Show and Tell

At the start of a class I was teaching one day recently, a second-grader asked me if he could share something with his classmates. In fact, he wanted to share two things. We used to call this “Show and Tell.”

What did he want to share, I asked him.

“This is my rock collection,” Matt said, holding up a Ziploc bag with a number of specimens. “And this is my dog, Dookie,” handing me a laminated photo of a dachshund.

We had a full schedule that morning, so I channeled Solomon before making a decision. Tell the class about the rocks right after the morning announcements and the Pledge of Allegiance, I said. Hold off on Dookie until after lunch. 

With his classmates seated before him on the carpet with mixed degrees of attentiveness, Matt pulled out exhibit No. 1. Everyone agreed that the flat rock, mostly round and pockmarked by small holes and bumps, resembled a chocolate chip cookie. The second rock was characterized by shiny streaks of quartz. The third rock Matt identified as “sidewalk rock,” whose description he attributed to his father. No further explanation was needed.  

Immediately after lunch, Matt reminded me that he had a second presentation. His opening remarks were greeted by a few juvenile catcalls. “You already told us this,” came the lament from some in the peanut-sized gallery. A few others urged him on. Matt continued, explaining that Dookie, rescued from a shelter as a puppy, was originally christened “Champ.”

Matt opened the floor to questions:

Does he bite?

“Sometimes, but it doesn’t hurt.”

Does he like to play?

“Yes, especially with his favorite ball.”

I had a question. Was Dookie confused by his name change?

“At first he didn’t know that Dookie was his new name, so when we were calling him, he didn’t pay attention. But now he knows that Dookie is his name.”

Old and Not Cool

Lining up the children in this morning’s kindergarten class just before dismissal on a sunny day, I had my sunglasses on top of my head.

“Why do you have your glasses there?” asked one boy.

We’re still indoors, I told him. I don’t need them right now. As soon as we get outside, I’ll flip the sunglasses down over my eyes.

“Let’s see how they look on your face.”

I complied.

“Cool,” he said.

I try to look cool, I told him, but it usually doesn’t work.

“Why—because you’re old?”

Probably, but …

“How old are you?”

Before I could lie, the estimates started:

“A hundred?” was one guess.

“Eighty?” was another.

I gave them both detention.

Telling Tales Out of School

Back with the first grade again this week, and I received another invitation from a student to come to his house after school. Last month, it was Jonathan who blithely asked if I wanted to come over at the end of the day to ride bikes with him. Yesterday, it was Patrick.

“Mr. K, have you seen the [new] Muppets movie?”

No. Did you?

“Yes.”

Do you recommend it?

“What?”

Did you like it?

“Yes.”

O.K., maybe I’ll try to see it.

“If you want, you could come over to my house this afternoon. I have it.”

Ralph Beard and Kentucky Basketball

Billy Reed has written a terrific piece today on SI.com about the imminent Kentucky/Louisville Final Four game that has raised the level of fan intensity throughout the entire state of basketball-mad Kentucky. There’s nothing really new, though, about the fans’ passion for the sport, which has been raging for over 100 years.

Back In 1995, Street & Smith's College Basketball annual ranked Kentucky No. 2 in its preseason poll. The outcry from Lexington was heard in the magazine's New York office: “How could you underestimate the ’Cats and rate us so low?” lamented one disgruntled caller.

This season, the Wildcats, the No. 1 overall seed in the tournament, are led by the precocious freshman Anthony Davis and his classmates Michael Kidd-Gilchrist and Marquis Teague. They are simply the latest in a long line of talented players in the Commonwealth.

Among the hundreds of players and dozens of All-America honorees who have worn the University of Kentucky colors, none is more revered than native son Ralph Beard. The 5-10 guard from Male High School in Louisville was a first-team consensus All-America three times and a two-time Player of the Year. He was a member of two NCAA championship teams and one NIT finalist.

To commemorate a century of Wildcat basketball, the Lexington Herald-Leader conducted two polls in December 2002 to determine the top players in school history. Beard received the most first-place votes from a panel of writers, broadcasters, and former university coaches and personnel, and finished No. 2 overall (to Dan Issel). In a fan survey that reflected an emphasis on the previous 25 years, Beard (born Dec. 2, 1927) placed No. 8.

The legendary Adolph Rupp, who won 876 games in 41 years at Kentucky, called Beard “the best player I’ve ever coached.” Former Wildcat star and long-time college basketball analyst Larry Conley said that Beard remained the standard for Kentucky guards.

The lightning-fast Beard made a quick impression on the Wildcat faithful. As a freshman he sank the winning free throw in the last 18 seconds to give UK a 46-45 victory over Rhode Island in the 1946 NIT final. A year later, Kentucky finished second to Utah in the same tournament.

About the ’47 final, former Utah All-America Arnie Ferrin said, “We had never seen the scouting report until we went to the NIT. Our coach [Vadal Peterson], after seeing tapes and then watching him in person, said Beard never had his feet out of place. Coach said he had never seen anybody better.”

As a junior, Beard was a member of the “Fabulous Five,” the 1948 Wildcat team that went 36-3 and won the first of Kentucky’s seven NCAA championships (over Baylor in New York). Beard shared team-high scoring honors that season with center Alex Groza. Kentucky’s starters—Beard, Groza, Wah Wah Jones, Cliff Barker, and Kenny Rollins—were part of the U.S. gold-medal team in the 1948 Olympics in London that defeated France 62-21 later that year. Bud Browning, coach of the U.S. team, called Beard “the best I ever saw.”

The following season the Wildcats went 32-2 and successfully defended their NCAA title by beating Oklahoma A&M in Seattle.

Beard played with Indianapolis in the NBA—and in the league’s first all-star game in 1951. But before the start of the next season he was among a group of Kentucky players who were implicated in a point-shaving scandal and was banned from the game. He talked passionately about the decision that sidelined him for life from the game he loved.

“My career was over at 23,” Beard told me in 2003. “I took the $700 because I came from a dirt-poor family. My dad left when I was [young]. I never really did know him. My mom had a sixth-grade education. She gave her life to her two boys. I never saw $700. But never, never did I ever do anything to influence the score of a basketball game. I wouldn’t even know how to do that.”

Beard’s No. 12 Wildcat jersey was retired by the university. In 1989, to celebrate the 50^th anniversary of the NCAA basketball tournament, a panel of distinguished college coaches named Beard to the all-1940s team. Beard died on November 29, 2007, three days before his 80th birthday, in Louisville. 

Dick Harter and Basketball Heaven

R.I.P. Dick Harter, a good coach and a good man, who died at age 81 on Monday of cancer. The first head coach of the expansion NBA Charlotte Hornets, Harter was also an assistant with the Detroit Pistons, Indiana Pacers, New York Knicks, Portland Trail Blazers, Boston Celtics, and Philadelphia 76ers.

But it was in college where Harter first made his mark. His teams at Rider, Penn (his alma mater), Oregon, and Penn State were known for their tenacious man-to-man defense. His final two teams at Penn, in 1969-70 and 1970-71, went undefeated in the Ivy League and the Big Five and lost just once in 52 regular-season games. The latter team advanced to the NCAA tournament regional final, losing to a Villanova team that later had its victories forfeited by the NCAA. In 1977, his Oregon team ended UCLA’s 98-game home winning streak.

Harter once told me, “My idea of heaven would be coaching in a league where every team must play zone against you and you’re allowed to play man-to-man.”

I asked him what hell was.

“Hell would be where they play that man-to-man, get in your face, play you like crazed rats, and jump all over you, and you’ve got to work like crazy just to get the ball from one place to another.”

Don Casey, Harter’s Philadelphia counterpart whose Temple teams were known for his impenetrable zone defenses, told me in the same conversation that his own idea of heaven were “the discussions Dick and I had when we were both coaching in the Philadelphia area. The minds were stimulated. And I would still play Mr. Harter’s team up in heaven.”