by Michael Dittelman
"Do you remember that 63 - 60 OT win at Yorktown?"
"Or the Madison Square Garden announcer at the Greeley game?"
"How 'bout J-Man's two lay-ups against Kennedy...to lose the game?"
That's how the conversations usually begin--like old war veterans recalling better days gone by. But every time I go home and bump into a former teammate of mine from the High School basketball team, an endless river of memories becomes a discussion of hoops heroics from nearly ten years ago.
The overtime win at Yorktown is a favorite of Shamus'. He hit a 3 pointer with time running out to win.
The flustered MSG announcer, touted as a special guest, pronounced our names differently each time he read them... "who's Eddie Navaho," giggles Doug, as we recall how the celebrity butchered our John Starks-esque Eddie Navarro's last name time and time again.
Of course, my least favorite memory is the one my teammates cherish the most; the two missed lay-ups that lost the game against Kennedy.
Our point guard, Kenyon, not only had lightning quickness to complement his ball-handling skills, he also has impeccable peripheral vision, a skill that would amaze even an Las Vegas magician. He could walk down the street, stop, close his eyes and recite all that surrounded him--from memory.
On the basketball court, he often saw plays developing before they happened. Against Kennedy that fateful evening, with the game on the line in the fourth quarter, Kenyon saw me as his ticket to winning.
Thankfully, I saw the ball, for Kenyon was famous amongst our teammates for passes that seemed as if they'd been fired from a cannon. I caught the ball, went towards the hoop, and shot a lay-up.
The songs of "AIR BALL, AIR BALL" still haunt me today, as I often wonder what went wrong.
To make matters worse, on our team's next possession, Kenyon spotted me again, and once again made the mistake of firing a bullet towards me. I can still see my friends in the stands, standing and waving their arms, and singing to me, "AIR BALL, AIR BALL."
Like many popular situation comedies, where the Jew is placed in a foreign setting to see what comedic predicaments occur, I, too, was situated in a foreign land.
I experienced an important phase of adolescence amongst people who differed greatly from me. Not only was their skin darker, but their upbringing and life experiences to that point had been drastically different from mine. These people knew the harsh realities of the world far before I understood what a hard day's work consisted of.
These people comprehended what the "the other side of the tracks" meant, while I associated that with long ago feelings of racial and financial divides. And like no one I had seen before, these people "circled the wagons" without verbal admittance of doing so, trusting few outsiders, allowing a select few entry into their world.
For a brief period of four years, I was one of the chosen few-- introduced to a distant world that existed in my own back yard. By virtue of playing basketball at Ossining High School, I was exposed to a group of boys that I would not normally have spent "quality time" with. We spent countless hours together over those four years, and from them I learned a great deal about differences, similarities, fear, and most of all, about myself.
My Jewish identity was paramount to my teammates. For some, I was the first Jew they had befriended. For others, it was the first time they felt comfortable asking questions about Jewish practices and customs. One curious seeker, Dumas Jamesly, once asked if all Jews are allergic to pork. -Obviously, he had some knowledge of kashrut (kosher dietary laws), but just didn't know it.
Eventually, I became known as "J-Man" to many on the team. Unfortunately, the appointed moniker had nothing to do with my jump shot, but was related to my religious affiliation.
I've become very cognizant of the time I spent as a minority in that setting--a sole Jew (and often the sole white), I learned an invaluable amount about a group of people that too many others never get an opportunity to know. We were a team, after all, and had to work together, despite our differences, to achieve a common goal. And, while Ossining is a diverse community, most of my friends were all the same; from white, upper middle class families whose values were similar to mine. However, I was fortunate enough to intimately discover a part of my home town known to some only by the clippings in the local paper.
Like the teammates of Washington Carver's High School basketball team in the heralded 1970's classic television show, White Shadow, we were able to overcome personal differences of race and class, and work as a unified group to accomplish what can only be done as a team.
I am forever grateful for those four short years. I only wish more Jews could have similar experiences.
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