by Phil Wohl
Pete pleaded, "But I haven't gone anywhere yet."
"Somehow, it feels like a part of you has already left."
The only comeback Pete had for that response was a strong, exhale-producing hug. Would he change the minute he stepped foot on the soil of Barringer College? Everybody seemed to think so except him. Only time would tell, and Pete was convinced that his trip up to Barringer would answer a lot of interesting questions.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
It was a bright sunny, mid-March Saturday morning. Pete was a real believer in foreshadowing, and felt uplifted that Mr. Sun decided to make an early appearance on one of the biggest days in his young life. Lou Berman was even whistling as he stepped out of the shower.
On the other side of the fence, Barry Melnick stared at his alarm clock, which read 5:20 a.m. The future of his program would be decided in the blink of a morning. Eric Spalding had visited the previous weekend and had signed on the dotted line, with the stipulation that he would only honor the agreement if Pete joined him. Another recruit from the state of Massachusetts, Sam Harrison, a 6'2" pure-shooting off-guard, had also signed a Letter of Intent.
Melnick had three full scholarships to work with, and was well on his way to filling the major holes in his starting lineup. The coach figured he would round out the five with a couple of players that would be juniors the following year. Ben Paulson was a bruising 6'7" center, who was one of the bright spots on the Barringer team, averaging eight rebounds a game. The other player was 6'4" Larry Schultz, a crafty left-hander who had decent range on his jumper. Schultz was the leading scorer on the team, with a 14-point per game average. Recruit Sam Harrison had averaged 20 points per game on a losing high school team. You know Pete and Eric Spalding's stories.
The drive up to Barringer was smooth, yet slow. As Lou Berman weaved his way through New York, Connecticut, and then Massachusetts, the family said little. The highways were fairly straight, and the roads were marked by one rest stop after another, and tolls as far as the eye could see. As the clock struck 10:45, Lou announced that they were about 5 minutes away from the college. He turned off the parkway to exit 44. Lou smirked and looked back at Pete, who knew exactly what he was thinking. Pete looked out the window and saw nothing but trees and grass, not a smoking pipe to be found. Lou said, "I thought you'd get a kick out of that exit number."
Pete was bouncing his right leg up and down with only a few hundred feet remaining until his dad made the left turn into the college. In the distance a sign became visible: BARRINGER COLLEGE, and in smaller print below it said A Potter Campus. Pete remembered that the people that invented Potterseal brand storage containers had invested multi-millions to rebuild the campus. Lou made the left turn and the family was safely inside.
You would have thought the family had entered Oz by the stunned expressions on their faces. The buildings were so new and shiny and the grounds very well-manicured. Pete no longer wondered what the inside of a country club looked like. In the middle of the campus was a large domed rotunda, which housed most of the classes. It looked like a huge Potterseal container, with some added artful appeal.
Barry Melnick was pacing near the main entrance of the rotunda. He looked at his watch and then spotted the Berman’s parking and then walking his way. They exchanged happy greetings and Melnick led them to the middle of the rotunda. The group looked up through the huge dome, which served as one of the biggest sky-lights they had ever seen. Pete looked around the incredible building and noticed four entry points that filtered into the one central area. Melnick led the Berman’s up to one of the four staircases to a large office with a beautiful frosted glass front.
After a few moments, a bald, distinguished man with small-rimmed glasses emerged from an interior room. Coach Melnick said, "Pete, Mr. and Mrs. Berman, I'd like you to meet Dr. Ira Sellinger, the Dean of our English Department."
They exchanged greetings and the good doctor spoke. "Pete. Coach Melnick has told me a great deal about your passion for writing and your real head for numbers. We recently formulated a new program at Barringer called Business Communications that will give students the opportunity to experience the finer points of both our Business and English Departments. Here is a sampling of some of the course offerings."
The Dr. handed everyone a list of courses that included: Fundamentals of Business I and II, Script Writing, Public Speaking, Great Books, Spreadsheet Basics, Business Writing, Intro to Marketing, Intro to Management, English Literature, Accounting Principles, and Equity Valuation Methods. Pete's eyes nearly popped out of his head. It was almost like someone had crawled into his head and made up a course listing from his thoughts. Pete's parents were flabbergasted. They never imagined that their son's ability to throw a ball through a hoop would open these kinds of doors. The group left the office and said goodbye to Dr. Sallinger.
It was lunchtime, so the foursome headed toward the main dining hall on the lower level of the rotunda. Since it was early on Saturday, Pete hadn't seen too many students walking around. He was wearing his West Valley team jacket, a pair of jeans, and basketball sneakers. Pete loved his team jacket. In fact, he hadn't given it back to Isabel since mid-February. As their bond got tighter, Isabel became less concerned with symbolic gestures and more with actual feelings. Their relationship was strong, and so was the smell wafting from the freshly-baked apple pies.
Barry Melnick knew how Pete would react to the sites of the dining room. Melnick's first trip to the college’s cafeteria as an undergrad revealed his weakness for apple pie and blondes. A few of the Barringer Girls Basketball team members passed by, and said, "Hi, Coach Melnick," in unison while flashing a big smile at Pete. Lou Berman also had a blonde weakness, and knew his son wasn't far behind. Pete then saw a group of adorable girls talking to a guy wearing a button-down shirt, a pair of khaki pants, and loafers. The girls were wearing turtle necks, sweaters, jeans, and docksiders. As the group sat down, Pete couldn't take his jacket off fast enough. It was the first time he ever felt out of place wearing it. The blue-and-gold of West Valley would not impress college girls. They didn't want to date high school boys, anyway. Pete had just outgrown high school in the blink of an eye, and was ready to take the next step.
As the foursome walked up to drop off their trays, mom and dad walked ahead while Pete and Coach Melnick talked and walked slowly.
"The answers to your questions are, 'Yes, those girls were checking you out,” and, 'No, you can't start school tomorrow.'"
"Wow! I had no idea."
"I told you this place was great. And you haven't even seen the gym yet."
Pete nodded his head and kept looking around like a kid in a candy shop. Isabel had awakened Pete's sexual motor, proving again that an object set in motion tends to stay in motion.
The group strolled back though the rotunda and started the 200-yard walk to the gym complex. The large brick building said on its front, C. Richard Potter Gymnasium. As Pete walked into the fresh-smelling building, his mind switched to slow-motion auto pilot. The surreal experience got even dreamier when Coach Melnick turned left and opened the doors to the massive gym. The wood floor was shiny on all three of the facilities' full-courts. Pete walked on to the main court by himself and gazed at the Bruin with the big B surrounding it at center court. He unbuttoned his jacket, and let it slide to the floor as he located a ball in the corner of the gym.
Pete felt as if he was home, shooting baskets in his driveway. He picked up the leather ball and began dribbling slowly toward the far middle basket. The thud of the ball against the hardwood floor was music to the ears of both Lou Berman and Barry Melnick. Pete took one step onto the court and hoisted a 25-foot jumper. Everyone knew the shot would find the net before it even reached the basket. After about six shots, Lou and Barry joined Pete to shoot and talk. The three still hadn't talked about a Letter of Intent, and took turns shooting the ball. Pete was
impressed with Melnick's range, which wound up being just icing on a beautifully decorated cake.
The group then headed up to Melnick's office, which overlooked the court through a wall-long sheet of Plexiglas. It was time to talk business for a change.
"This is the part of my job I dislike the most," Melnick said, "The Letter of Intent is such a formal practice, but the N.C.A.A. has certain rules in place to protect student-athletes. And that's a good thing. Let me tell you again that Eric Spalding was up here last week, and here is his signed letter. Of course, he and his parents made it perfectly clear that this would be contingent on your decision. We have also signed a 6'2" swingman from Massachusetts, which will give us a potent one-two punch from the wings if teams decide to play a zone against us."
Pete looked at his parents and said, "So, what do you think?"
"We are going to leave that decision up to you," Lou Berman beamed.
Pete's grinning mom added, "We're happy with whatever you decide."
"I almost forgot the most important formality," Barry Melnick interjected. "This Letter of Intent entitles Pete Berman to a full athletic scholarship. Meaning that we pay for your tuition, housing, meals, and if all things go well, we will eventually pick up your books, too."
The Berman family had hit the apex of their basketball existence. They were at the top of Hoop Mountain looking down. Pete put his right hand out toward Coach Melnick, and Melnick handed Pete a pen. He then signed his name to the bottom of the letter, and a mini-celebration ensued. Pete hugged his mom and dad, as tears rolled down his mom's face. Barry Melnick, with one trick still under his sleeve, reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a Barringer Bear jersey with the number 44 on it. He turned it around and the name BERMAN was emblazoned over number 44. Pete's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.
"I wish I could give this to you now, but I can't. This will be waiting for you next fall," a smiling Barry Melnick beamed. Pete then high-fived Melnick, and the two met in a strong hug, as Melnick declared, "We're going to work hard to make this special."
Pete replied, "You know that I'll leave everything I've got out there on the court."
Melnick promised to call Pete the next week and everyone said their gleeful goodbyes.
The trip to Barringer proved to be a far cry from the one the previous week to Brookport. All of Pete's hard work, as well as the sweat and sacrifices of his family, all seemed worth it that sunny March afternoon. Pete slept like a baby on the way home, dreaming of the gym, the uniform, and the women with their warm smiles and special interest in tall, dark-haired New Yorkers.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Pete and Isabel went to a movie that night, but Pete's thoughts were still in Massachusetts. Isabel had seen him distracted before big games, and initially wrote it off as just a long exciting day. She didn't know whether she should be elated for him, or sad for herself. Pete was going to Barringer College, fulfilling one of his life-long dreams, while making life for her in West Valley a living hell.
After the movie they had the following conversation.
"So, you had some day," Isabel awkwardly asked.
"Yeah, it's been quite a roller coaster ride the past few weeks."
"Do you think it's going to be over when you go to school?"
"What's going to be over?"
Isabel said, "Us."
"Us?"
"Is there an echo in here?" a visibly upset Isabel shot back.
Pete honestly replied, "I don't know?"
Isabel's face turned flush and then she started to cry. Pete snapped out of his co-ed dorm daydream in an attempt to save his sorry, pathetic butt.
"I didn't mean it that way! He put his hand on her shoulder, but she brushed it away. "Look at me!" She turned her head towards Pete, tears streaming down her face. "I don't know what will happen in the future. All I know is that I love you and nothing is going to change that."
She wiped the tears away and said, "Do you mean that, or are you just saying it?"
"Well, if something comes out of my mouth, I usually mean it."
She hugged him, and all was forgiven. Pete thought to himself that love probably lasts for a long time, but in a teenager’s mind that might translate into about six months of actual time. On the other side of the ball, Isabel knew she couldn't keep Pete down forever. She also was certain that he would be faithful, so she would stick with him as long as possible.
Pete knew he had a real good thing going with Isabel. Besides the physical thing, she was also his best friend. The two had forged a relationship on the basketball court, and then let their feelings grow over time. Pete had grown up more in the few months with Isabel than at any other point of his life, because she brought out his best qualities. He had come from a family of arguers, but the young couple never had cause to fight. With potential problems months away, Isabel and Pete decided to enjoy each other's company without distraction.
The spring brought with it baseball season. Although Pete had spent much of his early life dreaming only of baseball, the slow pace of the game now seemed to pale in comparison to the stimulation of basketball. Pete was coming off a season in which he was 5-3, with a 2.95 earned run average. As the team's number two starter behind Richie James, Pete was a somewhat ordinary player in an otherwise average high school baseball team.
The coach of the team was Mr. Keller, an ancient Mr. McGoo look-alike who was bordering on the pension years. Keller didn't let any of his pitchers hit, even though they arguably were the best athletes on the team. Pete had batted .468 his sophomore year and was extremely unhappy to see a .256 hitter going to take his place in the lineup the past two years. Life was generally boring and quite cold between starts. Playing only one day a week definitely made Pete about as edgy as a cat at a cat nip convention. He often thought that this wasn't the game he fell in love with as a young boy. That game was played with passion, and Pete envisioned himself getting the game-winning hit a lot more than throwing the last strike.
Despite Pete's diminishing hunger, he started the year with two straight wins. However, three straight losses followed, as his focus was being pulled toward Isabel and getting his ever-softening body ready for his freshman year at Barringer. While a break from basketball was definitely needed, Pete was starting to feel that it was time to make a change. But, as usual, change did not come quickly for the non-aggressive 18 year-old.
Pete won his next start, squaring his record at 3-3, and was looking forward to his seventh start against Fellingwood. This proved to be the most memorable game of his West Valley baseball career. Pete really hated Fellingwood, and the sight of Gerry Williams in a white and green uniform only made him more psyched for the game.
It was like Pete was back in Little League, mowing down hitters left and right. His fastball had regained its hop, the slider was biting, and his new split-fingered fastball was dropping off the table. West Valley was up 3-0, and Pete had 10 strikeouts through five innings. He was really excited in the bottom of the sixth. After striking out the first two hitters, Pete got a little too sky-high and walked the bases loaded. New friend and Fellingwood second baseman, Eric Spalding came to the plate and drove in two runs with a single to right field. Lou Berman was behind the West Valley dugout, knowing full-well that his son always let up on people he liked.
Coach Keller came out to the mound and told Pete he would take him out if he didn't settle down. Pete looked straight ahead, almost ignoring the coach, and said he was all right. Out of the corner of his eye, Pete saw high-sock-wearing, Gerry Williams walk over to the Fellingwood's coach. With the number three hitter (and two-time strikeout victim) George Konstantine due up next, the setting was right for the final confrontation between Gerry and Pete. Lou Berman knew his son so well that he started smiling. If the events of the past two years taught him one thing, it was that Gerry Williams brought out the best in his son.
; Williams spent what seemed like five minutes stretching and swinging a few bats. He acted like he was Babe Ruth coming to the plate. The hometown fans cheered wildly for their hero, while the pitch sequence clicked in Pete's head. Catcher Matt Whitside walked out to the mound, and Pete said, "Slider, sinker, fastball." The junior catcher's eyebrows raised as his eyes nearly popped out of his head. Williams was finally ready, following a massage and a mud bath, and he dug in his perfectly maintained white spikes. The right-handed hitter looked stiff and upright, much the way his posture was on a basketball court.
Pete wasted little time as he broke a slider over the outside corner for a called strike. Whitside didn't even bother to put down a signal as Williams missed the next pitch, a sinker, by at least a foot. It broke so much that Whitside had to block the ball with his chest protector after it bounced off the dirt. Williams didn't know what was coming next, and had a sinking feeling in his stomach that he probably should have stayed on the bench. Pete came to the stretch, rocked back, kicked his left leg up, and then slung a fastball to the plate. The belt-high offering exploded past Gerry Williams, who made a feeble swing at the ball after it had already hit the catcher’s mitt. Pete pumped his fist and screamed "Yeah!" as he stared down Gerry Williams for the last time. For Pete, it was a perfect end to a rivalry that once existed only in his mind.
The season rolled on. With West Valley up 6-1 on Kelpham in the following game, Pete begged Coach Keller to let him hit. The coach finally gave in with one out left in the bottom of the sixth. Pete picked out an aluminum bat and a random helmet and strode to the plate. Runners were at first and second, and the pitcher was dealing from the stretch. Pete, as was his hitting custom, took the first pitch for a ball. "Man," he thought, "it feels great to be in the batter’s box again." He took the next pitch for a strike and then fouled a fastball straight back to the screen. Pete knew the curve was next, but barely managed to stay alive by foul-tipping the ball off the catcher’s mask.