Golf, basketball, track and street-fighting

Okay, on to high school. Only two things mattered to me as I entered Central High in September of 1955: Judy and basketball. Our team (the junior varsity) went undefeated. The varsity had a different coach, and was lousy. A movement got underway in the community to demand the ouster of the varsity coach, who was best friends with Judy's father.

Fearing we were getting "too serious," Judy's father had forbidden her to continue her relationship with me. Nevertheless, I would wait on summer nights for her phone call, then sneak out of the house to meet her in exciting forbidden rendezvous. Apparently, people were writing the varsity coach cards and letters demanding that he quit. One of the letter-writers made his cursive "n"s similar to the way I wrote my letter "n"s. The coach accused me of being the letter-writer, which was absurdly incorrect. He forbade me from being on the basketball team. i was absolutely crushed.

I decided to get serious about golf. I soon became the second best junior golfer in the state. I qualified for the National Junior Championship in Maryland. I played a practice round of 27 holes on the day before the tournament was to begin. My playing partner was the number one player in Iowa. I beat him that day, only because he was not playing well. The best player in the world at that time was another teenager named Jack Nicklaus. Jack knew my playing partner. He spotted us drinking lemonades in the clubhouse and asked if we wanted to play 18 holes with him, since he had just arrived and did not know the course. My friend said sure, but I begged off. I knew my shaky confidence would be destroyed. A large gallery quickly developed. Jack drove his drive into a sand trap next to the green, some 350 yards away from the tee. (I would have been lucky to hit it 250 yards). Nicklaus proceeded to set a new course record that afternoon, on his first trip around the course! I did well enough in golf to win a scholarship to a school in Texas, which I will write about in a later installment.

One day Mohammed Sadden, a six-foot-three inch athlete who was our best high jumper in track came up to me at the beginning of a school day in front of the principal's office. "Your friend Judy is a slut," proclaimed Mr. Sadden loudly. Even though he was six-foot-three and I was five-foot-ten, I wound up and threw a leaping punch at his face. Someone broke up the fight, but we agreed to meet after school on the lawn of the Lutheran Church across the street. I swear the whole school turned out for this event. Mohammed wanted the rules to include only boxing. I quickly realized that would favor him, with his long arms, so I said "No, anything goes!" And so it did, for what seemed like a half hour, before the police car arrived to take us both down to the pokey. We were put in separate cells, but I was released right away to my parents, while Mohammed continued to smart off to the cops and sing jailbird songs. By the way, I think he is now a lawyer back in Sioux City! We became friends after I realized he was right about Judy (just kidding, if you're reading this, Judy).

My best friend in high school by far was Tom Rivers. I admired him so much, and enjoyed his family so much. If I was not home watching Johnny Carson or George Gobel or Perry Como at night with my Dad, I was at Tom's house. Tom became the best long distance runner in the state. He won a scholarship to Drake University in Des Moines.