thought I'd post this excerpt from an epic tome I've been compiling for some twenty odd years. It's also an introduction to a documentary that will be premiering this June on Georgia Public Broadcasting and possibly some other places. The doc is about the GIA, which was the African-American counterpart to the segregated GHSA in the 1950s and 60s. The list of incredible, record breaking athletes and teams that competed in the GIA is legion. There is a website asifwewereghosts.com if you are interested. Many folks here are old enough to remember many of the athlete's stories....Walt Frazier, Otis Sistrunk, Rayfield Williams, John "Blue Moon" Odom and Olympic champion Wyomia Tyus. A great many more people on this board are too young to remember the names and even the days of segregation that raised huge obstacles for these schools and athletes to overcome. The excerpt below is a not directly tied to the doc, but rather is part of my personal story that led to me creating the documentary many decades later. The night in the except is in the summer of 1963, between my frosh and soph years at Decatur High School.
The sky was dark and thunder was rumbling in the distance as I picked up the pace on my bike on a muggy July evening. ( I’ve taken quite a bit of ridicule for beginning my story with that line…the ol’ it was a dark and stormy night riff, but I have gotten together with Leadus since I wrote this and he confirmed the reason he decided to venture into the rec that night was because it was storming and he thought there wouldn’t be many people there) Except for the gathering storm, this night seemed no different than all the others that summer of 1963 as I headed for the Decatur Recreation Center, or the “rec” as most of the regulars who played pickup basketball there called it. And I was certainly a regular. Unless I was out of town, or sick in bed, I was playing ball at the rec five nights a week and Saturday afternoons. Basketball had become an all-consuming passion in my life by the summer of my freshman year in high school.[why I love basketball] I wheeled up in front of the two story, brick building just as the first few large drops of rain began to splatter on the concrete walkway leading to the atrium of the rec. As I affixed my bicycle lock, a too-near bolt of lightning sent me scurrying through the glass doors inside to the familiar sights and sounds. Off to the left as I entered was a door leading to three small offices. Directly in front of me was a large glass showcase with some trophies, announcements and schedules for summer classes. Square Dance, sewing, and judo were some of the activities white Decatur folk could participate in throughout the summer, though none held the slightest interest for me unless one could square dance while dribbling a basketball. Ah yes, promenade right and down the lane, past your opponent it's a grand old game.
I walked towards the double doors on the right of the glass case, and because of the paucity of sounds coming from inside realized it was a sparse crowd before I even entered the gym. I could make out only one or two balls bouncing and the tell-tale squeak of converse all-stars on the wood floor was barely audible. Once inside, I saw a game of three on three going on the main basket nearest the entrance. The rec’s gym was laid out with one main court, equipped with thick glass backboards at either end, and crossed by two side courts, one running across each half-court of the main court, sideline to sideline, equipped with fan-shaped metal backboards. Most nights the games were played on a half-court. The big game was always on the main court nearest the front doors and was usually four on four, but depending on the crowd, it could be three on three. On the side goals guys just shot around, played horse and half- assed one on one, or two on two waiting to get in the game on the main court.
12)
That night, the three on three game on the main court seemed to lack intensity, maybe because it was still early in the evening. There was only one other guy in the building not playing in the game and he was shooting around on the side court nearest the entry doors. I recognized him immediately. It was “the Leech”. He was the thirty-something scion of a prominent Decatur family and a successful businessman in his daily life, which brokered him no leverage regarding playing time at the rec where the rules of getting court time were simple; when the game on the main court ended, the winning team stayed on the court and would go on to the next game; one was either chosen by the guy who had “next up” from the sidelines, or you called “up” yourself and waited your turn in the rotation. Some nights, when the best competition was around, it was difficult for a young player like me to get in a game. Many times the guy with next up would choose two or three of the best players from the losing team to play with him. The side courts were kind of like Purgatory (a Catholic term for a place with fires just as hot as hell, but with the hope that someday you may get out and go to heaven. Catholics also recognized a final destination called limbo for babies that died before baptism, or for pagans, atheists etc., who lived good lives, but were never baptized. The Protestants kept it simple and only recognized heaven and hell. The more options the better I thought, and limbo seemed like the most fun place to hang out. It even had a cool party game going for it.) Side court purgatory was generally occupied by those too young, or not good enough to be chosen to play in the main court game. The competition wasn’t at the highest level that night. A couple of varsity players from Decatur High were there along with several industrial-league players and a couple local gym rats. It must have been a Wednesday, because the Protestant churches had prayer meetings on Wednesday evenings till about eight-thirty and Decatur was about ninety-nine percent followers of Martin Luther, John Calvin, or some such. I could be there early on Wednesday and get in some main court games before the older guys showed up because I was Catholic, which was a blessing on Wednesday nights and, as I mentioned earlier, a burden the rest of the week.
The competition wasn’t at the highest level that night. A couple of varsity players from Decatur High were there along with several industrial-league players and a couple local gym rats. It must have been a Wednesday, because the Protestant churches had prayer meetings on Wednesday evenings till about eight-thirty and Decatur was about ninety-nine percent followers of Martin Luther, John Calvin, or some such. I could be there early on Wednesday and get in some main court games before the older guys showed up because I was Catholic, which was a blessing on Wednesday nights and, as I mentioned earlier, a burden the rest of the week.
After a while several more players had drifted in and everything seemed normal enough. I watched the Leech chasing down one of his inevitable missed shots and glanced at the four on four game that was now going full bore on center court. Just another night at the rec and then…as suddenly as a change in the weather at that time of the year, he was there, standing in the doorway dark and brooding as the summer storm outside. At first no one else noticed him. I watched as he eyed the gym from just inside the doors. Looking back now, I can guess he must have wanted to look as imposing as possible. Maybe he had even rehearsed his movements prior to his appearance. {Leadus’ story in his words} One thing was for sure. This was the first time a black had ever entered the Decatur Recreation Center. I was certain of that fact, because I had been a stalwart regular at the rec for the four years since it opened. And even if I hadn’t been there every day, had it happened previously, word would have spread like wildfire in town. After all, it was the deep south of 1963. Everything was segregated. The blacks had their own schools Ebster Elementary and Trinity High School and their own Ebster rec center, although it was a much smaller, concrete block building with only one cement court. It was several blocks from my house and I had ridden past it many times along with my mother while driving our maid Ernestine home in the evenings. (A family didn’t have to be wealthy to have a maid in those days. Most white families with kids had someone a couple days a week). I was always intrigued by the raucous sounds emanating from inside and the dark figures moving in the shadows around the open doors. I certainly never imagined that one day I would be the first white, along with Bob Morely to cross over and play ball there. But that’s another story.
Then the amazing apparition in the doorway flashed a slight, but disarming smile and moved over to where I was shooting. He said his name was Leadus and he wanted to play some ball. I was way too startled to speak, but I passed him the ball, and we all passed into a future that would change forever the way the game of basketball was played in Decatur and put me on the road to traveling the world and realizing a dream that was only just beginning to form in my young mind.
The Leech dribbled by, did a slight doubletake, but carried on as if nothing was out of the ordinary. The game on the main court continued on unabated, although there were some long, leering looks during breaks in the action. As we shot around, I couldn’t take my eyes off of Leedus. He appeared calm and at ease, as if he too was a rec regular. I silently admired the well-defined upper arms, powerful rounded shoulders and muscular thighs and calves that he possessed. He was only slightly taller than my 5' 9”, but he carried about 160 pounds to my 135, and every inch and pound bespoke speed and power. I was to find out later, that although Leadus played on the Trinity high varsity basketball team, he was a star halfback on the football team and a hundred yard sprinter in track. He couldn’t palm the ball to dunk, but he leapt above the rim effortlessly several times to lay it in. I couldn’t help but jump up and grab the rim and hang on, which was my claim to fame as the best leaper in my class at Decatur. He laughed and said I’d be “joogin” it in no time. I had never heard that term before, but I was thrilled because instinctively I knew he was talking about dunking the ball, which was nirvana to my friends and I in those days.
Leadus, the Leech and I continued to shoot around on the side goals as the main court game was nearing an end. I could sense it was almost over by the increase in the intensity of play and the foul calling. Inevitably, as a tight game drew to a close, any small foul that may have been ignored earlier, was called. Leadus asked if we were going to play on the main court and as I was explaining the informal rule (the same as at Ebster and most gyms across the country actually, with some slight differences in other rules as I'll explain later)) the Leech walked over and said he had the next up. He asked Leadus if he’d like to play on his team. He nodded “yeah man”. Looking back, I guess we have to give him credit for having the guts to ask Leadus to play. Maybe he wasn’t as intimidated by the unusual situation as some whites might have been because he ran his family’s construction business and had many blacks working for him. He also wasn’t blind and could see that Leadus looked to be, at least warming up, a very formidable player. And the Leech knew that for him to remain on the main court for long his team would have to win. I was just about to feel slighted, but then Leadus nodded towards me, and since I was the only other player there, and the Leech knew I hustled and didn’t shoot much (no confidence from over five feet), he asked me along for the ride…and what a ride it was.
The main court game ended, and as the players dispersed for a water break there were strange stares on several white faces. No doubt there was some interesting conversation at the water cooler in the hallway as well. The Leech picked up one of the players from the losing team to fill out our four-man team. He was a generic rec regular, a senior at Decatur High, not on the basketball team, but a decent enough player. The winning team from the previous game had one varsity basketball player from Decatur. He was a bruising reserve forward/center that played lineman on the football team. Two of the other guys looked twenty-something and were industrial league players I had seen before. The rec had several leagues going during the winter. One for high school kids who couldn’t make their school teams, a church league and an industrial league, which could be pretty good basketball. Industrial league teams were made up primarily of former high school and college players. Some very good older guys, who were good enough, but never took the time, didn’t get along with the coach, or for some other reason didn’t play high school basketball, also played industrial league. These guys might be as old as their mid to late thirties, which for a fourteen year old like me could be pretty intimidating. Their fourth man was a stranger to me, but from what I had seen of the previous game was a sturdy six - footer who could fill it up from twenty feet. The Decatur varsity player was the biggest player on the court at about 6’3 and 200 pounds. The rest of us were in the 5’8 to 6’1 range.
It’s strange, looking back, over all these years, because I can remember so much of that night so vividly, but the memories of the in-game action are like snatches of a dream to me now. I know that it only took a couple of games for Leadus to establish himself as the best athlete and best player in the gym that night. He wasn’t a great outside shooter, and actually didn’t dominate in any one phase of the game. His floor game and ball-handling were good, but it was the way he worked, his style, that really got my attention. There was something there that the rest of us didn’t have in our games. His explosive speed and jumping were clearly superior to the rest of us as well. Any sense of intimidation I may have felt early on dissipated as Leadus led us to several victories in a streak. A few more of the rec regulars had wandered in over the hour or so we had been holding the main court, but we conquered all combinations that came against us. I often wonder why word hadn’t gotten out and there wasn’t a gathering mob. But by now all the guys in the rec were really into the games going on. No one wanted to leave and miss a chance to play or watch. I found myself secretly wishing that a couple of the “stars” on Decatur’s varsity would show up to receive their comeuppance from my new-found teammate, as they were forever teasing and making fun of mine and other younger player's abilities. Finally it was nine forty-five and there was time for only one more game. I could see a huddle on the side court and hear some hushed conversation. One older guy stepped forward and made the unprecedented announcement that they were forgoing next up rights and putting together their best team in an all-out effort to ruin our run. No one on our team argued, no one cared. I was exhausted, but ready. The Leech was pale and panting too hard to talk, but nodded ok. Our fourth player was sprawled on his back, but said he’d play one more. Leadus looked over at me, winked and said “rebound”. At that moment I would have walked through hell to grab one. They had the advantages of age and better shooters over us, and it was a tight, rugged contest….for about five minutes. We had Leadus, who evidently had been holding back, but no longer. He exploded for easy lay-ups past guys I considered seasoned veterans. He flew from the floor and blocked shots like I did in my daydreams. He outraced everyone for loose balls. I rebounded like a demon. The Leech was at his blood-sucking, defensive best and we ran the game out without giving them more than two or three baskets. When it was over, Leadus nodded at the Leech, smiled at me, and without another word walked out the door. Always leave ‘em wanting more as they say.
It seems amazing to me, looking back now, that there was no palpable tension in the air after what had just occurred. I guess we were all too exhausted, and it had happened so suddenly, without warning, or precedent, that everyone had just played on caught up in the competition and moment. And although Leadus was just a teenager, he possessed a strong, man’s body that didn’t invite intimidation or confrontation. The guy who ran the rec turned out the lights and we all left without conversation.
I rode my bike home that night, almost too worn out to peddle, but proud and pleased from playing on the main court longer than ever before. I didn’t understand all the implications of what had taken place, but I was filled with excitement and anticipation. I did know for sure that if there were many more guys like Leadus around things were never going to be the same at the rec again. When I got home I ate the warmed-over dinner that mom had left out for me. My dad was on the road and everyone else, except mom and my older sister, who were watching the news, was asleep. I was dead tired and decided I’d wait till the next day to tell everyone about what had happened. Later, as I lay in bed replaying the events of the evening, I tried to get a grip on what it was about the way Leadus played that was so exciting and different. No doubt he was extremely quick and jumped higher than anyone I knew, but it was more than that. I finally realized it was the ease and fluid grace with which he played the game. It was as if he had never “learned” to make the right moves, but was born with them. Could that be possible, I wondered as I drifted off to sleep. I don’t remember dreaming about basketball that night, though it’s likely I did.
The sun hadn’t been up all that long before I was awake and lying there in bed, just as I’d fallen asleep hours earlier, thinking about the night before at the rec.
I was on my own schedule that morning because there was no school and the old man was out of town. All I wanted to do was get over to Platt’s house and tell him what the hell had happened. Jim Platt and I had a basketball bond based on a mutual passion for the game. We’d both been playing for about three years and had played B-team together in the ninth grade. Jim also shared my fascination with dunking. He had an old fan-shaped backboard and rim hanging on a tree in his backyard. The tree was about halfway up a little slope and had exposed roots running down the ground under the rim. On the slope about 3 three feet to the left of the tree were some rocky steps. Jim and I would run and leap off the steps and dunk on the hoop attached to the tree. The height of the hoop varied by which step you jumped from. The rough part was judging how and where to land to avoid the roots and play the slope, if possible. I vividly recall, after Loyola beat Cincinnati in the NCAA finals in 1963, we were so fired up from a few dunks in the game and about Loyola winning the overtime thriller that we literally ran and dunked for hours off those steps behind his house.
By 7:30 I’d biked the ten minutes to Platt’s house and was telling him my story. He barely believed what I was saying..“ A negro at the rec? Playing ball? ” Who was he? How’d he play? Where’d he come from? You were on his team? Who picked him? He did what?” It took a while to give him a detailed account because he kept interrupting with more questions. Finally, he kind of bought it and as it all sunk in, he just sat back and said shiiittt!!
Over the next few days there was a buzz, among my friends and others, at the pool, park, drugstore, anywhere guys hung out. I confirmed it to them, and I’m sure some of the other guys who were at the rec that notable evening had spoken of the incident to others. I was peppered with questions about what had happened. A variety of viewpoints were being offered. Several expressed deep concern right away “they’re gonna try and take over the rec” was one cry. Some, obviously a bit disconcerted by my description of what Leadus had wrought on the court declared “nobody wants to play ******ball”. There were some who didn’t say anything, and as far as I know, I was the only one who felt the way I did. For me it was a revelation and a challenge that excited me. I was immediately attracted to the style of play Leadus brought to the rec. It was a fast paced, athletic, physical game with room for individual flair that hadn’t been apparent to me previously. I didn’t realize at the time that there were more surprises coming about the way blacks played ball and how much it meant to them culturally. I wouldn’t completely understand those aspects until I played the game on their terms and on their home turf.
It was evident, the majority of guys, felt the integration of the rec was something they didn’t like or were apprehensive about. Whites and blacks just didn’t interact that closely, physically or emotionally, in those days. Basketball was a venue for both. Although there weren’t any direct confrontations at the rec early on, there were some tense moments. Lots of guys said things amongst themselves that they surely wouldn’t say to the blacks. And I’m sure the same thing happened on the other side of town. Leadus showed up a few more times over the next couple months. Sometimes there were one or two other guys with him and a few times new guys came without Leadus. But, there were many nights no blacks came to play at all.
I’m convinced that after those guys had found out they could play at the rec (Leadus swears he was not consciously making any kind of an overt effort towards civil rights/integration , but it had to be a pretty hot topic of discussion in that part of Decatur as well, after the fact or not) and upon seeing the style of play and the competition, it wasn’t all that appealing to them as basketball players. I guess it was like growing up hearing Fats Domino, Little Richard and Sam Cooke sing and perform, and then suffering through Pat Boone’s versions of the same songs. Most of the feeling, fun and creativity, what they called soul, were missing. The way whites played at the rec and in the segregated south at that time was pretty much “by the book”. We’d been taught the right way to dribble, pass, pivot, shoot etc. and there wasn’t much call for individual style or flair. That was usually frowned upon by coaches, many of whom were football coaches in those years. At most schools basketball was a poor cousin and just something to fill in the time between football season and summer football practice. It was a way for football players to stay in shape and football coaches to make some extra money. A guy I knew that played at another school told me his coach actually cut out footprints and taped them to the court so his players could walk over them and learn the offense. Arthur Murray would have been proud and Earl the Pearl would have quit the game and taken up horseshoes.
The sky was dark and thunder was rumbling in the distance as I picked up the pace on my bike on a muggy July evening. ( I’ve taken quite a bit of ridicule for beginning my story with that line…the ol’ it was a dark and stormy night riff, but I have gotten together with Leadus since I wrote this and he confirmed the reason he decided to venture into the rec that night was because it was storming and he thought there wouldn’t be many people there) Except for the gathering storm, this night seemed no different than all the others that summer of 1963 as I headed for the Decatur Recreation Center, or the “rec” as most of the regulars who played pickup basketball there called it. And I was certainly a regular. Unless I was out of town, or sick in bed, I was playing ball at the rec five nights a week and Saturday afternoons. Basketball had become an all-consuming passion in my life by the summer of my freshman year in high school.[why I love basketball] I wheeled up in front of the two story, brick building just as the first few large drops of rain began to splatter on the concrete walkway leading to the atrium of the rec. As I affixed my bicycle lock, a too-near bolt of lightning sent me scurrying through the glass doors inside to the familiar sights and sounds. Off to the left as I entered was a door leading to three small offices. Directly in front of me was a large glass showcase with some trophies, announcements and schedules for summer classes. Square Dance, sewing, and judo were some of the activities white Decatur folk could participate in throughout the summer, though none held the slightest interest for me unless one could square dance while dribbling a basketball. Ah yes, promenade right and down the lane, past your opponent it's a grand old game.
I walked towards the double doors on the right of the glass case, and because of the paucity of sounds coming from inside realized it was a sparse crowd before I even entered the gym. I could make out only one or two balls bouncing and the tell-tale squeak of converse all-stars on the wood floor was barely audible. Once inside, I saw a game of three on three going on the main basket nearest the entrance. The rec’s gym was laid out with one main court, equipped with thick glass backboards at either end, and crossed by two side courts, one running across each half-court of the main court, sideline to sideline, equipped with fan-shaped metal backboards. Most nights the games were played on a half-court. The big game was always on the main court nearest the front doors and was usually four on four, but depending on the crowd, it could be three on three. On the side goals guys just shot around, played horse and half- assed one on one, or two on two waiting to get in the game on the main court.
12)
That night, the three on three game on the main court seemed to lack intensity, maybe because it was still early in the evening. There was only one other guy in the building not playing in the game and he was shooting around on the side court nearest the entry doors. I recognized him immediately. It was “the Leech”. He was the thirty-something scion of a prominent Decatur family and a successful businessman in his daily life, which brokered him no leverage regarding playing time at the rec where the rules of getting court time were simple; when the game on the main court ended, the winning team stayed on the court and would go on to the next game; one was either chosen by the guy who had “next up” from the sidelines, or you called “up” yourself and waited your turn in the rotation. Some nights, when the best competition was around, it was difficult for a young player like me to get in a game. Many times the guy with next up would choose two or three of the best players from the losing team to play with him. The side courts were kind of like Purgatory (a Catholic term for a place with fires just as hot as hell, but with the hope that someday you may get out and go to heaven. Catholics also recognized a final destination called limbo for babies that died before baptism, or for pagans, atheists etc., who lived good lives, but were never baptized. The Protestants kept it simple and only recognized heaven and hell. The more options the better I thought, and limbo seemed like the most fun place to hang out. It even had a cool party game going for it.) Side court purgatory was generally occupied by those too young, or not good enough to be chosen to play in the main court game. The competition wasn’t at the highest level that night. A couple of varsity players from Decatur High were there along with several industrial-league players and a couple local gym rats. It must have been a Wednesday, because the Protestant churches had prayer meetings on Wednesday evenings till about eight-thirty and Decatur was about ninety-nine percent followers of Martin Luther, John Calvin, or some such. I could be there early on Wednesday and get in some main court games before the older guys showed up because I was Catholic, which was a blessing on Wednesday nights and, as I mentioned earlier, a burden the rest of the week.
The competition wasn’t at the highest level that night. A couple of varsity players from Decatur High were there along with several industrial-league players and a couple local gym rats. It must have been a Wednesday, because the Protestant churches had prayer meetings on Wednesday evenings till about eight-thirty and Decatur was about ninety-nine percent followers of Martin Luther, John Calvin, or some such. I could be there early on Wednesday and get in some main court games before the older guys showed up because I was Catholic, which was a blessing on Wednesday nights and, as I mentioned earlier, a burden the rest of the week.
After a while several more players had drifted in and everything seemed normal enough. I watched the Leech chasing down one of his inevitable missed shots and glanced at the four on four game that was now going full bore on center court. Just another night at the rec and then…as suddenly as a change in the weather at that time of the year, he was there, standing in the doorway dark and brooding as the summer storm outside. At first no one else noticed him. I watched as he eyed the gym from just inside the doors. Looking back now, I can guess he must have wanted to look as imposing as possible. Maybe he had even rehearsed his movements prior to his appearance. {Leadus’ story in his words} One thing was for sure. This was the first time a black had ever entered the Decatur Recreation Center. I was certain of that fact, because I had been a stalwart regular at the rec for the four years since it opened. And even if I hadn’t been there every day, had it happened previously, word would have spread like wildfire in town. After all, it was the deep south of 1963. Everything was segregated. The blacks had their own schools Ebster Elementary and Trinity High School and their own Ebster rec center, although it was a much smaller, concrete block building with only one cement court. It was several blocks from my house and I had ridden past it many times along with my mother while driving our maid Ernestine home in the evenings. (A family didn’t have to be wealthy to have a maid in those days. Most white families with kids had someone a couple days a week). I was always intrigued by the raucous sounds emanating from inside and the dark figures moving in the shadows around the open doors. I certainly never imagined that one day I would be the first white, along with Bob Morely to cross over and play ball there. But that’s another story.
Then the amazing apparition in the doorway flashed a slight, but disarming smile and moved over to where I was shooting. He said his name was Leadus and he wanted to play some ball. I was way too startled to speak, but I passed him the ball, and we all passed into a future that would change forever the way the game of basketball was played in Decatur and put me on the road to traveling the world and realizing a dream that was only just beginning to form in my young mind.
The Leech dribbled by, did a slight doubletake, but carried on as if nothing was out of the ordinary. The game on the main court continued on unabated, although there were some long, leering looks during breaks in the action. As we shot around, I couldn’t take my eyes off of Leedus. He appeared calm and at ease, as if he too was a rec regular. I silently admired the well-defined upper arms, powerful rounded shoulders and muscular thighs and calves that he possessed. He was only slightly taller than my 5' 9”, but he carried about 160 pounds to my 135, and every inch and pound bespoke speed and power. I was to find out later, that although Leadus played on the Trinity high varsity basketball team, he was a star halfback on the football team and a hundred yard sprinter in track. He couldn’t palm the ball to dunk, but he leapt above the rim effortlessly several times to lay it in. I couldn’t help but jump up and grab the rim and hang on, which was my claim to fame as the best leaper in my class at Decatur. He laughed and said I’d be “joogin” it in no time. I had never heard that term before, but I was thrilled because instinctively I knew he was talking about dunking the ball, which was nirvana to my friends and I in those days.
Leadus, the Leech and I continued to shoot around on the side goals as the main court game was nearing an end. I could sense it was almost over by the increase in the intensity of play and the foul calling. Inevitably, as a tight game drew to a close, any small foul that may have been ignored earlier, was called. Leadus asked if we were going to play on the main court and as I was explaining the informal rule (the same as at Ebster and most gyms across the country actually, with some slight differences in other rules as I'll explain later)) the Leech walked over and said he had the next up. He asked Leadus if he’d like to play on his team. He nodded “yeah man”. Looking back, I guess we have to give him credit for having the guts to ask Leadus to play. Maybe he wasn’t as intimidated by the unusual situation as some whites might have been because he ran his family’s construction business and had many blacks working for him. He also wasn’t blind and could see that Leadus looked to be, at least warming up, a very formidable player. And the Leech knew that for him to remain on the main court for long his team would have to win. I was just about to feel slighted, but then Leadus nodded towards me, and since I was the only other player there, and the Leech knew I hustled and didn’t shoot much (no confidence from over five feet), he asked me along for the ride…and what a ride it was.
The main court game ended, and as the players dispersed for a water break there were strange stares on several white faces. No doubt there was some interesting conversation at the water cooler in the hallway as well. The Leech picked up one of the players from the losing team to fill out our four-man team. He was a generic rec regular, a senior at Decatur High, not on the basketball team, but a decent enough player. The winning team from the previous game had one varsity basketball player from Decatur. He was a bruising reserve forward/center that played lineman on the football team. Two of the other guys looked twenty-something and were industrial league players I had seen before. The rec had several leagues going during the winter. One for high school kids who couldn’t make their school teams, a church league and an industrial league, which could be pretty good basketball. Industrial league teams were made up primarily of former high school and college players. Some very good older guys, who were good enough, but never took the time, didn’t get along with the coach, or for some other reason didn’t play high school basketball, also played industrial league. These guys might be as old as their mid to late thirties, which for a fourteen year old like me could be pretty intimidating. Their fourth man was a stranger to me, but from what I had seen of the previous game was a sturdy six - footer who could fill it up from twenty feet. The Decatur varsity player was the biggest player on the court at about 6’3 and 200 pounds. The rest of us were in the 5’8 to 6’1 range.
It’s strange, looking back, over all these years, because I can remember so much of that night so vividly, but the memories of the in-game action are like snatches of a dream to me now. I know that it only took a couple of games for Leadus to establish himself as the best athlete and best player in the gym that night. He wasn’t a great outside shooter, and actually didn’t dominate in any one phase of the game. His floor game and ball-handling were good, but it was the way he worked, his style, that really got my attention. There was something there that the rest of us didn’t have in our games. His explosive speed and jumping were clearly superior to the rest of us as well. Any sense of intimidation I may have felt early on dissipated as Leadus led us to several victories in a streak. A few more of the rec regulars had wandered in over the hour or so we had been holding the main court, but we conquered all combinations that came against us. I often wonder why word hadn’t gotten out and there wasn’t a gathering mob. But by now all the guys in the rec were really into the games going on. No one wanted to leave and miss a chance to play or watch. I found myself secretly wishing that a couple of the “stars” on Decatur’s varsity would show up to receive their comeuppance from my new-found teammate, as they were forever teasing and making fun of mine and other younger player's abilities. Finally it was nine forty-five and there was time for only one more game. I could see a huddle on the side court and hear some hushed conversation. One older guy stepped forward and made the unprecedented announcement that they were forgoing next up rights and putting together their best team in an all-out effort to ruin our run. No one on our team argued, no one cared. I was exhausted, but ready. The Leech was pale and panting too hard to talk, but nodded ok. Our fourth player was sprawled on his back, but said he’d play one more. Leadus looked over at me, winked and said “rebound”. At that moment I would have walked through hell to grab one. They had the advantages of age and better shooters over us, and it was a tight, rugged contest….for about five minutes. We had Leadus, who evidently had been holding back, but no longer. He exploded for easy lay-ups past guys I considered seasoned veterans. He flew from the floor and blocked shots like I did in my daydreams. He outraced everyone for loose balls. I rebounded like a demon. The Leech was at his blood-sucking, defensive best and we ran the game out without giving them more than two or three baskets. When it was over, Leadus nodded at the Leech, smiled at me, and without another word walked out the door. Always leave ‘em wanting more as they say.
It seems amazing to me, looking back now, that there was no palpable tension in the air after what had just occurred. I guess we were all too exhausted, and it had happened so suddenly, without warning, or precedent, that everyone had just played on caught up in the competition and moment. And although Leadus was just a teenager, he possessed a strong, man’s body that didn’t invite intimidation or confrontation. The guy who ran the rec turned out the lights and we all left without conversation.
I rode my bike home that night, almost too worn out to peddle, but proud and pleased from playing on the main court longer than ever before. I didn’t understand all the implications of what had taken place, but I was filled with excitement and anticipation. I did know for sure that if there were many more guys like Leadus around things were never going to be the same at the rec again. When I got home I ate the warmed-over dinner that mom had left out for me. My dad was on the road and everyone else, except mom and my older sister, who were watching the news, was asleep. I was dead tired and decided I’d wait till the next day to tell everyone about what had happened. Later, as I lay in bed replaying the events of the evening, I tried to get a grip on what it was about the way Leadus played that was so exciting and different. No doubt he was extremely quick and jumped higher than anyone I knew, but it was more than that. I finally realized it was the ease and fluid grace with which he played the game. It was as if he had never “learned” to make the right moves, but was born with them. Could that be possible, I wondered as I drifted off to sleep. I don’t remember dreaming about basketball that night, though it’s likely I did.
The sun hadn’t been up all that long before I was awake and lying there in bed, just as I’d fallen asleep hours earlier, thinking about the night before at the rec.
I was on my own schedule that morning because there was no school and the old man was out of town. All I wanted to do was get over to Platt’s house and tell him what the hell had happened. Jim Platt and I had a basketball bond based on a mutual passion for the game. We’d both been playing for about three years and had played B-team together in the ninth grade. Jim also shared my fascination with dunking. He had an old fan-shaped backboard and rim hanging on a tree in his backyard. The tree was about halfway up a little slope and had exposed roots running down the ground under the rim. On the slope about 3 three feet to the left of the tree were some rocky steps. Jim and I would run and leap off the steps and dunk on the hoop attached to the tree. The height of the hoop varied by which step you jumped from. The rough part was judging how and where to land to avoid the roots and play the slope, if possible. I vividly recall, after Loyola beat Cincinnati in the NCAA finals in 1963, we were so fired up from a few dunks in the game and about Loyola winning the overtime thriller that we literally ran and dunked for hours off those steps behind his house.
By 7:30 I’d biked the ten minutes to Platt’s house and was telling him my story. He barely believed what I was saying..“ A negro at the rec? Playing ball? ” Who was he? How’d he play? Where’d he come from? You were on his team? Who picked him? He did what?” It took a while to give him a detailed account because he kept interrupting with more questions. Finally, he kind of bought it and as it all sunk in, he just sat back and said shiiittt!!
Over the next few days there was a buzz, among my friends and others, at the pool, park, drugstore, anywhere guys hung out. I confirmed it to them, and I’m sure some of the other guys who were at the rec that notable evening had spoken of the incident to others. I was peppered with questions about what had happened. A variety of viewpoints were being offered. Several expressed deep concern right away “they’re gonna try and take over the rec” was one cry. Some, obviously a bit disconcerted by my description of what Leadus had wrought on the court declared “nobody wants to play ******ball”. There were some who didn’t say anything, and as far as I know, I was the only one who felt the way I did. For me it was a revelation and a challenge that excited me. I was immediately attracted to the style of play Leadus brought to the rec. It was a fast paced, athletic, physical game with room for individual flair that hadn’t been apparent to me previously. I didn’t realize at the time that there were more surprises coming about the way blacks played ball and how much it meant to them culturally. I wouldn’t completely understand those aspects until I played the game on their terms and on their home turf.
It was evident, the majority of guys, felt the integration of the rec was something they didn’t like or were apprehensive about. Whites and blacks just didn’t interact that closely, physically or emotionally, in those days. Basketball was a venue for both. Although there weren’t any direct confrontations at the rec early on, there were some tense moments. Lots of guys said things amongst themselves that they surely wouldn’t say to the blacks. And I’m sure the same thing happened on the other side of town. Leadus showed up a few more times over the next couple months. Sometimes there were one or two other guys with him and a few times new guys came without Leadus. But, there were many nights no blacks came to play at all.
I’m convinced that after those guys had found out they could play at the rec (Leadus swears he was not consciously making any kind of an overt effort towards civil rights/integration , but it had to be a pretty hot topic of discussion in that part of Decatur as well, after the fact or not) and upon seeing the style of play and the competition, it wasn’t all that appealing to them as basketball players. I guess it was like growing up hearing Fats Domino, Little Richard and Sam Cooke sing and perform, and then suffering through Pat Boone’s versions of the same songs. Most of the feeling, fun and creativity, what they called soul, were missing. The way whites played at the rec and in the segregated south at that time was pretty much “by the book”. We’d been taught the right way to dribble, pass, pivot, shoot etc. and there wasn’t much call for individual style or flair. That was usually frowned upon by coaches, many of whom were football coaches in those years. At most schools basketball was a poor cousin and just something to fill in the time between football season and summer football practice. It was a way for football players to stay in shape and football coaches to make some extra money. A guy I knew that played at another school told me his coach actually cut out footprints and taped them to the court so his players could walk over them and learn the offense. Arthur Murray would have been proud and Earl the Pearl would have quit the game and taken up horseshoes.
