The formal announcement by the mainstream press that New York City PR mogul Dan Klores http://www.dkcnews.com/about/Dan-Klores.html and NBA great and WSSU http://www.wssu.edu/wssu alumnus Earl “The Pearl”
Monroe http://www.nba.com/history/players/monroe_bio.html, were collaborating on a documentary http://www.imdiversity.com/villages/african/history_heritage/bpr_black_magic0307.asp, chronicling the legacy and history of black college basketball sent a long overdue, collective “thank you Jesus” through the community: of African American fans, black college alumni, lay sports historians, former players and coaches; and the pilgrims that sojourn to the Mecca-like CIAA http://www.theciaa.com/landing/index.html basketball tournament year after year to meet old friends and classmates, party, shop and catch a game or two.
The announcement meant a lot to men of my generation because we came of age during the time when basketball—collegiate and professional—was a relatively pure sport and seemingly was played for enjoyment and not money. However, the financial acumen generated by hefty million dollar contracts and exclusive corporate shoe deals, from manufacturers like Nike http://www.nike.com and Adidas http://www.adidas.com/ for players did not come until later. The black men with nick names like Clyde (Walt Frazier), Butter Bean (Bob Love, Pearl (Earl Monroe), Ice Man (George Gervin), Dr. J (Julius Ervin) and World (Lloyd B. Free) that ran up and down the hardwood in the 1970s sporting Afros, sideburns and mid-thigh shorts embodied the freedom loving spirit of men in my neighborhood.
Basketball these days, particularly the professional NBA http://www.nba.com/ variety, has generated a lot of money and capital accumulation for owners, coaches and players. But I wonder if the young, nouveau rich, hip hop millionaires with their gross domestic product type contracts, and the legions of fans that support their on-and-off court antics, ever take the time to contemplate the origins of why these contemporary African American players have their glamour, wealth and popularity.
In his thought provoking book The Forty Million Dollar Slave: The Rise, Fall, and Redemption of the Black Athlete http://www.amazon.com/Forty-Million-Dollar-Slaves-Redemption/dp/0609601202, journalist William C. Rhoden http://www.nytimes.com/ref/sports/bio-rhoden.html recounts how Seton Hall University basketball player Tchaka Shipp, wearing a Negro Leagues http://www.negroleaguebaseball.com/ cap responded incredulously, with wide-eyed amazement, to his coach’s remarks that black players at one time could not legally play in the major leagues. The player responded to assistant coach Mike Brown with “Coach get the f&%$ outta here!.” Even though he was an African American athlete he had no historical understanding of the trials of former African American athletes and civil rights activists that made it possible for him to play at Seton Hall—when in a previous era, the best he could have hoped for was a janitorial job sweeping the gym floor.
Boys of my youth frequenting the pebble and glass strewn, concrete basketball courts, idolized Earl “The Pearl” Monroe; his New York Knicks backcourt mate Walt “Clyde” Frazier, Nate “Tiny” Archibald, Oscar “The Big O” Robertson, Bob “Butter Bean” Love and other noted professional and playground legends. We wanted to emulate their soulful style and play—not because they were overly wealthy (and many of them were not)—but because they exhibited sportsmanship, could really play the game (fundamentally and streetball wise) and carried themselves in a decent respectful manner most of the time. If they did not (exhibit respectful mannerisms), it was because the press chose not to mention it in the news, essentially keeping me and my youthful cohorts otherwise ignorant. The players of that time did not display the spoiled, bratty, egotistical demeanor that has caused a rash of idiotic actions, e.g. choking their coaches http://espn.go.com/classic/biography/s/Sprewell_Latrell.html, kicking cameramen and fighting fans http://www.ifilm.com/player?ifilmId=2657302&refsite=7063 in the stands.
In our youthful (if not star struck) eyes, the act of driving to the basket and taunting a defender with “smoother than Nate Archibald” or dribbling the ball between your legs and shouting “Earl Monroe baby!” or taking a pan-handle jump shot and praising Bob McAdoo was a sacred mantra connecting you to the Rucker League basketball gods. It also signaled your transition from childhood to manhood when you could taunt, laugh and joke with your peers and not fear someone putting a gun to your head.
I recently made the assumption that The Legends of basketball were known to college basketball players and just as popular as the hip hop rappers they listen to. Wrong. Imagine the fallout and ridicule that would be played out in the media if President George Bush loudly and proudly proclaimed he had never heard of the first president George Washington.
How can basketball coaches, fans and players sleep at night or claim to be the least knowledgeable about basketball, and not know about the Pee Wee Kirklands, Al Attles, Sam Jones’ or the Bob Dandridges’ and their contributions?
A recent article by Winston-Salem State University News Argus sports editor Steven Gaither http://media.www.thenewsargus.com/media/storage/paper646/news/2007/02/26/Sports/Wssu-Athletics.Needs.A.History.Lesson-2774364.shtml called into question his university’s “ways” when it failed to recognize its 1967 NCAA championship team. Numerous respondents to the article and those logged in to online sports chat boards, wanted to know why historically black athletic conferences e.g. (CIAA http://www.theciaa.com/sports/wbkb/index , MEAC http://www.meacsports.com/, SIAC http://www.thesiac.com/ and SWAC http://swac.org/index.htm ) don’t do enough to recognize and celebrate the black players that came from these institutions.
By and large young, old and middle-aged Americans seem to have short-term historical memory loss. Earl “The Pearl” Monroe, one of the top 50 NBA players of the 21st century, has a bobble head toy but no Nintendo or X-Box interactive game named in his honor. How is that possible?
However, the greatest indictment of America’s microwave, fast food, historical amnesia mentality is the story told by Monroe’s wife Merita. According to a story in the February 18, 2005, Washington Post, Earl and Merita Monroe were at the 2004 All-Star Game in Los Angeles. The Monroes were in line to attend a tribute for former Los Angeles Laker star Magic Johnson; however, the young woman charged with distributing the credentials to attendees had never heard of Monroe—who by that time had been inducted into the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame and named one of the top 50 NBA players of all time! After some waiting the Monroes finally got their tickets and headed towards the red carpet. Once there, they hear a loud roar of applause. According to Merita, “I thought, finally, Earl gets his due around here.” But instead of the cheers being for the vaunted and esteemed Monroe, they were for the eccentric, tattooed, cross-dressing http://www.halloffamememorabilia.com/main.php?id=6283&mod=510&mm=2 rebounding machine Dennis Rodman.
Human illness (be it physical or psychological) is most often cured by admitting there is an illness and then seeking the proper medical attention to eradicate the disease. Black Magic a film about the legacy of black college basketball will go a long way in ameliorating the historical Alzheimer’s affecting the
United States sporting populace that has become increasingly enamored with the thuggish and crass.
