paul nielsen
12-27-2007, 04:15 PM
An earlier thread asked for memories of several pre-K players, and although the original post mentioned Dick Groat, I was struck by how few people were able to say they saw him play. I did, and that thread caused the memories to come flooding back irresistibly. His playing years, 1950 through 1952, coincided with my own years of early adolescence, and so these are some of my most emotionally kept memories. They are not very detailed about his abilities, however, and when I speak of his feats, I expect that they may be wrong in fact and emphasis. Maybe the historians on this board can correct me as needed.
These are the recollections of a young kid who made Duke athletes his heroes, who played basketball (awkwardly) in Durham outdoors on many winter afternoons. We had to remember to avoid the roots near the top of the key, and the low spot near the left baseline, since it dried up last. It was quite rare that we got to play on hardwood. The time I remember best was when we managed to get into the Indoor Stadium for a while. Man, we were in heaven, shouting and dribbling and shooting, and we probably even managed to get the lights on. Then Ace Parker showed up; he was (a) one of the assistant football coaches and (b) a legendary Duke football runner from the 30s. (Old-timers on the Duke maintenance crews liked to say he could not be tackled -- that he refused to go down and carried tacklers on his back.) So there we were, face to face with this legend. The shouting and dribbling stopped, we held the balls, and just sort of stood there, staring. He said something like, “You boys aren’t supposed to be in here, you know.” Answer, “No sir.” No one moved to go, though. He smiled, said something like, “Well, keep it down and turn out the lights when you go,” turned and walked away, an even bigger legend.
Dick Groat was the top scorer in the country one year. Was that 1951? 1952? Didn’t he average 25 points? Total of 851? Or was that 821? Wasn’t that a record? We were so proud. See, geographical distances mattered a lot more back then, sports on TV was extremely rare, and college probably wasn’t even covered. People knew about Duke and Groat because of what they read via the Associated Press, largely. Sportswriters ranked the teams without seeing them often, I assume. So what people knew about Duke and Durham and us was what Dick Groat did. Or so we thought.
State was the top dog back then. They won the Southern Conference tournament every year, it seemed. The tournament champion was the only team that kept playing, of course, so in both Groat’s junior and senior years, he didn’t get a chance to go on to the NCAA tournament. Tears in the pillow, boys, bitter tears, from this kid.
Groat was the scorer, the shooting 6-0 guard, on a team that included a tall, gangly center, Red Kulpan, and a 6-1 forward named Corren (Ceep) Youmans, whom my older brother admired for doing so much at such a short height, and another shooting guard name Fred Shabel. Shabel usually came off the bench, I think, and scrambled like a madman. It always caused a buzz when he came in. He had a big shock of dark hair he was forever shoving out of his eyes, and he was a really streaky shooter. I remember he would start hitting and just go crazy -- start shooting from all over, and set the building on fire. (If you saw Vinnie Johnson play for the Detroit Pistons in their championship years, you have an idea of what it was like.)
Groat was hard to guard. For one thing, he shot jumpers, and I believe it was a rather new technique then. He had incredibly good hands, of course, and preternatural hand-eye coordination. Oh, and very good range -- a lot of his jumpers would be 3-pointers now. I don’t think he was especially fast, but he was quick -- he had an excellent first step. He had excellent balance and usually had his feet under him. He could get open for a shot against most defenders. He was also fiercely competitive, and he kept his head in the game. He stole three straight inbounds passes for three quick goals against Temple. (So I’m told; wasn’t there; may have it wrong.) In those days Temple was a national power; they had a great player named Bill Mlkvy (pronounced milk-vee), the Owl Without a Vowel.
The loudest I ever heard the Indoor Stadium was on Groat’s last home game. He had hit for 46 the preceding home game, so expectations were high for the last one. Plus, it was UNC, and the national press would be there, and the whole country would take note. Well, he was incandescent. They couldn’t stop him. Bang. Bang. Bang. That ball owned that net. As soon as he came across half court with the ball, you knew there was going to be another one. It was heaven. As soon as he’d get set, you’d hear that intake of breath from the whole house, and then the sound of 7,000 deeply interested and seriously involved sports fans shifting forward to their feet. And the ball is up, and the roar begins, and the net ripples, and the roar turns into a monster. And there’s that kid, jumping up and down next to my old man, waving some crazy rubber knife. (Give the kid a break, all right? We all need magic at 10 or 11. Right?) No one -- no one -- is beating him tonight. He had 48 points, and the shots fell from all over the court. That was the school record for a long time. I think Danny Ferry was the one who finally beat it.
When the game was over and the players and many of the students had left the court, the totals were announced over the P.A. system. When the record was announced, a big cheer went up. While the house cleared out and people walked to their cars, there was that enormous buzz of a crowd still talking in amazement about what they had just seen. I was in Carr Junior High by then, and when I spotted the principal of my old elementary school, Lakewood, I shouted to her, “He was hot tonight!” Mrs. Hale answered, with a big smile, “He sure was.” My ears stayed warm for hours, I guess from the percussive effect of the crowd’s roars.
Oh, yes, I saw Dick Groat play.
(more to come in a second post)
These are the recollections of a young kid who made Duke athletes his heroes, who played basketball (awkwardly) in Durham outdoors on many winter afternoons. We had to remember to avoid the roots near the top of the key, and the low spot near the left baseline, since it dried up last. It was quite rare that we got to play on hardwood. The time I remember best was when we managed to get into the Indoor Stadium for a while. Man, we were in heaven, shouting and dribbling and shooting, and we probably even managed to get the lights on. Then Ace Parker showed up; he was (a) one of the assistant football coaches and (b) a legendary Duke football runner from the 30s. (Old-timers on the Duke maintenance crews liked to say he could not be tackled -- that he refused to go down and carried tacklers on his back.) So there we were, face to face with this legend. The shouting and dribbling stopped, we held the balls, and just sort of stood there, staring. He said something like, “You boys aren’t supposed to be in here, you know.” Answer, “No sir.” No one moved to go, though. He smiled, said something like, “Well, keep it down and turn out the lights when you go,” turned and walked away, an even bigger legend.
Dick Groat was the top scorer in the country one year. Was that 1951? 1952? Didn’t he average 25 points? Total of 851? Or was that 821? Wasn’t that a record? We were so proud. See, geographical distances mattered a lot more back then, sports on TV was extremely rare, and college probably wasn’t even covered. People knew about Duke and Groat because of what they read via the Associated Press, largely. Sportswriters ranked the teams without seeing them often, I assume. So what people knew about Duke and Durham and us was what Dick Groat did. Or so we thought.
State was the top dog back then. They won the Southern Conference tournament every year, it seemed. The tournament champion was the only team that kept playing, of course, so in both Groat’s junior and senior years, he didn’t get a chance to go on to the NCAA tournament. Tears in the pillow, boys, bitter tears, from this kid.
Groat was the scorer, the shooting 6-0 guard, on a team that included a tall, gangly center, Red Kulpan, and a 6-1 forward named Corren (Ceep) Youmans, whom my older brother admired for doing so much at such a short height, and another shooting guard name Fred Shabel. Shabel usually came off the bench, I think, and scrambled like a madman. It always caused a buzz when he came in. He had a big shock of dark hair he was forever shoving out of his eyes, and he was a really streaky shooter. I remember he would start hitting and just go crazy -- start shooting from all over, and set the building on fire. (If you saw Vinnie Johnson play for the Detroit Pistons in their championship years, you have an idea of what it was like.)
Groat was hard to guard. For one thing, he shot jumpers, and I believe it was a rather new technique then. He had incredibly good hands, of course, and preternatural hand-eye coordination. Oh, and very good range -- a lot of his jumpers would be 3-pointers now. I don’t think he was especially fast, but he was quick -- he had an excellent first step. He had excellent balance and usually had his feet under him. He could get open for a shot against most defenders. He was also fiercely competitive, and he kept his head in the game. He stole three straight inbounds passes for three quick goals against Temple. (So I’m told; wasn’t there; may have it wrong.) In those days Temple was a national power; they had a great player named Bill Mlkvy (pronounced milk-vee), the Owl Without a Vowel.
The loudest I ever heard the Indoor Stadium was on Groat’s last home game. He had hit for 46 the preceding home game, so expectations were high for the last one. Plus, it was UNC, and the national press would be there, and the whole country would take note. Well, he was incandescent. They couldn’t stop him. Bang. Bang. Bang. That ball owned that net. As soon as he came across half court with the ball, you knew there was going to be another one. It was heaven. As soon as he’d get set, you’d hear that intake of breath from the whole house, and then the sound of 7,000 deeply interested and seriously involved sports fans shifting forward to their feet. And the ball is up, and the roar begins, and the net ripples, and the roar turns into a monster. And there’s that kid, jumping up and down next to my old man, waving some crazy rubber knife. (Give the kid a break, all right? We all need magic at 10 or 11. Right?) No one -- no one -- is beating him tonight. He had 48 points, and the shots fell from all over the court. That was the school record for a long time. I think Danny Ferry was the one who finally beat it.
When the game was over and the players and many of the students had left the court, the totals were announced over the P.A. system. When the record was announced, a big cheer went up. While the house cleared out and people walked to their cars, there was that enormous buzz of a crowd still talking in amazement about what they had just seen. I was in Carr Junior High by then, and when I spotted the principal of my old elementary school, Lakewood, I shouted to her, “He was hot tonight!” Mrs. Hale answered, with a big smile, “He sure was.” My ears stayed warm for hours, I guess from the percussive effect of the crowd’s roars.
Oh, yes, I saw Dick Groat play.
(more to come in a second post)