During his decade in the NBA, Michael Doleac kept in touch with physicist Richard Ingebretsen, one of his old University of Utah professors, seeking counsel on a possible future career as a scientist or a doctor.

"He was asking me for articles on science. He wrote chapters in the textbook I use with my undergraduates," Ingebretsen says. "I sat down with him and told him that his life's great work was helping young people, not in basketball."

Doleac retired from professional basketball in 2008 and returned to the U. in the fall to pursue a master's degree in physics. He has since signed up for a new program designed to shepherd those with an affinity for math and science into teaching careers.

"When you're done playing, it's an eye-opening experience. What are you going to do? You don't have any other skills," says the 7-foot Doleac. "This is all brand new. It's cool and unnerving at the same time. What I do have is the interest and motivation to learn and teach this stuff."

The program is known as SMART, an acronym for Support and Mentoring as an Alternative Route to Teaching, an initiative of the U.'s new Center for Mathematics and Science Education.

SMART was founded to address Utah's critical shortage of science and math teachers, says Hugo Rossi, a professor emeritus of math and a one-time U. science dean who helped launch the center this year and serves as its interim director.

Many Utah jobs created during the next several years will require a bachelor's degree in science and math, he says. But Utah students' proficiency in these fields is weak and bodes ill for the state's economic future. A dearth of good teachers isn't helping.

"Science and mathematics education is the seed bank for Utah's future economic well-being," U. science dean Pierre Sokolsky says. "If the state funding for this vital area is decreased, Utah diminishes its ability to participate in a financial recovery."

Of the state's 41 school districts, 25 report difficulty finding qualified science teachers and 28 have trouble finding qualified math teachers, Rossi says. The state needs 200 new science and math teachers each year because so many don't stick with the profession or move away. Most scientists who come to teaching through an alternative route to licensure abandon it after only a few years, he said.

"They are thrown into the classroom without any preparation and at the same time they are taking evening classes to get their licensure. It's an enormous hurdle," Rossi says.

SMART addresses these issues by giving its fellows generous financial support, a year to take pedagogy courses and placing them in a classroom with a mentor for 15 hours a week for two or three years. Rossi modeled SMART after Math for America, a teacher-development program started in 2004 in New York City. SMART might barely put a dent in Utah's need, but Rossi hopes its impact stems from the example it sets and the partnerships it forges.

"Teachers pay attention when they see something work in other classrooms. They want to emulate what's happening and the effect spreads like wildfire," Rossi says.

The new center is a collaboration between the U.'s colleges of Science and Education. It could seem like a no-brainer for scientists and educators to work together to determine ways to improve science education, but such alliances are relatively new. Scientists and educators have been more inclined to bicker than work together, Rossi says.

"The disciplines are historically siloed off in their own colleges," says Michael Hardman, dean of the U. College of Education. "We didn't interact much with the colleges of Fine Arts and Science, which meant we lost a lot of expertise in the preparation of teachers."

Hardman supports Rossi's goal of merging strong content knowledge with pedagogical skills, and Doleac is seen as an ideal candidate for the new model.

Doleac says teaching gives him a chance to pursue what he loves almost as much as skiing Wasatch powder and being a dad -- talking about matter and motion and the nature of the universe.

"When I was playing [in the NBA], I was always reading," he says. Thanks to books by Stephen Hawking and other scientists, Doleac became captivated with physics and hopes to spark that interest among high school students.

"He would be awesome. Not only does he have the mind, but he also loved it," said Mike Macallister, one of Doleac's favorite teachers at Central Catholic High School in Portland, Ore. "He would be a remarkable teacher. He would bring such enthusiasm, which is a powerful motivator."

Macallister recalls Doleac was not much of a basketball player when he first showed up as a baby-faced 5-foot-7 freshman in his physics class. He sat on the bench a lot that year, but in the classroom he was a top scorer.

"He had already skipped a grade," Macallister recalls. "I taught a challenging class and Mike was one of my top three students."

Doleac remained an academic standout during his years as the Runnin' Utes' center, 1995-98, including All-America status, a period when the basketball program achieved a run of success under the leadership of coach Rick Majerus.

Based on his observations at a U. summer camp, Majerus recruited Doleac to play for the Utes before he started a single high school game.

"My only talent was I could shoot and I was coachable," Doleac says. Under Majerus, Doleac would become a top college player, so he appreciates the value of good teaching. He majored in biology and counted Ingebretsen and anatomist Mark Nielsen as his most influential professors.

Nielsen's anatomy lectures inspired him to lean toward medical school after graduation, but professional basketball got in the way. Doleac was chosen 12th in the NBA's 1998 draft and played for five teams, including the Miami Heat as a backup to Shaquille O'Neal.

He is married to former Ute gymnast Shannon Bowles, who holds an advanced degree in nutrition. They have a 20-month-old son, Taylor, and a second child on the way. Parenthood is the reason Doleac decided against medicine when he returned to school.

He didn't want to be coping with the rigors of residency at a time when his children would be starting elementary school. Plus, he says, physics is much more fun.

bmaffly@sltrib.com