Imagine if the "Life of Riley" were "It's a Wonderful Life," if basketball coach Riley Wallace never existed in Hawai'i's sports world.

There would be no tossed jackets, no foot-stomping protests of blown calls, no nervous coughs.

News conferences to announce the firing of football coaches would be peaceful. The construction of the Stan Sheriff Center would have been delayed by a few more years. "AC" would refer to a cooling system. And the University of Hawai'i basketball program would have remained on a proverbial island.

"I wouldn't say Riley has an open mind," said Larry Little, Wallace's close friend and predecessor as UH head coach, "but he has an open heart. Everything he does, he does for others, and because he believes in it. He loves Hawai'i."

Wallace said: "I guess that means he thinks I'm stubborn."

For 20 years, through the 2006-2007 season, Wallace merged style and substance. For all of the uniform changes — and the memory of the fluorescent-lime ones still burns the retina — each jersey was fitted with a blue collar.

"The one thing you knew was Riley's teams worked hard," Little said.

By design or circumstance, his best players came from difficult backgrounds. Anthony "A.C." Carter was a high school dropout. Carl English was orphaned as a youth when a fire destroyed his family home and killed his parents. Tes Whitlock went through a period of homelessness. Some had scrapes with the law; some had gashes.

"I came up hard," Wallace said. "We had a good family, but we didn't have a lot of material things. Basketball got me where I am. I'm not the only one helped by basketball. If you can help some players, even two out of five, you've done a lot."

Wallace did not back away from battles. He marched with the students and faculty, from UH to the state capitol, to protest proposed budget cuts.

He challenged the firing of football coach Bob Wagner ... during a news conference to announce Wagner's firing. A UH administrator muttered: "Want to make it a two-for-one?"

But later, coaches from the other UH programs paraded past Wallace's office, yelling: "You da man, Riley!"

While Sheriff fought behind the scenes in support of building an on-campus arena, Wallace was on the front line. He famously debated then-state senator Mike McCartney, who was in favor of limiting seating to 4,000.

"Riley knew what would be good for the university," said Sheriff's widow, Jane. "That's why Stan and Riley had a good partnership."

Indeed, Wallace understood the business side of college sports. "Part of my job," he said, "was to promote the program."

When the 'Bows hosted the NIT in 2000, Wallace went to the Blaisdell Arena to shake hands with ticket buyers.

DRESSING THE PART

During the 1995-1996 season, when the 'Bows beat Indiana and second-ranked Kansas, Wallace secured the list of the voters for AP's Top 25 poll. Wallace then called each voter. In the dead of winter, a Buffalo, N.Y., reporter was stunned to answer the phone and hear: "Hi, I'm Riley Wallace ..."

In a version of My Fair Gentleman, Wallace — who believes rubbing dirt is the universal panacea — dressed in tuxedos and attended operas and symphony concerts to help raise money for a basketball scholarship fund.

"I learned a lot from Riley," said Pittsburgh coach Jamie Dixon, one of four Wallace assistants to land college head coaching jobs, "and not just about basketball."

Jane Sheriff said: "Riley is such an open and genuine person. You can't help but like him."

The image, to be sure, does not always match the person.

The man who once activated his TMJ condition by yelling at an official unabashedly gets misty-eyed during sad movies. Old Yeller needs Kleenex to sit through "Old Yeller."

Wallace once joked that he was so poor his family could not afford the rope for the water well. Yet, he is determined to spend his last dollar. When it comes to lunches, dinners and 19th holes, Wallace is a check magnet.

"He's always paying," good friend Ken Takeuye said.

David Hallums, a guard on Wallace's first UH team in 1987, once noted that some of the holdover players felt like they were "adopted."

Wallace took it as a compliment.

"My children are adopted, and I love them more than anything," Wallace has said.

In addition to their own two children, Wallace and wife Joan put seven other kids through college.

FAMILY VALUES

Joan, who used to work at Jarrett Middle School, once brought home two brothers. They became the Wallaces' hanai children.

Wallace used to joke that sportswriters would make the best candidates for brain transplants "because they don't use them, anyway." Yet, in 2000, a beat reporter stumbled out of a bar in an El Paso, Texas hotel. Wallace grabbed the reporter before he tumbled over an eight-story railing.

"What was I thinking?" Wallace said, laughing. "It must have been instincts."

Or it could be traced to his youth in Jerseyville, Ill., where the family motto was to help each other.

"We didn't have anything, but we didn't know that," recalled Wallace, who was one of seven children. "We thought we were as good as anybody in town."

Back then, his new clothes were his older brother's old clothes.

"We all wore hand-me-downs," he said.

During college breaks, he worked as a mortician's aide and ambulance driver. A few times, he saw a life elapse in his arms.

"It gave you a different perspective on life," he said. "It made you think a lot, and respect life, appreciate everything you've got."

Wallace and his wife are enjoying their golden years since his retirement as UH's head coach. They own a house in Las Vegas and a condominium in Waikiki.

He works as an executive host for the Boyd Group, which owns several casinos in Vegas. His nephew is a backup guard for UNLV. Wallace and Little have season tickets to UNLV games.

The nervous cough, which was prominent when he coached, has been stifled. Well, except for one relapse.

"(UNLV) was playing BYU, and it was a close game ... " he said, laughing. "I still like to beat BYU."

Wallace also remains in contact with his former players and assistant coaches.

So, what would Hawai'i have been like without Wallace:

"More somnolent," sportcaster Jim Leahey said.