely the guys I used to criticize: I don’t watch I-A football on Saturdays. And until the pinheaded college presidents who run I-A figure out a way to determine their national champ via a tournament, I’ll continue to spend most fall Saturdays channel surfing for awesomely awful movies.
Yet I can’t pinpoint why my interest in Hofstra football has lagged. Maybe it’s the sense that I’m hopelessly behind by the time I’m able to attend a game most seasons. And basketball has always been my favorite collegiate sport to watch. Is it because the dangling carrot—the possibility of participating in one of our nation’s truly collective experiences—in basketball is more exciting than the one in football?
Maybe. Worst yet, is it because I’m—gasp—a front-runner. Hofstra hasn’t made the playoffs since the last season in which I attended a game.
Or perhaps I’m the good-luck charm Hofstra needs to recapture its past glories. Yeah, that’s the ticket. I’m out of work but the Flying Dutchmen football team is back in business.
It’s time to stop being one of Them and start being the man I expected me to be at 21. The road to Chattanooga begins tomorrow. See you there. I’ll be the guy yelling about Jeff Yeakel.
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