Headed out to the Ol' Gym, Part II

Fierce rivalries, small gyms, jeering crowds, offensive focus--the late 1960s provided them all in the basketball world. However, many like to think those were years of innocence, certainly causing me a chuckle.  In truth, the orneriness of our valley's teenagers was off-the-charts; in fact, today's youth would probably be incarcerated if they tried doing so much of what passed as pranks during that time. Fast cars, drag races, and "harmless" vandalism ruled; of course, many today might deny their involvement in such activities, but it happened . . . trust me on that. In the Gnadenhutten community I was raised, I clearly remember so many of our "finest" athletes hanging out at Gibby's grocery store, one known for selling smokes to whoever walked through the door. I witnessed many drag races headed past our house that sat on a straight stretch headed out of town; additionally, I remember the numerous Halloween "tricks" that were pulled and the ever-present stories of the infamous "River Gang" that trolled the Tuscarawas River at the Gnadenhutten bridge.  As for any drinking, certainly not those boys! I single out my home town, but it must be stressed that this happened throughout the valley; pick a town like Tuscarawas, Midvale, Port Washington, Strasburg. . . it was the sign of the times. Despite all that shenanigans, what each community possessed was one simple unifier: Basketball. Football was in the valley; however, not all schools could afford that sport, but all of them could afford a gym and uniforms, thus stirring intense competition between these small burgs where winning fostered the coveted bragging rights that created heroes.

Walls were tight against most courts, many even having stages as backdrops (Gnadenhutten, for example). To have an uncontested layup was rare because it certainly was a sign of manhood to blast someone into a wall, taking the foul and the resultant pushing that often followed. A few courts, of course, sat in a pit-like environment being so small that the 10-second over-and-back line was simply the foul line in the backcourt (Midvale and Tuscarawas, for example). Floor colors varied, but the constants were that the floor size was limited and the red 3-foot step back line ran along both the endlines and the sidelines--for recall, this line prevented the defender of an out-of-bounds passer to not get closer than 3 feet, allowing the inbounder to at least have a little room to throw in the ball because his feet were either right against a wall or against the bleachers. As one would guess, close proximity to other players and to fans led to exciting action and frequent tumbles into the stands. Through it all, however, shone community pride.

Each community had its stars, those that the townspeople would talk about religiously because those stars' success determined their success. Strasburg had so many but, in particular, the beloved John Studer; Garaway had its Danny Andreas; Tuscarawas had its Dave Paisley; Midvale had its Dean DeMattio; Newcomerstown had its John Hurst; Dennison St. Mary's had its Tom Crosswhite; and Gnadenhutten had its Dan Jinks. Scoring was the name of the game during that time with defense being a bit of an afterthought in contrast to changes that would later impact the scoring. It was not unusual for individuals to average in the mid-to-high-20s. In fact, during that time the two highest individual scoring games in our valley's history featured Hurst scoring 58 vs. Dover St. Joe's and Jinks topping it with 59, a record that still stands today. (Point of emphasis: Gnadenhutten defeated Tuscarawas 116-115 in that game!)

I remember with pride watching many of those games; as a kid, having sports heroes was standard, and when those basketball players were so visible and close on our gym floors, it became almost like a  worship session: it was our town against yours . . . and none of us were good losers. In the fans' eyes, referees were the bad guys, challenged with keeping the gym's tensions under control. Rare was the time when fans and parents would agree with any call that went against their favorites. We must remember that these small burgs were comprised of tough people, most of whom performed hard, physical labor on a daily basis. Their entertainment was high school sports simply because the world of televised sports was quite foreign to us at that time. Our allegiance was to our schools' teams!

The picture is clear, isn't it? Community pride was at stake--it was time to win. Fights were not dominant, but they certainly happened. I clearly remember Strasburg's Bob Welling punching a Gnadenhutten player following a rough exchange for a loose ball. Surprisingly, it was an occasional part of the game. Play was physical, largely due to ten bodies competing on small floors. The game was about scoring, although the total points in a game really was not significantly different than what we see today (with a few notable exceptions as mentioned in a previous paragraph). But each team had a clear scoring leader, and that individual got most of the shots. Our hero, Jinks, had the green light to shoot whenever he could; I kid him today about being the only player in school history to never have an assist. Although that is not true, his job was to score--not to defend and not to pass . . . just put the ball through the hoop. That was the flavor of the game then; as indicated earlier, each team had a scorer and as that scorer went, so did the team.

In 1967, the valley was blessed with the state championship won by the Strasburg Tigers, a significant feat in the A/AA school classification that existed then. For one of the rare times, it allowed our valley's competitiveness to be shown on a statewide stage. Yes, other teams had previously excelled (Midvale, for example), but this championship was a turning point in our basketball history. Strasburg put us on the map! As a kid, I remember so clearly being able to watch their regional championship and then listening to their state tournament games . . . what a time it was and what a motivator it became.

The late '60s provided yet another spark in my love of the game, creating excitement, rivalries, and rich competition. Basketball and its importance in the valley have gone through numerous changes since then, many of which were caused by consolidations, but those consolidations led to a dominant era in our history: basketball in the '70s! 

The foregoing is Part II of a few-part series chronicling basketball in our Tuscarawas valley. Part III's focus will be on the 1970s . . .here's hoping a few readers may be intrigued by this mini-series! (For those who may not have read Part I, that entry can be found at three locations: michaelagunther.blogspot.com OR The Times-Reporter web page under "Opinion" and then "Blogs." OR my Facebook page.)

 

Headed out to the Ol' Gym

This place we call home is a treasure, packed with a storied history that oftentimes fades into the dark as time rambles before our eyes. For those like me who have been raised in this valley and chose to return, occasional reminders jolt us into remembering images, situations, and people we have forgotten. In the past six months or so, I have experienced that of which I speak. Spurred by the reading of two historical compilations, Dover's Memorial Hall Hardwood 'Carnival'  (Dr. Matthew Gladman) and Whistle Stop Stories (Al Amicone), I have caught myself reminiscing about our valley's past . . . and, oh, the memories that have surfaced. Perhaps a few readers will enjoy going down that road with me as I highlight certain remembrances focusing on gyms, schools, players, and coaches.

In truth, the roots of this blog entry began ten years ago when my good friend Bob VonKaenel and I decided to list all the schools and mascots representing Ohio's Eastern District. After much discussion, mind searching, phone calls, and questions, we compiled our list of schools still existing today as well as schools from yesteryear that were swallowed up via consolidation. Together, ninety-seven schools were identified with mascots ranging from the Flying Tigers to the Spartans to the Mounties to the Ductolites! Scrolling through that list, one can easily trace the youth of so many of our older generation, of which--I guess--I am now a quasi-official member!

Come back with me to the beginning. My neighborhood had four houses, three of which had basketball hoops with dirt courts, wooden backboards, and ratty old nets. Depending on what day it was determined on whose court we would play; regardless, the games were great, the "shooting around" was a challenge with all kinds of experimental shots, and practically every time we played, the Tuscarawas County tournament would be held among us with each of the three kids (and later adding a fourth) assuming the roles of a county school. Of course, because I attended Dennison St. Mary's my first five years, my peers, who were Gnadenhutten Indians, never allowed me to enter as the Blue Waves because we were a Catholic school! Translated, we had to be a public school, so every game represented a small county school. We knew the players' names from most of the schools, so we made it as official as we could. Heated contests always ensued in our 1-1 battles, and, of course, the age-old excuse of "you fouled me" always surfaced. Did not matter--we had the time of our lives!

Dennison St. Mary's was an important spur for me. As a child, my dad would take me to various games at St. Mary's "new" gym, which I thought was gigantic at that time. It sounds strange, I know, but I still remember watching those teams come out of that locker room flashing those white warm-up jackets and pants with each player's name bouncing on the jacket's back. Like in a trance, I would watch the entire warm-up period, mesmerized by the sound of the net when a ball would be swished and the repetitive bouncing of many basketballs. When the warm-ups came off, the Blue Waves sported the coolest uniforms I have ever seen to this day. The light blue (or whites dependent on whether it was a home or away game) capped off by stars and the high socks made each player so special. Even today, I get goose pimples when I remember watching heroes like Joey Pangrazio, John Carter, Tom Crosswhite, Danny Angelozzi, Ralph Douglass, Chris Tolloty, and so many others who wore those uniforms. As stated, my appetite was wetted by the Blue Waves.

Soon, I was able to begin playing in our biddy-basketball league held on Sunday afternoons. However, before I ever played an organized game, I received the news that I had to have a jock strap; for what reason, I had no clue. Hell, I was only in second grade, so those details were not part of my thinking. Once my parents had purchased a jock strap--a gigantic one, I should add for a seven year old--I felt I was big time. Obviously, excited I was as I got to dress in the St. Mary's locker room . . . still remember it! My coach was a good man I had occasionally seen in church, Bill Dillon, who was and has remained fiercely loyal to the Catholic school athletic programs. Of course, because Mr. Dillon was my coach, he was put on my personal pedestal. Little did he know, but he captured my enthusiasm and interest because he was kind and simplistic with me. Never did he yell, but he certainly encouraged . . . I have never forgotten that, and in my mind I certainly contrast his approach with those of several I have seen working with elementary kids today. Even though I was already hooked on the game, Mr. Dillon made basketball so much fun for me. With my dyed blue t-shirt and my oversized white gym shorts, I was so proud to be on that floor . . . a feeling that, truthfully, still lingers today every time I enter a gym.

As the St. Mary's years moved on, I found myself just waiting to actually be part of that basketball program. Wearing those warm-ups and uniforms, playing before a packed house in what I later realized was actually an extremely small gym, and getting to represent my school and my church provided my motivation. In time, however, problems emerged. The omnipresent hulk of a man, Fr. Gilbert--the church's pastor, the school's principal and athletic director as well as the bus coordinator--made a decision that no busses would run to Gnadenhutten, thus thrusting the traveling to school on my parents, who simply could not economically justify providing that transportation. I clearly remember one Sunday morning after mass when my dad and Fr. Gilbert had a shouting match regarding that dilemma. When we got in the car, my dad simply stated, "You're (my sister and I)  going to Gnaden next year." (Nothing like a shouting match with the priest coming out of church!) Thus, my St. Mary's dream ended, but a new one began as I got to see the Indians play, led by Dan Jinks!

 My plans are to expand this into a few-part series, eventually ending with observations about high school basketball as it is played today. Here's hoping a few readers may be intrigued by this mini-series!