Hoosier Hoops and Hijinks

by Brenda Stewart

  The word ratty forced its way into Josie’s mind.

  “Only the buttons still shined,” Gard said. “I’d seen to that. He hesitated but was so desperate to please me. He slipped it on.”

  Josie’s stomach clenched. A moth-eaten jacket. Like something a homeless man might wear. With shiny buttons that might reflect the sun into the eyes of a cross-country kid.

  “Gard,” she breathed out. “What did you do?”

  He’d been telling the story, lost in his own world. He looked into Josie’s eyes. “You know what I did. You know my secret. But if you mean why? I saw the disgust in his eyes when he slipped that coat on. Disgust over who he’d been, who he’d been married to. Who I was. And it hit me. An epiphany, just like back in sixth grade. He was the one who’d mastered the ‘Give and Go.’ Tossed us away. Swept back just in time for the easy score. He hadn’t come back to be my dad. Just to be a star-struck fan riding my coattails to the Hall of Fame. His fatal mistake was keeping his eye on the ball. He should have been watching me.”

  He pounced so swiftly, Josie wasn’t prepared. He grabbed her and pulled her down on the back side of the brick wall. She tried to scream but he put his hand over her mouth.

  “I’m sorry Josie. When he moved to take the coat off, I lost it. I put the body in the trunk of that fancy car of his and drove, not even thinking about where I was going. I got closer to the school and I panicked. I dumped the body.”

  Josie squirmed underneath him, clawing at his face. Gard kept one hand over her mouth, and put the other around her neck and squeezed. He began to sob. Apologizing. Explaining that if his mom found out what he’d done, she’d go back to the bottle, or worse. Josie struggled to push him away as her lungs burned. Gard’s tears splashed onto her cheeks. Pressure was building up in her head. All she could see was the brick wall which suddenly seemed to loom over her, the sun bright overhead. Then a dark shape rose, blocking the light, and leapt down on top of Gard.

  Og swung the tripod and caught Gard squarely on the back of the head. Gard went limp, and Josie shoved him off of her, gasping for air. She looked at Og, who was trembling.

  “You…you…,” she breathed. “Research?”

  Og held a hand out to help her up. “I prefer to think of it as surveillance.” He called for the police and an ambulance.

  As they took Gard away, Josie knew the only ball he’d play now would be on a tiny concrete court, caged in by a tall chain-link fence. And beyond that would be walls that reached far higher than those of a neighborhood playground from a fading childhood memory. She hoped he would keep his eye on the ball, for if he raised his gaze toward the summit of those walls, all that would wink back at him would be the cold unyielding stare of razor wire.

  Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame

  Brenda Robertson Stewart

  Indiana worships the game of basketball so it is only fitting that there be a Hall of Fame to pay tribute to the greatest figures in the sport. Indianapolis was the home of the Hall of Fame from 1970 to 1986. The building was sold in 1986 and bids were received from 13 communities and New Castle was selected for the new site. The two story structure is located on a five acre site near the intersection of Highway 3 and Trojan Lane. Highway 3 is accessible from Interstate 70.

  The Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame epitomizes what visitors might call “Hoosier Hysteria.” Indiana high school players and coaches, both men and women, are the focus.

  In Indiana, basketball is a passion and part of the state’s heritage. The 14,000 square foot museum features not only the teams and individuals who have been recognized, but it contains a number of interactive exhibits to bring the visitor closer to the action of Indiana high school basketball. There is an introductory film shown in the Marsh theater and memorabilia of all previous state championship teams is located on the ramp down to the main exhibition floor which is designed to replicate those at Butler’s Hinkle Fieldhouse, where many basketball championships were played. The enshrinement hall is where each inductee is permanently honored, the John Jordan library is available for research on over 1,000 Indiana high schools, and archived game films are available to watch upon request. The gift shop has items to purchase as mementos.

  Players become eligible for Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame induction 26 years after he/she played high school basketball. Coaches are eligible after 25 years of varsity coaching or 10 years after retirement from high school coaching. Anyone can make a nomination, but a state-wide board of directors oversees the process and each year there are directors appointed to represent each part of the state.

  THE ODDS ARE ALWAYS UNEVEN

  Sarah Glenn and Gwen Mayo

  “Oh, dear, I forgot,” Teddy said, scowling over her spectacles at the hotel register. “I wrote 1925 instead of 1926.”

  The clerk smiled at the curly-headed woman in the red coat.

  “Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ve written the same thing five times today. The new year’s not even a week old.”

  “Did you have a big party here?”

  She turned to scan the lobby and, behind her companions, the lengthening line. “Your establishment seems very popular. Was there a live band in your dining room, perhaps, people dancing, cheering as the clock hands inched towards midnight..?”

  “There’s no time to indulge your imagination, dear,” Cornelia said. “We barely have time to dress for dinner. Young Roland will be waiting.”

  “Of course.” She nodded to the clerk. “I’m sorry, but I have to go now.”

  The man fought back a grin. “Yes, ma’am. Here are the keys to your room”—he handed the set to Teddy—”and here are the keys for Mr. Pettijohn’s room. Both of them are on the ground floor.”

  The white-bearded man puffed up. “Professor Pettijohn. I was a full professor at the University of Kentucky for forty-six years. Started back when it was still the Kentucky Agricultural and Mechanical College.”

  “My apologies, Professor. Please enjoy your stay.”

  Cornelia prepared to take charge of the baggage, but was intercepted by a young man, slender and tall.

  “Allow me, ma’am. I can’t let a lady carry the luggage of three people. Especially if Uncle Percy’s got one of his contraptions in his suitcase.”

  “Roland!” Professor Pettijohn laughed and gripped the youth’s shoulders. “You beat us here.”

  “They call me Rollo now. I came over with some buddies.” ‘Rollo’ looked Teddy and Cornelia over. “Which one of you lovely ladies is my cousin?”

  “The one built like a fire plug, of course.”

  Cornelia gave her uncle the same glare that had chastened entire hospital wards full of doughboys.

  The old man ignored her.

  Rollo was the one to tsk, though. “Really, Uncle. Now I can’t greet either of them without putting my foot into it,” he said. “I know, I will introduce myself.”

  He treated them to a grand bow, made comic by the floppy gray flannel pants he wore.

  “I am Roland Gray, at your service, ladies.”

  Teddy gave him a little curtsy.

  “I am Theodora Lawless, but everyone calls me Teddy. This is your—is he your cousin, or is he something once removed?”

  “Cousin is the best term. I’m Cornelia.”

  The lad bowed again, this time without the exaggerated motion.

  “Pleased to meet both of you.”

  He lifted one of the suitcases.

  “Oof. This must be one of his. I’ll go get a cart.”

  “Really,” Cornelia grumbled at his disappearing back, “Do you believe these suitcases walked into the lobby on their own?” Her companions might both use canes, but she had carried her own baggage since she served under Colonel Roosevelt at the San Juan Heights.

  Teddy laid a hand on Cornelia’s arm. “How sweet of you, Rollo.” She added, with a whisper, “Be nice, dear.”

  Cornelia was nice.

  Uncle Percival extended the crook of his elbow to Teddy. “You look char
ming tonight, Miss Lawless.”

  Teddy’s giggle hadn’t changed with the years.

  “And you’re so dashing, Professor.”

  Cornelia trailed behind, watching the pair amble down the hallway like a stick insect over a pond. Teddy’s arm locked with Percival’s, giving the old man some support. He acted like he never needed help, but he’d claimed to be seventy-five for over ten years.

  “Do you think your nephew will be wearing those silly pants again?”

  “Oh, Cornelia, those are Oxford bags. They’re popular with the college crowd these days.”

  “You are au courant, my dear lady.”

  Sounds of scuffling echoed in the nearby stairwell. Perhaps someone had brought more luggage than he could handle.

  A muffled cry convinced her otherwise.

  Cornelia sidled around her uncle and dashed for the door. She jerked it open and saw two men wrestling a third. The third man, tall and thin, must have been the source of the cry, since he now had a hand clamped firmly over his mouth.

  It was Roland.

  “Unhand him!”

  She grabbed one of the men by his shirt collar and jerked it hard. A button snapped loose and ricocheted off the wall.

  The thug responded by freeing one arm long enough to give her a hard shove. “Get lost, sister. You don’t want none of this.”

  Cornelia lunged forward. This time, she slapped him sharply on the ear, producing a howl of pain.

  Uncle Percival and Teddy entered the stairwell. The old man’s first response was similar to his niece’s: “Unhand my nephew!”

  He laid into the pair with his cane, made of stout oak and topped with a silver wildcat’s head.

  Cornelia snatched Teddy’s cane from her hand. “Excuse me, dear, but I need this.” Now both of them were beating on the pair of thugs.

  Teddy retreated and raised the alarm. A group of young college men poured into the stairwell, but the pair of thugs were long gone.

  “Take him to the lobby where we can examine him,” Cornelia ordered the freshmen bent over Rollo. “We’re nurses.”

  “Yes ma’am,” one young man said, hoisting Rollo to his feet.

  A small crowd gathered in the lobby around the settee where Teddy and Cornelia attended to their patient.

  “Pupils look good.” Cornelia palpated his scalp. “Does this hurt?”

  “Not a lot.”

  Teddy, grasping his wrist, checked the timepiece hanging from her necklace. “Pulse is good.”

  “No lumps on the head,” Cornelia pronounced.

  “Some contusions on the arms,” Teddy reported. “Please wiggle your fingers. Yes, very good.”

  The students closest to the settee were pushed aside by an older man. “Sibley!”

  Rollo stared up at the man, and then both broke into laughter.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Coach, it’s just me.”

  Teddy looked from one to the other. “Disappoint him?”

  “My apologies,” the older man said. “Some students came running to tell me that my star player had been attacked. I should have known it was only Rollo again. So, were you robbed?”

  “No, they didn’t get that far. My uncle and cousin came along and rescued me. It’s rather embarrassing.”

  “Better embarrassed than robbed. Or seriously hurt.” The man nodded to the women and withdrew from the now thinning throng.

  Cornelia followed the man’s disappearing back. “Who was that?”

  “That was Coach Dean. The basketball coach.”

  “What did he mean by ‘only Rollo again?”’

  Rollo grinned. “I’m tall and thin, and so is Frank Sibley. Our hair parts in the same place, too. A week ago, I was returning late from the library, and I was accosted by some students for breaking team curfew. They dragged me to Coach Dean, who straightened it out, and it’s been a running joke.”

  “Does anyone ever mistake Mr. Sibley for you?” Teddy asked.

  “If they do, he hasn’t let on. I guess no one cares if someone from the pep band is breaking curfew.”

  Laughter and conversation surrounded the four in the dining room. Garlands of holly still lined the walls and poinsettias graced the side tables. The carpet was speckled in places with leftover confetti.

  “Rollo, my boy,” the professor said, “the expression on your face when we came to your aid was priceless. It reminded me of your grandmother when Corny—Cornelia’s father—and I surprised her.”

  He chuckled as red crept into Rollo’s cheeks. Then Pettijohn paused and stroked his beard.

  “That must have been the first time your grandfather came calling. Anyway, Corny and I hid behind the settee until we couldn’t hold back the giggles. Corny leapt up, pretending to be Henry, looked at me and declared his admiration. The two of us went prancing out the side door together but not before I got a good look at the stunned expression on Genevieve’s face.”

  He chuckled at the memory.

  “Of course, once that wore off, she chased us down and whaled the tar out of us.”

  “Grandpa Jackson wasn’t put off by such unladylike behavior?”

  Professor Pettijohn laughed.

  “I think it was then and there that he decided he had found the right woman for him. The way I see it, Henry figured if she could handle the two of us she’d make a right fine woman to raise a family.”

  Rollo started to say something else, but a man at a nearby table stood. “Here’s to our Wildcats and another winning year!”

  Cheers came, followed by other toasts to Kentucky’s success in the upcoming season.

  Rollo was more skeptical. “They should worry more about the game tomorrow.”

  “Come, come,” Pettijohn said. “Our team is without equal. Carey is the finest player in the South.”

  The boy arched an eyebrow, dark but shaped like the old man’s. “Too bad you’re not playing a southern team.”

  “As I recall, the Crimson are down a man.”

  “Not any more. Krueger is back.”

  “It should be an excellent match, then. One where Kentucky will prevail. I’ve devised a special method of celebration for the occasion.”

  “Oh? What have you come up with this time, Uncle?”

  He winked. “You’ll see.”

  “May I interrupt?” A tall man stood by their table.

  “Of course you can, sir!” Rollo said, rising. “This is Coach Anderson, one of the assistant coaches,” he added by way of introduction.

  They slid chairs aside so the visitor could sit with them.

  “Rollo, I’ve been talking to Coach Dean about what happened to you earlier, and I had a word with the police. There’s a rumor that some men have come up from Newport to assure a Kentucky victory.”

  “I assume you don’t mean by earnest prayer,” Teddy said.

  He chuckled. “No, ma’am. They bet heavily on one side, then kidnap members of the opposing team. Especially star members.”

  “You mean, they think I’m Sibley?” the youth squeaked.

  “Everyone else is making that mistake. Why not them?”

  “Is Roland in danger, sir?”

  “Not really, Professor…Pettijohn, is it? These men usually hold the player until after the game, then drop him off somewhere miles from home. Sore feet is the most common complaint I’ve heard about.”

  “I presume you’re guarding Mr. Sibley closely,” Cornelia said.

  “Oh, we are…but we’d like for these men to keep thinking that you’re him, Rollo. We’ll surround you with Sibley’s pals from the football team. They’ll keep watching you instead of figuring out that they’ve been had. Would you be willing to do that for the team?”

  Rollo grinned. “Sure, Coach! Sounds like a real hoot.”

  The morning light cast deep shadows between the roughhewn limestone buildings of the Indiana University campus. Snow still clung to the ground and bushes, but the pathways connecting the arc of classrooms and dorms had been cleared for stud
ents and visitors.

  Beefy young men escorted Cornelia, Teddy, Rollo, and the Professor beside Dunn’s Woods. Rollo wore a jacket borrowed from the team’s star player and had been instructed to ‘walk like Sibley.’ Cornelia carried her service pistol in her purse. She’d brought it on the trip for extra protection in case their Dodge Brothers vehicle broke down and thought it might prove useful.

  Teddy admired the architecture, making appreciative sounds. “Splendid stonework. Where is the Field House?”

  “Over there.” Rollo pointed to a hilly area beyond Maxwell Hall. “Thataway, past where those guys are talking. The court is on the second floor, up a steep flight of stairs. I’m sure I can make it there, though, with a lovely woman like you on my arm.”

  Cornelia fought an eye roll and lost. “Do young ladies buy the oil you churn out, cousin?”

  “Oil? My mother simply raised me to be a gentleman, that’s all.”

  She eyed his sagging flannels. “If she expects you to grow into those pants, she’s going to be disappointed.”

  “These?” He glanced down amidst guffaws from their muscular chaperones. “They’re all the rage in England.”

  “King George finally got revenge,” she grumbled.

  When the sightseeing ended, Roland and his entourage headed for the dorms. Cornelia and her companions turned onto the path leading to the hotel. Teddy wanted to change into whatever clothes were appropriate for a basketball game, and Uncle Percival had a case he wanted carried up to the gym. It was heavy as the dickens, and Cornelia knew who would be carrying it. Perhaps Teddy could prevail upon the chivalry of some of the other UK boosters staying at the hotel. She was the charming one.

  The men Rollo had used as a point of reference were headed down the walk towards the trio now. One was about Rollo’s age, but dressed more sensibly. The other two were older, perhaps brothers or even uncles. They joked with one another, laughing and punching shoulders.

  When their paths crossed, the men parted to let their elders pass and tipped their fedoras. Cornelia nodded in return. The one had a nasty mark on his face, shaped almost like a cat’s face. A round wildcat’s face.