“We could beat anybody in a gym” Doc Sanford (1984). *

Doctor Jack Sanford was standing at the entrance to the gym watching his baseball team practicing indoors, after a week of rain. I asked him how his team was going to be this year? *See quote above.

Wilson/Alumni gym was named after its two sources of funding, the town and the college. It was built in 1965/66, my second year as a teacher at Atlantic Christian College.   My first year my office was located in the bowels of the “old gym”. The physical education department chair, Ed Cloyd, would come by my office almost daily and suggest we go to the new construction site. He had designed the building and knew where every brick should go.

One day I walked to the new site alone, and met Mr Cloyd coming back toward me. He had tears in his eyes. I asked what was wrong? “They took the wall hung urinals out of the bathrooms.! You can’t clean the floor if the urinals are floor mounted”!

The new gym was his baby.

I never saw a gym that wouldn’t fill up if the door was open.   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 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.

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.

I taught eight DIFFERENT classes my first semester. Intramural director and tennis coach tacked on. One class was first aid. Twenty years at 8 am, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.   I have been told about 15 times by a former first aid students that they saved someone’s life, or helped with a major injury or drowning. One student swore they saved their beloved mule with CPR.

Three days a week then, I was one of the first in the gym. The first was “Mr. B”. Mister Bowen had one eye, managed the equipment room and loved Ed Cloyd. He had eleven children, all girls. “We threw the boys away”.   He rode his bike four miles a day to open the gym at 5am. Did that at 85 years of age.

At about seven thirty a.m.(mwf) I’d enter the back door: “Mawnin Mr Tom”. “Morning Mr B.”   The next sound came from the gym floor. The ball would hit the floor, then a diminishing sound of 4 or 5 bounces.   I’d guess to myself whether it was Johnson Moore, or Russell Rawlings (the large one).

I’d say Hey,Russell. Hey coach. Or Hey Johnson, and he’d say “watch this one coach.” And there would go that two hander. How you hitting em , Johnson? I’m 2 for 22. I’m hot!

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 Cureton danced around in a circle. Later we heard that the same thing happened that afternoon at ECTC (now East Carolina university).

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.

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.

The North Carolina Sports Hall of Fame has just announced its 2014 class.   Wilson, N.C.’s  Lee Gliarmis is one of nine inductees.  WHAT A  GREAT CHOICE.   Boston may have had “Cheers” but Wilson has DICK’S HOT DOG STAND (“…where everyone knows your name”).   Establish in 1921 by Lee’s Father,  it is the heartbeat of the county.   And the straw that stirs the drink is COACH LEE.   Now in his mid-80’s,  this gentle man coached little league football and baseball for untold grateful Wilson youngsters.   The world is a better place in general, and North Carolina and Wilson  in particular, are blessed to have  Lee.  We are all grateful.  Thanks, Coach, and congratulations.

Buddy had flaws, but he got things done. The football stadium at Fike High School bears his name.
He was loud, chubby, smoked constantly, and got right up next to you to talk. With each point of emphasis he’d bump you with her considerable girth.
Buddy ascended to the role of “Godfather” to a Damon Runyan bunch of Southern characters. Here are a couple of “Buddy Stories,: and some of his Wilson “Buddies”.
The UNC Education Foundation booked a trip to Hawaii in 1972, for the “Rainbow” basketball tournament. Carolina fans by the plane full. Imagine. Any- way Margaret and I were asked along with Pete and the Boykins, Faye and “Coun- try.” We were “fillers” to make the required number.
We stayed in the “Royal Hawaiian” or the old pink landmark hotel. It was lovely. Upon checking out Buddy was presented with a bill for 50 cents for each call made within the hotel. This was a policy many hotels instituted later, but it was new to Buddy, who owned “The Heart of Wilson”, Wilson’s top motel.
And it was no small bill. Buddy knew everyone on the plane, orchestrated the whole weeks activities, and talked over the phone constantly anyway.
Buddy confronted the desk clerk. They exchanged arguments. Finally Buddy said, “Well, I own a motel and we certainly don’t charge any such ridiculous fee!”
The clerk puffed up and said, “Sir, is your motel this large?” “The telephones are the same size”, Buddy countered.

I met “COUNTRY” Boykin in 1959.  Earlier today he phoned and wanted to know how I was?

I told him I had a bad head cold.

He said “Yeah, when I first met you I thought to myself,  ‘ sooner or later he’s gonna have trouble with that head!’ “

I was administering the CPR practical test to twenty-five or so students when the department secretary banged on the closed door.
“Coach Parham, Ron McKeel is in the parking lot, and he looks like he’s dying from a heart attack.”
My class looked at their noble instructor. No way out, I ran to the lot, and she was right. Or it looked like a heart attack.
I knelt down next to a fraternity brother, a friend, and my own “examination.” The eyes of seventy people who’d gathered were grading me.
“Tilt the head, open the airwaves”, was step one and I employed it properly. As I did I could sense Ron starting to puke as I turned his head. His breakfast eggs came up and out.
I remembered his serious diabetes problem, and we both began to breathe  better. The A.D. and basketball coach were watching, slightly green tinted.

I’ve met very few people with my last name. One was Walt Parham, an “older” Wilson Elks clubber. Walt asked Margaret and me to his Christmas party. There was one difference we realized, arriving at he and Polly’s home: These Parham’s had some money.
Walt was dressed in Xmas attire. Coat and holly berry tie. Red suspenders. The works. The “gentlemen”, including a minister, were invited into Walt’s den. It housed a few barrels of fine whiskey. We had a several samples.
The maid called fifteen or so to the dining room. Fine crystal, silverware, chandelier beaming.
During dinner the minister’s wife totally dominated the conversation, with some bull about a piece of land they’d bought. On and on.
Why me? But Walt asked “Cousin Tom,…do you know how a Pollock pulls up his sox?”
Had I a response, I could not have gotten it out, for wife Polly instructed, “Walt you can’t tell that joke.”
Obliging Walt attempted to change the subject. To no avail. Back came the minister’s wife with more about “the land.” Moments late: “Tommy, know how a Pollock pulls up his sox?” Polly, sternly, “Walt, No!”
By the time the wife started a third time, Margaret had had a couple of cham- pagnes. “Tommy do you….”
Before Polly could slug Walt, Margaret said, “Tell us how, Walt!”
Whereupon Mr. Walt Parham, stood back of his seat, dropped his trousers (revealing Christmas underwear that matched his tie), and pulled up his sox inside his lowered pants. He pulled up his pants, hitched up his belt and said firmly, “I don’t want to hear anymore about that land.”
Blood kin.

In 1983 I had a “Swedish revolt” on my hands. I had learned about “morning acclimatization’s” from the NAIA Nationals. The Swedes want to sleep longer. Chief spokesman, Thomas Linne, was 6’5” and looked like Alice Cooper.
“Why we got to get up so early”? I explained what I knew to be true. This tournament was often won by those who handled the early rises best. Besides, what difference does it make if you get up at 5:15am rather than 6:00am, both hurt like hell.

Thomas and I went back and forth. My point was I knew this tournament better than he and his newcomer countrymen. I finally told Thomas about ten unlikely things that would happen in the tournament. “You crazy”, said Thomas. “I know these guys, they not going to lose to those guys.” He better than him!” “No way he loses” etc.

My teams had played Kansas City twenty times. Lo and behold about eight of those ten unlikely predictions came true. We won the NAIA in 1984. Flying home I asked Thomas what he learned from the experience. He wrote the backhanded compliment on a notebook I held: “I learned to listen to an old man who’d been there. Even if I thought he didn’t know very much.” I used this sentence to preface my coaching handbook.