GCU (part 2)
Let me amplify the family aspect of teams that I ended with last time. In 1968, which was my senior season at East High, and the school’s first year in the highest classification of Arizona high school sports, which was “AAA”, we were immediately tossed into the toughest region in the state- the Metro. The Metro in those days had two divisions, and ours had North High, South Mountain High, Central, Maryvale, and Carl Hayden. On the other side, one of the teams was Phoenix Union, which was coming off a 28-0 season. Another of the teams was West High, where we would open the season. They initiated us to the Metro with a 75-59 thumping. We won our home opener against Scottsdale High, and then headed over to play Phoenix Union in that huge gym of theirs. They were already 3-0, so had a 31 game win streak going. We beat them 65-64, which Coach Youree still refers to as the “arrival” of East High basketball. We would go 6-4 in our side of the Metro, and even though we didn’t go far in the playoffs, we were the only team in Arizona to have beaten the two '68 AAA finalists during the season- Phoenix Union and Maryvale. And many people know how East High then dominated the Arizona basketball scene for the next thirteen years until the school closed. Where does family come into this picture? Well, on the night of the Phoenix Union game and all of the subsequent games that season, we started four seniors. On the day I posted Blog #41, those same four starters met for lunch, almost 55 years later, as we have done many times over the years. It is a brotherhood, a bond. Sometimes, Coach Youree joins us, and he is the father figure. Yes, a family. Isn’t this what sports should be for someone?
The 2007-08 GCU season was rocky, and pretty much all over the map in terms of how we played. We definitely played much better at home in Antelope Gymnasium. We ended up 15-16, which reflected our inability to play well on the road. Since GCU was in the PacWest Conference, which included four teams from Hawai’i, we had two different road trips to the islands that were a week each. Those were pretty cool for coaches, because on our dead time, of which there was quite a bit, we could sightsee. It wasn’t so good for the players, however, because they needed to rest and/or do homework on their down time. Scott had been there several times and knew all the sights that appeal to tourists. We climbed Diamond Head on Oahu, as well as taking a drive up into the rainforests in the center of the island. I was also able to take walks on the boulevard facing Waikiki Beach, which was pleasant. On one of the walks, I pulled out my cell phone and called the lunch room in the Social Studies Department of Mountain Pointe High School, where I was still technically a teacher. It was lunchtime for the group, so I wanted to make sure I described my walk down to the beach and into the ocean. On the Big Island, where we would play the University of Hawai’i Hilo, we drove along the coastal highway and visited some of the beautiful waterfalls along the way.
The most poignant visit for me was on Oahu- Pearl Harbor. My Dad grew up in a tiny town in Texas during the Depression. His parents lived on a small farm and life was rough. My Grandpa had to deliver ice to homes for coolers and my Dad would help him before and after school. The blocks of ice were fifty pounds each and had to be hand carried to each location, many times up some stairs. My Dad couldn’t wait to graduate from high school, and had plans to join the army in the hopes of becoming a pilot. Right after graduation in 1940, he drove 50 miles to Dallas, where there was an army recruiting center in which he could sign the enlistment papers. His neighborhood buddy, Duane “Rusty” Jackson, went with him, even though Rusty was not a high school graduate yet and was only 16. He was going to see if he couldn’t lie about his age and get in the service. His life in the small town was dreary and he envied his friend’s ability to get out. When they got to the recruiting office, my Dad went to the army office and told Rusty to wait in the lobby and he could go next. Rusty got up after a few minutes and went down the hallway to the navy office. He had never seen the ocean, so the idea of working on it and going around the world on a ship kind of appealed to him. By the time my Dad finished enlisting in the new Army-Air Force, Rusty had lied his way into the navy.
Dad’s first station after boot camp was at a new base out in the dusty town of Phoenix, Arizona, called Luke Field. Rusty, on the other hand, landed a plum position as a gunner’s mate on one of the premier battleships in the U.S. Navy- the USS Arizona. On December 7, 1941, Rusty was able to make it to his gun position on one of the two towers of the ship before the bomb hit that completely destroyed it. His body was blown out into the bay and recovered later. Most of the crew of the Arizona were never recovered and were entombed permanently in the wreckage. Rusty was eventually buried back in his home town. Every other year when I was a kid, we would go to Texas to visit my Grandma, who still lived on that old farm. And on each trip, my Dad would drive my brother and I out to the cemetery and we would go to Rusty’s grave. His grave marker was a simple stone with his name and years of life on this planet. He was 17 when he died on the Arizona. There was also a metallic frame that held a small black and white picture of Rusty wearing his navy uniform and his sailor’s hat with “USS Arizona” written on it. When I stood at the Arizona Memorial all those many years later, and saw Duane Jackson’s name on that wall, I understood why my Dad took us to the cemetery on each visit to Texas. He wanted us to understand that Rusty’s sacrifice mattered. And as I stood there, I was overwhelmed by that.
We lost all four games in Hawai’i, but would beat all four of those teams in Antelope gym. That’s kind of the way the whole season was. Chaminade, which was and still is a D2 famous for hosting a tournament that annually includes some big time D1’s now referred to as the Maui Invitational, actually has an on-campus gymnasium that is…well, rustic. What struck me immediately was that there was no dressing room for the visiting teams, so we had to dress in a classroom that was on top of a hill directly above the gym. That is junior college stuff. Anyway, as we descended the hill, we were directed to a side door and found that we entered the gym on the second level and would have to go down through the bleachers to get to the floor. That also meant that at halftime and after the game, we would have to climb through those same bleachers to get back to the classroom. If there were fans present, those trips could be problematic. When we got to the floor, I immediately noticed that the entire surface was covered with Chiquita Banana stickers. I had never seen that before- or since. Predictably, when we went up the bleachers at halftime, the fans were giving us the business, and after our loss, many hung around to give us more of the business as we walked out. We played a very poor second half, which of course we attributed to having to climb that hill at halftime.
When we played Hawai’i Pacific, I found that they did not even have a gym of their own, and played at two or three locations around Honolulu. The night we played them, they were at a local high school gym. Although their team was not very good, the gym was packed with fans and they had a great pep band. I spoke with a student after the game and found out that their housing costs would be reduced if they attended sporting events. And they partied the whole game- very loud. The student told me that if they had to be there, then they felt they should have a great time. Smart. I hear the Havoc at GCU these days gets the same deal. One of the players on their team was someone that I knew from Arizona. I asked him if he liked it at Hawai’i Pacific and he said “Yes, great weed”. The fans really did carry a mediocre team to victory that night.
BYU Hawai’i was a different story. They were the class of the PacWest and had a great South American player named Lucas Alvez. He would be PacWest Conference Player of the Year three times. Great big man- 6’9” with great athleticism, feet, and hands. He was very skilled and fun to watch. They had a beautiful arena and were located on the North Shore of Oahu. Nothing remarkable about the game stands out, and they handled us pretty easily. BYU Hawai’i has since dropped their athletic programs, which is a shame.
Hawai’i Hilo played in the Hilo Civic Center, which was one of those old combine gyms with a stage at one end of the court. There was no air conditioning- beach breezes, right? Wrong, it was stuffy in there and even more so when it filled up with people. It was so humid that there were two boys at each end of the floor with mops to wipe up the droplets of sweat from the players each time they went to the other end. There were several times during the game when the boys were caught out on the floor by one team or the other coming down on a fast break. We at least had a locker room, but the windows were open and people outside could hear everything. We played a poor first half, and Scott came in at halftime and started to give it to the team pretty hard. When he paused, some lady outside yelled “you tell ‘em, coach!” Everyone laughed, including the players.
Next time: On to Mesa Community College