During my roughly 20-plus years as EVENING OBSERVER sports editor starting in the early 1970s, I spent many, many hours on the phone with area high school coaches.
Basketball coaches were, by far, the most entertaining group. They were, almost without exception, highly intelligent motivators and communicators. Many had a wicked sense of humor.
They could recall plays with amazing clarity, dutifully report a lengthy list of box score statistics and then give me plenty of useful information to craft a storyline for their game, win or lose.
Bob Uszacki was my favorite, by far. He would call and unfailingly introduce himself as “Dunkirk’s own Bob Uszacki,” mocking my staff’s repeatedly trite reference to him when writing about his Lake Shore Central team.
Other favorites were Jeff Franze and John Murgatroyd at Brocton, Tom Herring at Forestville, Rick Anderson and Mike Cummings at Mayville, Mike Tramuta at Dunkirk, Roger Moore at Fredonia, Al Carpenter at Cassadaga, Jim Emerson at Lake Shore, Dick Girst at Pine Valley and Curt Raymond at Silver Creek.
Mike
Mangano
Six years into my sportswriting career, I decided to try my hand at refereeing basketball and passed legendary local officiating Board 39 interpreter Roger MacTavish’s immersive course that included nine three-hour classes at Jamestown Community College worth college credits.
There was a floor test judged by a handful of board members that not everyone passed and a practical exam MacTavish administered. He personally helped craft the 50-question puzzler as International Association of Approved Basketball Officials Candidate Examination Committee chairman. Roger held that position for decades and eventually was honored as a lifetime member by IAABO. The group even dedicated one of its yearly handbooks to him.
After blowing the whistle for a stunning 66 years, he sadly passed away last year at 89.
Thanks to his instruction, I was eligible to officiate games featuring the coaches who each had called me dozens of times to report their games and chat.
It was then I learned these guys were tight with compliments. Even when I received one, it often came with a disclaimer.
Dick
Prince
For example, the aforementioned Curt Raymond. Curt was, let’s say, temperamental. He once threatened me and my photographer after a series of photos chronicling his sideline histrionics was published. He graphically promised to stick something somewhere uncomfortable if he was the subject of a photo ever again. Fair enough. He wanted the focus to be on his players, not him. We briefly discussed our precious freedom of the press, but then thoughtfully and safely abided by his request.
Curt’s volatile and animated personality often clashed with the officials assigned to his games. He routinely received technical fouls and was frequently a topic of discussion at board meetings.
When he allegedly impugned the ability of veteran official and legendary Jamestown High School football coach Wally Huckno with the snicker-inducing “Huckno? Heck no!” at a meeting to choose officials for playoff games, he did not exactly endear himself to many Board 39 members.
When I advanced to varsity status after a couple of seasons, I had an assignment in Silver Creek.
First time down the court, Curt cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled at me, “Hammond, I always knew you’d make a good basketball official!”
Bob
Uszacki
Then as I turned to him, smiled and nodded in appreciation, he zinged me with “BOY, WAS I WRONG!”
See what I mean about compliments? There’s more.
Another time I drove through a snowstorm to work a junior high game in Brocton. My partner couldn’t make it from Jamestown.
Midway through the game, I whistled a foul on a Brocton player chasing a breakaway layup try. The guilty party raged at my call, prompting his coach to call an immediate timeout.
Coach Dick Prince then proceeded to admonish the angry player, relating how lucky they were to even have an official considering the weather and how henceforth he alone would converse with any and all whistle blowers.
Curt
Raymond
The only fans in the gym were parents and family members huddled in the rows behind him, hanging on his every measured word. He was that good. Eminently quotable.
Anyway, when he finished his ringing endorsement of my work, the chastised player was still stubbornly unconvinced. “But I didn’t foul him,” he whined.
Raising his voice measurably, Dick replied, “You fouled him, you fouled him, YOU FOULED HIM!”
Then, after pausing for dramatic effect, singled me out for criticism by adding sarcastically, “Right after he traveled!”
Finally, a junior varsity gig in Frewsburg brought me back in contact with standout Silver Creek Central alum Mike Mangano. Mike had been a mentor my first year of Grape Belt League baseball when we played for the legendary Sheridan Pablos.
As a 14-year-old, I was in over my head and in awe of older teammates like Mike’s big brother Rich, who had famously started in the backfield with quarterback Joe Namath on Alabama’s freshman football team.
Also on the squad were Pat “Hot Dog” Parisi, “Black John” Christopher, so named for exclusively favoring an absence of color in his wardrobe, my talented Cardinal Mindszenty teammates Ed Ransford and Dan Wolfe, and junkballing pitcher Tom Everett. Quite a memorable crew.
But back to Frewsburg Coach Mike Mangano. I called a foul on one of his players 2 seconds after the opening tip-off and the guilty party quietly told me, “You ****ing suck.”
One technical foul later, I explained to Coach Mike what prompted that call and was told, after he peered at the clock, “You’re absolutely right, Bill. That was the correct call.”
Then came the kicker. “Two seconds is not nearly long enough to know you ****ing suck.”
Like I said, coaches, at least the smart and funny ones I knew, threw compliments around like manhole covers. Wouldn’t have had it any other way.
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Bill Hammond is a former EVENING OBSERVER sports editor.