There were some great games, funny things and tremendous performances. We felt good about 1960-61 but lost our first two games. Our third, at home against Elon was a must. From the bench I watched “Jughead” Irwin of Elon flip in a bomb at the buzzer, over Eskew, to beat us 62-61.
Fellow benchwarmer, Terry Harris and I hit for the dressing room. Alone, first in and changing clothes, we watched as our steaming coach cried “son of a bitch” at the same time he kicked his dressing room door. The door had a rubber stopper which trampolined the door flush into the 140 lb. coach. It flattened him. Terry and I peeked sideways from our sitting position, as we turned purple trying not to laugh. McComas said, from an almost blind stagger, “Don’t you bastards laugh at me.” He sat down, thought a minute holding his head, and changed his mind. “No you can laugh quick before the others get here, but you don’t ever tell anybody about this.” Sorry Coach!

Once Dr. Sanford and I shared a classroom to give different exams. I watched as people cheated on his test unabashedly. I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t look at the blatant collaborating.
As I exited I pointed out boldly: “Doc” those four guys at that table are cheating right now, and they’ve been cheating all period.” I walked out indignantly.
Overnight I pondered that I had just showed up my chairman in front of students. I was certainly concerned about my action.
As I approached “Doc” in the hall the next morning the conversation went like this. (Doc called me “Pie Ram”.)
“Pie Ram. Do you know what the little tree asked the big tree?
“Am I a son-of-a-beech? Or a son-of-a-birch?”
The big tree said, “Oh, I remember your mother, what a lovely piece of Ash.” He then added, “Those boys cheat all the time, don’t worry about it.”

Small college teachers often have colleagues’ children in their classes.  They are often the brightest is the class or’ “the others”.  Love for colleagues, or the realization that one of your own may be one of “the others” breeds special attention to the “not yets”.

Recently I talked to John Sanford, son of legendary “Doc” Sanford, our baseball  coach and my department chairperson.   Doc and I changed schools.  He came from Elon to Atlantic Christian College, now Barton College, and later I moved to Elon.  One day at Elon Doc called saying he was bringing 12 year old son,  John,  to visit Elon.  I made preparations.

Doc came to Atlantic Christian because of a bitter turf battle with the  Elon basketball coach, the irascible  Bill Miller.  Vying  over services of Richard Such, future baseball Hall of Famer caused the tift.

Elon’s gym housed a hosting room, the Huey Room, where they displayed Elon’s athletic greats, or Hall of Fame members.   Large pictures of members were  hung on the wall in no order.  Before Doc’s impending tour I crept into the Huey Room and rearranged the pictures, putting Doc right beside Coach Miller.

After greeting Doc and John I escorted them down to the the shrine, all the way extolling the athletic prowess of his father to young John.  As we entered and squared away at the pictures I interrupted my praise.: “Oh my god , Doc!  They’ve got you up there by Miller!”

Doc said: “… yeah- move me down there by” Peahead” Walker!”

I asked John if he remembered that visit some thirty years ago?   “Like it was yesterday”.  he added, “..Coach, thanks for helping all us faculty kids.”

 

 

 

One cheating case I sat in on involved “Doctor” Kelly. Billy Kelly was not overly intellectual. And he was called “Doctor” for a reason. It was well known that Billy would tell his date anything to make progress. “I love you”, was blurted out within moments. He was a self-proclaimed doctor, movie star, Olympic ath- lete, widow, or whatever he perceived to get the job done.
A handwriting expert had proven Billy and two others had turned in exams, done by the same person.
Billy was the first to be told that fact. I was Billy’s advisor and listened, as the next defendant, unaware of the evidence, threatened vehemently to “sue the school out of existence for this travesty.”
As he drew his first breath, “Doctor Kelly” interjected, “Ah hell, George, I done told ‘em we done it.”
Case closed.

My freshman basketball teams played at a now defunct, E.M.I., or Edwards Military Institute. Pete Maravich had prepped at E.M.I.
The gym was cold and the clock wouldn’t start properly. That was okay because we were way ahead. Then E.M.I. rallied, and the lead dwindled. And the clock wouldn’t run. A twenty-minute half must have turned into forty-five basketball minutes. I went to the scorer’s table repeatedly. They decided to run a hand held clock.
E.M.I. led one time by one point. The moment they scored that goal the hand held horn blared. “You’re shitting me!”
I was livid. I knew enough about sports to know the “Chicago Cubs” dictum: “The situation hopeless but not serious.”
Or, “300 million Chinese don’t give a shit.”
All the sayings coaches try to calm themselves with, “Just another pothole in the road of coaching.” Still I was pissed at this blatant robbery. Reason set in. I’d hide so as to not let my temper overload my ass.
My refuge was a storage room that housed gymnastic equipment. Parallel bars, side horses, mats, etc. There I stewed until I felt I could keep my mouth shut. Next problem:
The door wouldn’t open. I was locked in. I hollered and banged on the door. No one. Minutes passed before I noticed a big piece of ply board nailed on the oposite wall. In anger, again, I went over and banged it as hard as I could.
The plyboard, held only by four ten penny nails, fell backwards where it hit the old lady running the concession stand in the head.
We were both angry now, but I was also embarrassed.

Country was afraid of Gerald Wallace. That’s saying a lot, but he was justified. Gerald could get a lot drunker that we could, liked guns too much, and invariably got us kicked out of wherever.
Gerald convinced me to buy a gun. I’ve never shot it. Then he said I needed more guns and ammunition.
I did laugh at him.
“Parham,” Scope said, “you college people think you’re smarter than people like me, but I know that the Scar of Russia took all the guns up.” We called him “Scar” in Wilson.
People in Greensboro, his home, called him “Scope.” Why? I asked.
“Well, when we went skinny dipping, the rest of ‘em had to hide in the water. I’ve got a “bankwalker.” Up scope!
Gerald was high up in the Greensboro Elk’s Club. His buddy “Gooch” Lane start- ed the first topless bar in Greensboro, and the rest of them went down hill after that.
Pal “Percy” was home bound later on because he wouldn’t try to get his re- voked driver’s license back. “Percy, I get just as drunk as you do. I feel just as bad as you do the next day. To hell with you, I’m not driving you around anymore.”
Percy stayed at home. Drank all day, and ate pecans.
Gerald called me late at night, often, and often drunk. One night he told me
he’d talked to Speaker of the House, Tip O’Neil. “Horse shit, Gerald.”
“Parham, we were at the Elks Club and we decided we wanted some tickets to the Redskins-Cowboys football game in Washington. The “Professor” (one of the Elk’s Rat Pack) has a son named John who works in Tip’s office. It was Sunday, so
we called John’s office. Tip answered.”
“Oh, Mr. O’Neil, we were trying to talk with John” Gerald’s entrée.
“I’m sorry, but he’s not here,” politely Mr. O’Neil replied. “Can I help you?” “Well,” Scope revealed, “we’re trying to get four tickets to the Washington-
Dallas game next Sunday.”
“Hmmm,” the Speaker replied, “that’s mighty tough to do!”
Gerald swore he came back with “…well, goddamn Tip, if it was easy we’d do
it ourselves.”
See why we got kicked out a lot? When Gerald told me this I didn’t believe
him. “Call Percy, he was there.” He gave me Percy’s number.
“By golly yes, I’ll call Percy tomorrow!”
I didn’t want to give Gerald an advantage so I asked Percy if Gerald had re-
cently talked with any “politicians.” It was noon, a little early for Percy. After a moments silence a voice asks “oh yeah, you mean when he called Skip O’Neil?”

Gerald’s housing centered around a place he could walk home from the Elk’s Club. He’d had two D.U.I.’s. Someone told me he’d bought a moped. This ought to be good. I called him.
“Scar, how is it driving around Greensboro on that moped,” was my question.
“Well, Parham, it’s a lot like screwing a fat woman. It ain’t bad till your friends see you.”

I asked Gerald how his daughter was doing once. “Her mother and I flipped a coin to see who’d get to shoot her.”

Another summer failure was a college foray with an East Carolina student. I was hired by Virginia Beach Photo Service, located on 15th St., Virginia Beach. The trick was to sell pictures on the beach, which were developed, and placed in a key chain “plastic viewer.” $2.50 charges netted a commission of 50 cents per sale. Strictly commission.
The summer job gods got me good this time. It rained for 17 straight days. I mean no one was at the beach. I almost starved. Finally the sun shown.
I was an apprentice without sale #1. My mentor advised me to leap when I felt froggy. I watched several sales pitches and began to think I could do it.
As we approached two seated teenaged girls my employer went into high gear. He: “Let me take your picture.”
She: “No”
Through several “pitches” she remained firm, where upon he reached down and yanked her up by the arm and took her down to the shoreline and snapped her picture.
My turn!
Me: “Let’s join your friend.”
She: “No way.”
After three similar rebukes I employed similar tactics as my teacher.
As I grabbed her arm and started to lift her she began to shout “I’ve got an
artificial leg! I’ve got an artificial leg!”
As I watched the towel that had covered her prosthesis, I observed in compass
fashion, her leg draw a half circle in the Va. Beach sand.
Bus back to Robbins. Borrowed the fare.

Both my sons played college tennis and have continued to play.   Oldest grandchild plays tournaments.  Elder son, Tee,  just finished a tournament in hometown, Boulder.  Runner-up in doubles, they won $200.  Reminded me of my “total earnings” from pro tennis.

I attended all the early ITA (Intercollegiate Tennis Association) coaches conferences, held mostly in Sanibel, Florida.  In 1989 the ITA held a prize money tournament, singles only, all ages.   Not for me.  1990 they added age divisions.  The late Bob Brynes, a fine player, asked me to partner with him in the 50’s and older.  When we got the draw there were only four entries.   Our first round opponents were both over 70 years old.  Pretty easy, this pro tennis.  However our next opponents, in the “finals”, no less, were pretty good,  The 7/6, 7/6 match was really long.  Bob carried the load.  I realized I was late for my free shuttle back to the airport.  A cab cost me $30.

Weeks later I received my share of the win.  EIGHTY FIVE BUCKS!  However, the check bounced.  Later redeemed,  I yielded $55.   Our  family earnings from tennis play are now:  Tee-$200, Dad –$55, or $255.

My trophy reads ITA NATIONAL DOUBLES CHAMPION  (50 and OVER).   Thanks, Bob.

THE GYM 1960-1985

 

I doubt if Ed Cloyd or Milton Adams or anyone else at Atlantic Christian College had any idea that the gym they had pushed to reality would house so many different happenings and changes about to be become reality in the 60’s, 7o’s and even the 80’s. ‘Uncle Milty”was the beloved and trusted business manager who delivered the money to fulfill Mr. Cloyd’s vision.

Ed Cloyd was the Chairman of the Physical Education Department and the Athletics Department. A World War 11 veteran who survived the Saipan invasion, Mr. Cloyd was a true idealist and professional. He was also a self effacing , skilled athlete. For years He was the best tennis player in town and able to shoot par equally.

The design of the new gym bore his stamp. One characteristic was the multitude of different lines in the gym. The main blue lines were for varsity basketball and wider. Red lines marked two cross-courts for free play and class instruction, Yellow lines were boundaries for six badminton courts. White for two volleyball.   This insured training areas for future teachers, not like many gyms designed only for Men’s varsity basketball. While coaches howled, the lines stayed and never reportedly tripped anyone.

In fact Cloyd saw athletics being only a part of the gym, staff, and departments duties. Steadfastly he built a strong overall program, with first priority for the average student. As for former teacher/coach majors their sacred trust was to consider all students and their health and physical well being.

The gym housed classes, games, intramurals, free play, indoor soccer, baseball practice, aerobics and the 12 minute run, concerts, class registrations, the Danish gymnastics team, and others too many to recall. Once a year the North Carolina symphony played for the public schools children in the gym. All day bus loads of fifth graders.   When the crowd after lunch settled in I swear you could smell what was served that day in school cafeterias. The gym schedule was tight. Everyone claimed ownership and governance was tough. .   One grown neighborhood man told me “…if you ask me to leave, I will. But I’ll be back tomorrow. The only thing in life for me is basketball.”

The gym housed concerts people still talk about. Fleetwood Mac, Ray Charles . I had a new pair of tennis shorts in my unlocked locker that the Tams used to shine their shoes.

Ken Cooper, founder of Aerobics spoke to the entire student body. Better still, Tom Cureton led the volunteer students in a skipping/exercise in circular fashion around   the gym floor. One by one they gave out and dropped out until only the 70 year old Cureton danced around in a circle. Later we heard that the same thing happened that afternoon at ECTC (now East Carolina university).

Here are some others gym memories:

There were “club sports” and hosted tournaments for volleyball and badminton enthusiasts. Military clubs and ACC level clubs from “big schools” came to Wilson.

Class registration was held in the gym.

There were indoor soccer tournaments.

Winter nights would fill the gym with intramural games many among the fraternity and sorority teams and fans.

Once we decided to have the heavyweight intramural wrestling championship in the gym.   Raymond Boykin vs Gid Alston. It packed the whole building.

For several years we held indoor professional tennis matches in the gym, World class players on a borrowed mat. These were town sponsored events and never has there been better “town-gown” cooperation.

Once we hosted the Danish Gymnastics team for a performance. They stayed several days and used the gym as home. Lots of male students hung around the gym those three days.

Those who took freshman physical education in the Aerobics requirement period never worked harder , or were in better shape. Laps in the gym. The 12 minutes run. Tough.

The basketball world was shocked about the same time our gym was opened. Henry Logan of Western Carolina was the first black player to play in our league and he kicked the door open. Mid 60’s, before major colleges, our league featured Dwight Durante of Catawba, then Gene Littles of High Point.   Soon after ACC recruited Cliff Black and James Jones of nearby Conetoe,NC. Both were gentlemen as well as fine players. Cliff held several records, many still unbroken.

Carole McKeel saw the light and recruited our first black woman, Lorraine Riley. Like the men, success followed with players like Cathy Wall, and soon our first Women’s All American, Tyra Boyd.

In 1972 the college hired David Adkins as the Athletics Director. He also was to coach the newly added soccer team.   David was a quiet leader and a hard worker.   Still he took his licks too, early on.   His first two teams were 1-22.   Team three, however, was 7-5 , featuring a corner turning coach, and some players who had paid their dues.   Adkins teams became the powerhouse of the conference and our district of the NAIA.   Adkins and his players were influential ambassadors for soccer’s development in Wilson and eastern North Carolina.

There was a “bell cow” effect.   Coach Carole Mckeel’s   women’s basketball team won it first conference. title.   Women’s volley ball team became a “tough out” in league play. The colorful Jack “Doc” Sanford finished his career coaching baseball, his first love.   A delightful leader in his seventieth year, Doc led a special group of youngsters to another formerly rare conference title. During this period Men’s tennis won 11conference titles and two NAIA team tennis championships (1979 and 1984). The first in North Carolina history.   “This proves to our students we can compete with anybody.”

Indeed a new culture was born in the 70’s ,   No more clear-cut evidence was there than the Hawn trophy finishes. For twenty years our total program’s finish was always dead last. Eighth of eight.    Coach Adkins’ years featured a steady climb in the final standings, While Adkins later entered the private business world, the year after he resigned the college job, the Bulldogs finished a historical #2 Hawn finish.. The year after that they won the outright claim to top sports program in this highly competitive conference.   Subsequently there was a three years stretch of Hawn winners.

*And there are more I remember
And more I could mention
Than words I could write in a song
But I feel them watching
And I see them laughing
And I hear them singing along

Lyle Lovett—FAMILY RESERVE

As you get older memories are about it.   I left the gym in 1985. And I am sure the next years provided many similar and different memories. Gyms are good places. The athletes gave us great games and performances to savor.:   The Dawgs thumping #1 ranked nationally Guilford, featuring Lloyd “World B “Free.   That was a special team” Carraway, Jones, Stallsmith, Gilmore, and Covington. And an injured Coach who chased a referee while confined to a wheel chair.

Our women, valiantly won their rights to the gym, basketball and volleyball.   And gave us great performances.

But there was more than the games. Every birthday my young boys had featured a request to bring their buddies to the gym to play floor hockey. We snuck in on Sundays, or late at night. Talk about a “perk”. Yes, and walking into the hollow gym at 8am hearing Johnson Moore, jr. or a rather large Russell Rawlings, firing away at the rim. “2 for 22!” Johnson said he was HOT!

They changed the name of the college to Barton College. But it’s the same gym. Only it is fifty plus years old and needs a major facelift. The college committed to a total renovation and the whole main floor is now gutted. New floor, bleachers, lighting, scoreboards, computerization, and—AIR CONDITIONING to come.

I appreciate the school’s commitment to my old friend, the gym.

 

 

 

From Jerry McClean’s history of the college.

• Student demand for an on campus gym was widespread.
• The first gym officially opened January, 1935.
• The building cost $15,000. Seating—400.
• Activities included varsity play, physical education classes, boxing, intramurals, and as an auditorium.