Practice games were scheduled with NCAA men’s college teams when they were available. Those games not only helped us physically, but they highlighted whatever kinks remained in our playing as a team. During a scrimmage against a Kansas City men’s team, the opposing team got the ball on a fast break, and Juliene and I were the only ones back on defense against them, while Dunkle, Harris, and Trish Roberts stood at half court, just watching—a huge no-no, especially since Billie saw it. Pat Head, who had played under Billie at the World University games, warned us that the team would pay. “We’d all better get to bed early tonight ‘cuz tomorrow she’s gonna kill us.”
Sure enough, the next day Billie had us spend the first half-hour of practice without a ball. We ran sprints, drills, and everything in between to the point where Blood and Guts was a walk in the park. Her point was to teach us a lesson. Players were running outside to throw up.
But Billie didn’t let up. “There’s no excuse for what happened yesterday. You’re not going to walk down the floor or stand and watch. You’ll either decide you want to play every minute, or you’ll come sit on the bench near me. I’ll go with only nine players if I have to. I’ll go with six if there are only six who’ll give a hundred percent.”
To really drive the point home, The Kansas City Times had quoted her. They’d been covering the scrimmage and were shocked at how she spoke to us. But try as they might, they couldn’t find one member of the team who would complain. “We deserved this,” was all they got.
Billie understood the importance of playing defense with the same intensity as playing offense. It would be one of the hallmarks of her coaching style, and something we had very much in common.
With our short practice time in Warrensburg over, we headed to Hamilton and the qualifiers by way of Rochester, New York, which was just across the border from Hamilton, and where Team USA continued to train. It was June, 1976, a beautiful time to be in upstate New York. The dorms, however, were either condemned, or being renovated because not a soul was there. To say they were in poor condition would be like calling the Grand Canyon a ditch. But the price was right—free—and that’s all that mattered.
There was no budget for a women’s basketball team hoping to qualify for the ’76 Olympics. We weren’t officially an Olympic team yet, so all the money went to the men’s team, which was assured a berth. Our venture was purely speculative in the eyes of the IOC, who probably weren’t expecting a lot after our wildly aberrant performance in Columbia. Had it not been for Bill Wall’s American Express card, Coach Billie Moore, and manager Jeanne Rowland’s wiliness, we never would have made it through.
Bill Wall was the head of the American Basketball Association and he was responsible for both the men’s and the women’s basketball teams at all international events. Bill probably spent two-hundred nights a year away from home, and he liked to brag that he had racked up over two million air miles, long before United Airlines even started counting, and decades before frequent flier mile discounts ever existed. He’d been to Russia so many times that some people thought he was a secret agent. As manager, Jeanne Rowlands had the distinguished honor of figuring out where we were going to eat every day. There was no per diem…only Bill Wall’s credit card with $500.00 left on it, and that would have to pay for everything.
In truth, it didn’t matter to us where we stayed or what we ate. Even if we’d had to train in a shack using a hollowed out wastepaper basket as a hoop, it wouldn’t have mattered, as long as we could make it to the qualifying tournament. Gail Weldon, our trainer kept us in shape, while assistant coach Sue Gunter was Billie Moore’s right arm. We knew that Wall, Moore, Gunter, and Rowlands would see to it that, somehow, we got everything we needed. There was one day, however, when we got far more than we needed.
One day we were treated like queens.
Bill and Billie had arranged for our accommodations at the dorm by ringing up William “Hunter” Low, known as the “Father of the Kodak/All-America Team.” Hunter was the manager of the US sports and events program for the Kodak Company. I’d already received two of the prestigious Kodak All American Awards, so I knew Hunter and liked him.
One day, Hunter invited us up to a Kodak executive’s home on the lake in Rochester. I had never seen anything like it before. The large main house was surrounded by well-tended lawns and gardens commanded a sweeping view of the lake. Everyone snapped pictures of the view and of each other, completely oblivious to the historic significance those pictures might have. After all, we were going to be the first US Women’s Basketball Team to the Olympics.
The press didn’t seem to care much except when the Chinese women’s basketball team scrimmaged with us. It was a first for the communist country and, at that, the press only took one group photo of both teams. I don’t remember any photographers following us around, not even emissaries from Kodak! I took comfort in my own thoughts. They’ll wish they’d have snapped a few pictures of us once we medal at the Olympics.
We finally got to Hamilton for the qualifiers on June 22 and knew it was do-or-die time. We were placed in a preliminary round pool along with France, Mexico, and Poland. We tore through the first contest for an 80-57 victory over Mexico, then went on to defeat France 71-59, and closed out the preliminaries with an 84-66 trouncing of Poland.
USA and Poland, with a 2-1 record, advanced from Group A to the final round. In Group B, which included Bulgaria, Cuba, Great Britain, Italy, and South Korea, there was a three-way tie atop the standings, as Bulgaria, Cuba, and South Korea had identical 3-1 records. FIBA’s tie-breaking formula dictated that Bulgaria and Cuba head to the final round to face the United States and Poland.
In the round robin play we clobbered Cuba 89-73. Now there was just Bulgaria remaining for the championship to determine who would be first or second to go to Montreal. We knew it would be a difficult and very physical game. The Bulgarians were a veteran team who knew how to play with each other. Their timing was nearly perfect because they’d had so much experience together, and that can make all the difference. Even so, basketball was still the United States’ game. We had the same mentality as the guys: This is our game and only we know how to really play it.
But it was tough. Thanks to Billie and Sue’s coaching, we just squeezed out a final win over Bulgaria 76-75 to take the first of the two remaining berths.
Bill Wall’s relief at our win was palpable because it meant he would be reimbursed by the IOC for the charges he’d accumulated. He didn’t just wipe his brow and sigh. His mop of white hair got the once-through with his handkerchief, and he nearly cracked his face with his smile. We were no longer flying without a net. We were an official Olympic team. From the time I was ten, I’d expected to go to the Olympics as a high jumper. Now I was going as a basketball player. I’d had my plans, but it appeared as though Life had had its own plan. Meeting somewhere in the middle was just fine by me.
My dad came up to Hamilton for the qualifiers, along with David, his wife, Linda, and their new daughter, Crystal. It was good to see him and David, but I was a bound up ball of nerves. We were all still uneasy around Dad. I was excited he was there to see me play, but he’d left Mom by then, and it didn’t sit well with me. There was also still some strain between my dad and David, and I just hoped everyone would get along. But it was hard. He was a complicated man, and our feelings about him, no less so.
Before Havlicek, or any of the other masters from whom we drew inspiration, our greatest idol had always been our father. He was a tenacious football player and a gifted basketball player who married and started a family at a time when pro ball didn’t pay enough to support a family of four, let alone a family of thirteen.
Now his own marriage had unraveled like a rope under too big a strain of a load it wasn’t meant to bear, so he left. Actually, he’d been moving out of the La Habra home for years, taking off for weeks at a time only to return out of the blue. I know it was an intensely difficult time for my mother, who was trying to comprehend where
her life had taken her and how she could be left to raise so many young children alone. Outwardly she took her licks, complaining little, and always the stalwart. Inwardly, I know she was crumbling.
Dad told me he was proud that I’d played well against Bulgaria. However I may have felt about him for hurting Mom, his opinions on how well I played still mattered to me. There was a hidden part of me that was still a small child, wanting his approval. I told myself I wasn’t being disloyal to Mom by being civil to Dad. Allegiance. The very word meant you had to pick sides. Fine for playing a game, horrible when you’re talking about a family.
As for Mom, I knew that she, Mark, and Frannie would come later to Montreal to watch the Olympic Games, and I was looking forward to that. But for now, I was with Dad, and a nervous wreck. I needed to focus on what I had come here to do, and that meant playing well in Montreal and not letting anything distract me, not even the family baggage that had flung itself into the backseat during this crucial trip.
Being on the road and living with a bunch of women was an open invitation to all kinds of new things. For instance, Lucy Harris taught me how to pack a suitcase. I wasn’t exactly new to the idea of packing, but Lucy had one up on me, as we packed for Montreal. “If you roll your clothes instead of fold ‘em, you’ll fit more into your suitcase and less of it will get wrinkled.” Who was I to argue the logic?
Lucy Harris and I had played on several teams together and we just clicked. At 6’3”, she was a specimen by nature and a seamstress by necessity. She had to make all her own clothes because she was such a big gal. And she managed to keep that wardrobe wrinkle-free.
I’d never met anyone so meticulous about her clothing, but I would be, too, if I had to create and cut patterns, then sew everything together. I, on the other hand, was like speedy Gonzales with respect to clothing, packing, eating, playing, and everything else. I wanted to get things done now. Not Lucy. She took her time both on and off the courts, which frustrated all of us because we liked to play fast.
Part of her style had to do with the specific type of game she’d played while at Delta State, where the coach, Margaret Wade, believed in a very deliberate post-up offense. Lucy was our center, and she could rebound like nobody else. Once she had the ball, however, she took her sweet time getting down the court. We liked to run the ball, but we’d have to wait for Lucy to set up in the post. When she got there, though, boy was she strong inside.
The qualifying games had given us a chance to practice together as a team, readying ourselves for the Olympics, which were now only days away. Since Hamilton, Ontario was just fifty minutes from Niagara Falls, Bill, Billie, and some of the others decided we had time to view the Falls from the Canadian border before heading to Montreal. The mist coated our faces as we all lined up against the rail to gaze upon the breathtaking view. The rumble of the falls made it hard to hear anything other than my own thoughts. I considered how many places I’d seen, courtesy of my basketball career, and here was another. It was a chance for all of us to relax and to gear up psychologically.
Wiping the moisture off my face, I contemplated our chances. It was no secret that the Russians were considered the best in the world due to their undefeated record for nearly two decades. But basketball was still a U.S. game. The Americans simply played it better than anyone else. Likewise, I’d trained myself to go into every competition believing we would win, no matter what. I’d learned a long time ago that success begins with one’s will. It’s a state of mind. The moment you think you’re outclassed, you are.
That day at the Falls was July 3rd, 1976, the day before the country’s bicentennial. I was reminded that believing in oneself, having that winning attitude against all odds, wasn’t just part of being a Meyers, or an athlete—it was part of the American spirit. And I decided that no Soviet team, no matter how great, could ever eclipse that.
As we turned to leave Niagara Falls, the sun peeked through mist, causing a full rainbow to appear above the crashing water below. I saw it as a prophetic sign that the pot of gold was within reach.
________
1 The International Basketball Federation, originally the French Federation Internationale de Basket-ball.
2 American Basketball Assoc. USA, the governing body for Women’s Basketball before the IOC
9
“Precious Medals”
“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”
~ Winston Churchill
Once we got to Montreal, the twelve of us stayed in one, two-bedroom apartment with two bunks in each room and four beds in the living area. Since there was only one bathroom, we’d use the kitchen sink to brush our teeth. I was from a big family so I knew how to share a bathroom, but I missed having some semblance of privacy. Privacy or not, the accommodations were a far cry from the ramshackle dorms we’d been living in. But aside from all that, we were living in Olympic Village, so there was a sense of reverence. We’d made it to the Olympics!
Security was everywhere, so we knew everyone would be well-guarded. After the ’72 Olympics in Munich, where eleven Israeli athletes were taken hostage by Palestinian gunmen and killed, Olympic security was ramped up to the max.
If it wasn’t security, it was politics. The Republic of China (Chinese Taipei) and the People’s Republic of China had boycotted the games denouncing each other’s legitimacy. When we first arrived, we were told not to unpack because there was still a chance that the U.S. might walk out if the issue regarding Taipei and China was not resolved to our country’s liking. And Africa boycotted because of apartheid.
For an athlete, the opportunity to compete against the world’s best on this most esteemed platform means everything. Olympic medals can only be attained through the intersection of three things: ability, desire, and opportunity, and that opportunity only comes every four years. Back in the 70s that was a narrow span in the life of a world-class American athlete because you had to be an amateur. Back then, the majority of U.S. athletes competed in one or two Olympics, if they were lucky. There were few Al Oreters or Wyllie Whites who competed in four or five Olympics.
A lot of the players on my team felt it unfair that the international teams were paid by their countries and were still considered amateurs. Not only were they making a livable wage, but they were also growing stronger as a team because they were able to stay together for a long time, whereas we’d only be together for a few weeks at a time. But when anyone started to grumble about it, the coaches told us to knock it off. Focusing on our resentments would only destroy the team from the inside, like a cancer. We needed to focus on our strengths. Besides, it still wasn’t certain that we were even staying.
Once it was finally determined that the U.S. would not be pulling out, we relaxed and got to know our surroundings. The Olympic Village had the most enormous cafeteria I’d ever seen, and during the midday meal, everyone from Nadia Comaneci to Edwin Moses, Bruce Jenner, and Sugar Ray Leonard were there.
The games were opened by Queen Elizabeth II, as head of state of Canada. The queen’s daughter, Princess Anne, was there to compete with the British riding team. She was the only female athlete not made to undergo a sex test. It was a first at an Olympics that saw many firsts. The only one we cared about, though, was that the Games of the XXI Olympiad would be the first to include women’s basketball.
The opening ceremonies were amazing. I’d marched into a stadium and represented my country before hundreds of thousands of spectators at the Pan Am Games in Mexico. But this was different. Chills goosed up my spine, knowing the whole world was watching. There is nothing more prestigious than the Olympics. Every other competition, from the World Championships to the Jones Cup, was preparation for this.
There I stood along with other U.S. athletes from every sport on the world stage. It was my childhood dream come true. Soaking it all in and hoping to capture a mental image of the moment forever, I beamed with pride as they released the doves and— splat—I got nailed.
We all knew to take cover when the birds were let out but, uncharacteristically, I wasn’t fast enough.
There were six women’s basketball teams competing in round robin, meaning every team would play each other. Today there are sixteen teams with four pools, so you could lose in your pool, come in second, and still have a chance at the Gold. In ’76 we had to win as many as we could of those five games.
Under Sue Gunter, we had always beat Japan in other competitions except for the one time we played them in Osaka. They played a different style from us. They were quick, good outside shooters, and they passed the ball well. On every play they yelled, “Aye, Aye.” Whether they were cutting cross baseline or to the basket, they were yelling. It was a pattern that worked for them. But hearing their shrieks throughout the game was distracting. We knew it would be tough because now we were without Sue, who was familiar with their unusual style. Sadly, her father had died and she had flown home the previous day.
The game was scheduled for 9:00 a.m., so we got up at 5:00 a.m. each morning to practice. It was the ’76 Olympics’ first team-sport competition, and Lusia Harris was the first to score that historic basket. She’d end up with seventeen points and seven rebounds; but the Japanese were ultimately the ones to dictate the tempo of the game. We struggled with Sue not sitting on the bench with us and were seriously jarred when they beat us 84-71. Once I got over the shock, I got mad. With all of the training in Warrensburg and Hamilton, had we peaked too soon? I immediately banished the thought. There was no way I’d come this far to jeopardize my dream, not by this loss, not by anything.
You Let Some Girl Beat You? Page 9