Chris DiJulia’s funeral celebrated an indomitable spirit ... and Philadelphia’s amazing basketball family
DiJulia was ever present at Philly games, and inspirational to all who knew him. There were more college basketball coaches at the funeral than there were at LeBron and Kobe’s high school games.
Chris DiJulia never played a minute and he never coached a game, but at 11 a.m. Wednesday, he was the king of Philadelphia basketball.
More than 600 people crowded into St. Denis Catholic Church in Haverford for an 80-minute celebration of 56 years of life well-lived. DiJulia, a fixture at St. Joe’s basketball games, had cerebral palsy, and so spent his life in a wheelchair, and died July 27 of natural causes related to his condition. A few people have ever lived a fuller life; the DiJulias prayed Chris would live to be 5, much less 56.
As was the case for so many of the Phillies games Chris attended, it was standing room only for his memorial service Wednesday; more than 100 folks leaning against the walls and watching from the knave. They came from Chicago, Atlanta, Buffalo. It was streamed online, and it got views from as far away as Alaska. There were more college basketball coaches at the funeral than there were at LeBron and Kobe’s high school games.
The event was more than a home-going for a man of unequaled strength and unmatched faith. It was a testament to the close-knit family of Philly college hoops.
There is nothing like it, not anywhere in the world. It is a club, a cult, and, as the kids say now, a vibe. It goes beyond just the Big Five, beyond just the City Six (hello, Drexel), beyond men’s basketball. It is D-I and D-II and D-III and junior college. It is all of it.
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It took his daddy’s breath away.
“Chris was unique,” said Don DiJulia, the retired athletic director at St. Joseph’s University. “But having all this happen, to even think there would be 600 people at 11 o’clock on a Wednesday ... couldn’t even think that.”
Legendary Temple coach John Chaney would have been there too, but he predeceased Chris by five years. How can you be sure? Because Chaney famously once said that Chris was the only person from St. Joe’s that Chaney liked.
St. Denis was the site on Wednesday, and Wednesday will be remembered as a quintessential Philly hoops moment, even though there were no refs and no clock.
More than anything, Philly basketball is its sites and its moments. It is the Palestra, the best place to shoot on God’s green earth, and Lynn Greer leading Temple back from 16 down to beat St. Joe’s in double OT there in 2002.
It also is the DAK at Drexel and Gola/Glaser at La Salle, and it has been the smoky Philadelphia Civic Center, where I covered La Salle’s men years ago, and, of course, St. Joe’s Alumni Fieldhouse/Hagan Arena, where the DiJulias watched their Hawks play and soar and crash. All of these places can be deafening and intimidating and, by city requirement, always over-warm.
On Wednesday, it was a gray stone Catholic church. For once, Chris was the star.
It was a testament to the close-knit family of Philly college hoops. There is nothing like it, not anywhere in the world. It is a club, a cult, and, as the kids say now, a vibe.
DiJulia was the son of retired St. Joseph’s University athletic director Don DiJulia, and, despite his disability, for more than five decades Chris was everywhere basketball was played, loud and critical and present. Family and friends overfilled the pews, crammed shoulder-to-shoulder with giants from the media and, more than anything else, with Big Five royalty.
You’ve probably been to funerals where there wasn’t a dry eye in the place, but most of the tears shed at St. Denis were tears of laughter and of joy. Chris was known best for his wry wit. In their eulogies, Chris’ siblings and parents proved again and again that wit is genetic.
Chris loved the local pro teams and he was nuts about golf, so more than half the assemblage, to honor his fandom, wore jerseys instead of mourning clothes. The best: A shamrock-green Tug McGraw No. 45 and a pinstriped Richie Ashburn No. 1. Chris suffered and celebrated the maddening Phillies, and he so adored baseball that the service began with the national anthem and included a seventh-inning stretch complete with God Bless America.
It was in his blood
But as much as Chris loved the pros he was of college hoops, especially Philly college hoops. It was in his blood. Don played basketball (and baseball) at St. Joe’s, and he coached college basketball before he directed college programs.
Don played for Jack Ramsey’s 26-1 team in 1965. He is a charter member of the Philadelphia basketball aristocracy. Chris is a legacy member.
Membership can be earned.
The first sporting event I attended after I arrived in Philly in February 1995 was a 30-point Penn men’s win over Brown at the Palestra, but that didn’t earn membership. It takes decades as a fan, years as a media member.
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I fast-tracked.
I married in.
My wife, Dr. Shelly Bowers Hayes, scored more than 1,100 points as Penn’s point guard until 1995. We met playing pickup on the Palestra floor that March, started dating a year later, and we’ve coached our kids the last six years (mostly, she coaches).
I’ve done this job for 31 years. I’ve belonged to lots of clubs and organizations and associations. There’s no community like the community of Philly college hoops. Proved again for 80 minutes of joy, and a little pain, at St. Denis on Wednesday.
This year Philly has hosted the NFL playoffs, the men’s NCAA Tournament, the NBA playoffs, the NHL playoffs, the Unrivaled women’s 3-on-3 league, the PGA Championship, the FIFA World Cup, and the Major League Baseball All-Star Game.
Wednesday’s sellout was the most deserving of them all.
