Month: October 2019

In the winter of my eight grade year, my High School won the State Basketball championship. Now, in Indiana, that is an accomplishment that cements your future as successful for ever. Many a young man has entered politics in Indiana with little more than his membership on the Team on his resume. Fifty years later I can still recite the names of the guys that were on that team. I remember that night like it was yesterday. I was on the eighth grade basketball team that shared the same court and locker room with these guys. So by extension, we were caught in some of the glory shower that came with all the publicity. In a couple of years we were going to get an opportunity to repeat this feat and carry on the tradition. This team had just won the State Championship for the fifth time in 53 years. They were the first ones to accomplish this feat and their mortal standing on earth ascended straight up, to free pass into Heaven.

Let me tell you how it was done in 1963 in Muncie Indiana. To begin the story , you must understand that the Indiana High School State Athletic Association was a winner take all, non class tournament. All sizes and populations played in these tournaments. There was one prerequisite to advancement, you had to win the previous game. There was no classification based on school size and no restriction based on population. Just 11 years before, a school with a population of a few hundred had beaten Muncie Central, a school with a population of several thousand. The popular movie “Hoosiers” was spawned by that feat several years later. Friday and Saturday night High School basketball games, in the sixties, were so popular in Indiana that many small towns closed their business’ because everyone was attending the game. Most games were broadcast by radio and even if you were able to find a business to patronize you were subjected to game on the public address system when you entered.

So, here it was March 30, 1963 a Saturday night. The location was Butler Fieldhouse on the campus of Butler University in Indianapolis. Fifteen Thousand people were on hand to watch the game and it was standing room only. Muncie Central had lost only one game during the regular playing season and was coming into the game with 27 wins. South Bend Central had won 25 games during the year and was an even match for Muncie. When whistle blew to start the game Mike Rolf, Muncie’s Center tipped the ball to Rick Jones and within three seconds Muncie scored. The rest is history and the entire game can still be watched on You Tube today. The final score was 65 Muncie, 61 South Bend. Within minutes in our normally very quiet neighborhood, shotguns were being fired in the air outside, automobile horns were being honked and firecrackers were exploding from all directions. It was New Year’s Eve all over again. A few minutes later you could hear it, cars were starting up all down the block. It wasn’t long before a parade had formed leaving our neighborhood to go escort the team home from Indianapolis. There were young kids in pajamas, teenagers in the back of pick up trucks and Moms and Dads sitting next to each other on the front seat, joining in the excitement. My buddy swung by the house in his 55 Chevy and I jumped in as he rolled down my street. I can not remember being more excited in my young life. We headed out to the highway to wait. As cars were arriving, they were forming a line to follow the team into town. The police had begun to arrive and they were excited as well. The air seemed to crackle. Eventually, the team arrived on the back of a fire truck. Somewhere along the line the City had dispatched their biggest truck to meet the school bus, the team was on. Behind them was a caravan of fans who had attended the game. As they rolled past we pulled into the lines following the now siren wailing fire truck. The police had been stationed along the route to block any intersection in which traffic could be a problem. There was no problem, we were all going the same way, to the Fieldhouse. The Fieldhouse was the Muncie Central home court and was equipped to handle about 7000 people. The closer we got, there were more people outside. They were on porches, standing on cars and hanging out of second story windows, they were all doing the same thing, waving ecstatically.

Upon arrival to the Fieldhouse gym, it was a madhouse. There was pandemonium because everyone wanted a seat in the Gymnasium. The fire truck discharged the team and they headed for the Gym floor. We found a seat in the upper rung of stadium seats and joined in the celebrations. There were old Muncie Central letter jackets everywhere. It was almost midnight and this place was a beehive of people all looking for a seat. Finally the Coach got everyone’s attention and place grew completely silent in a matter of seconds. This coach who at this moment could have been elected Mayor, was in his first year as the Coach for Muncie Central. The fear and concern about his coaching tactics were all gone now. He had just taken his team straight into the history books. Perfunctory speeches were made, ball players were kissed by the cheerleaders and everyone had their say. One by one we drifted out to the Bon Fire that had been lighted on the football field.

As I watched the crowd mill about and slap each other on the back and shake hands, I was unaware that I was experiencing something that would never happen again in my life. I think the older folks had a sense of the brevity of the situation, but I certainly didn’t. It would be 15 years before Muncie Central would win another State Basketball Championship. Within 20 years Class Basketball would wreck most of the tradition involved with winning the State Tournament. But as I stood there this night, soaking up the excitement and breathing in the tradition, I was never more proud to be a Muncie Central Bearcat.

“Last year when he was 18, he was an Eagle Scout, this year at 19 he is an expert marksman in the Army. Who’s watching the transition of America’s best and brightest? Mothers are. Last year a prom date was the most important thing in his life, this year it’s letters from home. He always thought white picket fences were in his future, now it’s white phosphorous hand grenades. Who’s keeping score of the dreams?. Mothers are. A job at the factory was a given now it’s a wish. A future seemed certain, now it is doubt. Who watches for the outcome? Mothers do. Wars are waged by youth, but Mothers have the most to lose.”

July 2000 Terry M Fauquher

When children are born, Mothers begin their lives with hope. After World War Two, babies were being born in record numbers. Hope and optimism was in the air. During the Fifties, while those babies were growing up, America was experiencing unbridled prosperity. In 1960, a 43 year old , sandy haired youth with a million dollar smile, became President of the United States. Mothers were beginning to sense that their children were going to have a much better life than their own. The dream in most households was a better education for their children than they were able to obtain. More and more homes had a car and a garage. The new interstate system was beginning to take shape and vacations by automobile were now becoming a reality. Davy Crockett was the new hero for young men and his exploits were being delivered into living rooms by this new fangled contraption called television. Outdoor Bar-B-Que ovens were the new rage for everyone’s back yard. America was smiling.

Then, on November 22 1963, the new President was assassinated and almost overnight the dreams began to die. Hope was no longer in the air. Within a matter of months, American combat troops were landing in Vietnam. Now in an instant, the dreams that most Mothers had allowed themselves to accumulate, began to vanish. In their place, the old nagging fears that they had grown up with, returned to haunt their thoughts. Their sons, their first-borns, were now being solicited to register for selective service and for the first time in a long time, it came with consequence.

Fathers still went off to work every day and continued their lives. Mothers, by and large, were left at home to worry. They had experienced World War Two and they knew what was coming next. And then, there it was, the scroll of names on the nightly news broadcasts, the eighteen and nineteen year-olds who would never hold their Mothers hand again.

Mothers were worried this would happen and they were left to grieve as the relentless political excuses demanded more cannon fodder for the war machine.

Before any young person is sent to war, the individual in charge should be made to look a Mother in the eye and ask permission. Clearly it’s the Mothers that have the most Lose.