I'll say again, it is one of our great honors both to read the memoirs of our classmates of '74 and to share our own with this tremendous audience. What we have is unique among classes, this ability to share so much together. There is much more to come.
For our "Memory Number Four," we'll go back to the "Cager" theme: the basketball court with the Big "L" at Center Court.
Get your popcorn, we're tossing the ball up.
So, life comes down to B’s.
No, the "B" does not represent grades on my report card, unfortunately. I didn't swing nearly enough of them,
But, as I’ve said before, B’s kind of tell the story of our life: the Bowen's, Books, Bible, Bricklaying, and Basketball -- the B's of life.
I have a great deal to tell you about basketball, and to start I want to share the chapter we wrote back in 1997 in our That Southern Red Clay Jus’ Won’t Wash Off book—which will be That Georgia red clay if I were ever to reprint.
We’re going to share below the story about Cool Hand Luke, just as I wrote it back in 1997. I have not read the story myself in many years. There are many stories within the story, so much so that the writing of my own “memoir” along with many of our classmates will be a little like sailing the ocean—the further we go the more horizon there seems to be.
You’ll note in the story the reference to Kyle Clinkscales. That reference led me many years later to the living room of Kyle’s mom and dad. That’s a story we want to tell.
I have to tell you all about our basketball career – again, using that word loosely – that began, or didn’t begin in the seventh grade, and about the day I left LaGrange High for good in October of ‘73 and, ironically, ran right into Coach Shrewsbury as the last thing I would do. I have never told that account … and about the years when all of my family would come home to LaGrange to see Grandma, and I would head straight to the Y about 11 a.m. to play ball with who became famous as simply “the boys down at the Y”—those boys included Ken Carter, Kirk Kilgore, and our own ’74 star, Steve Sauter, who was the master at the one-liner out on the basketball court …
I want to share a chapter from our memoir of the Summer of 1973, a book with a working title called “Crossing the Georgia Line,” which is actually the re-writing of a book I wrote as a Masters Thesis in 1989 and thought it would be the Great American Novel sitting on the shelve right there with To Kill a Mockingbird and Huckleberry Finn. Perhaps someday.
The chapter I want to share from this re-write is the story of when I and my mother, in the early stages of her sickness, stood together on the front porch of our 901 Juniper home looking down at the Whatley’s house, and of her telling me a story about the earliest stages of her youngest son’s basketball ‘career,’ a story that takes place on an icy, snowy day somewhere around 1961. I will say that was an emotional chapter to write.
And like the ocean, there’s so much more, we know, beyond the horizon. Thanks to my classmates for re-energizing our nostalgic spirit and for encouraging our pen.
For today, as we visit the “Cool Hand Luke” story, three things:
First, after Luke’s death, I received a letter from his brother thanking me for writing about Cool Hand both in the book and in many, many newspaper columns. When you write, certain characters become icons, and like characters in a novel, and their names resurface regularly, such as Coca-Cola Mike and those "boys down at the Y." Regarding Cool Hand, not often do you have a hero sitting next to you in history class. I’m very glad that the written memories gave some comfort to Luke’s family.
Secondly, as you read this account, notice the ending when the ball rolls at my feet. The question whether that was a real scene, or a scene in my mind, or both, I cannot say. But it is interesting.
And, finally, look carefully at the picture drawn by my artist Delton Gerdes, and tell me what you see. I had forgotten how Delton did that, and I think it was masterful.
Thanks so much for traveling back with us, Class of ’74. Now, here’s …
Cool Hand Luke Skies Again
Until a few springs ago, it had been seventeen years since I had been in my old high school gym in that Georgia town not far from the Alabama line. But during one of my semi-annual visits there, I dropped by to see if it still looked the same.
The gym did seem a little smaller than I remembered, but other than that it hadn’t changed much at all: the floor was set several feet lower than the stands with iron rails running along the edge, and the bleachers were made of about the same hardwood as the floor. And it still had that kind of storybook feel that it had back then, as if it came right out of the “Hoosiers” movie.
A lot of good players came through that old high school playing for coach Dick Shrewsbury: There were Gray and Anderson, who formed one of the Grangers’ quickest backcourts ever in the early 1970s; there was Clinkscales, a guard who gained notoriety (to Coach Shrewsbury’s dismay) by putting the ball behind his back and dribbling through his legs before he’d shoot a free throw. (I heard he came up missing a few years ago, and there were bumper stickers all over town asking, “Where’s Kyle?” And to this day—despite recent tips and a renewed investigation—that question hasn’t been answered.)
There were other good players, too: Cofield, Boatwright, McHaffey, Pickett, and Kelly. Ah, I loved ole Kelly. As far as I was concerned, none was any smoother than Kelly. Cool Hand Luke, we called him. I had never seen anybody in Granger blue who could shoot going to his left the way Cool Hand could, even way back when he was in the seventh grade. He’d glide down the baseline going left, and all of a sudden he’d be in the air floating above everybody else, as composed as a high-wire artist; and when the ball came down, it was always nothing but net.
That’s how I remember Cool Hand.
It was Cool Hand Luke who bailed out the Grangers in a big game against New County in 1973. With the score tied and time running out, Shrewsbury called time out and carefully designed the game-winning play: Give it to Luke. Luke got the ball on the left wing with six seconds to go, went right, then spun back to his left in one fluid motion; and before you knew it, he was pulling up on the left baseline, soaring in mid-flight, and the shot was in the air. That shot floated about as softly as I’ve ever seen, but it landed more softly.
Cool Hand had done it again.
That moment and a hundred others passed through my mind as I stood looking over that gymnasium. It had been a long time since I walked across that old gym floor.
Before leaving, I couldn’t help but stop at that big “L” at center court and soak it all in for a moment. Finally, I shook my head nostalgically and started for the stairs. But then, a loose ball rolled to my feet near the left corner of the court. A kid in Granger blue shorts said, “Show me whatcha got.” I picked the ball up and dribbled left, skied the way Cool Hand used to do, then let it fly.
As I headed out the door, I could hear the gym thumping from the roar of the crowd and the feet stomping, and I could smell the fresh popcorn. I didn’t even have to turn and look to know the result.
Nothing but net.
Cool Hand had done it again.
(from That Southern Red Clay Jus' Won't Wash Off, 1997).
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