A Watershed Moment

My daughter's third grade class was recently given a homework assignment. The assignment called for each student to write an essay describing a significant moment that had occurred in their life.

This homework assignment triggered much discussion and introspection around our family dinner table at night. It allowed us to ponder which singular moment from our life we each deemed most significant and life changing. My wife found the task difficult.  For her, there were many life moments she deemed significant (the birth of her daughter, the death of her mother, passing the bar exam). Narrowing it down to just one proved to be impossible.

My decision wasn't nearly as difficult.

On February 13th 2004 I went to see the Harlem Globetrotters at Madison Square Garden in New York City. It was there that I saw Seth Franco for the very first time. Forever etched into my memory as if it happened just yesterday, that incredible moment will stay with me forever.

As a young boy growing up on the sleepy, leafy, and bucolic streets of Westchester County in the late 1970s, I idolized the Harlem Globetrotters. In fact, my dream was to one day become a Globetrotter. Unfortunately, I'm white, and at that time in our nation's history the Globetrotters were not racially integrated.  This blatant prejudice bothered me greatly. Oh sure, I knew I could grow up to be President of IBM or even President of the United States, but no matter how skilled I would ever become with a basketball, my Globetrotter dream would never be allowed to come to fruition. It ate away at me, and sadly, I became very bitter. To make matters even worse, in some cruel twist of irony, my house was only 10 miles from Harlem. "Who says God doesn't have a sense of humor" I would frequently shout out to no one in particular as I cried myself to sleep on many a night.

To give me hope, some of my older relatives would regale me with stories about a white man who did actually once play for the Globetrotters in the early 1940s. My relatives meant well, but hearing about one lone white player from nearly 40 years earlier didn't give me hope, it just made me angrier. I figured the Globetrotter executives most likely used this one white player as an excuse for their racism. We gave a white player a chance and he couldn't cut it", I imagined them saying.

I did wonder about this white player, though. Was he was treated like a serious member of the team, or was he simply looked upon as a freaky sideshow attraction? Did he get to throw the confetti-filled bucket, or was he there simply to be gawked at like the bearded lady at a circus? As fate would have it, no footage of him existed. At 12 years old, disillusioned, full of rage, and resigned to the reality of the situation, I lost all interest in the Globetrotters and stopped following them for the better part of 30 years.

The Moment

It was February 13th, 2004 and the Trotters were in town. With the recent birth of my daughter, I was happy and in a very forgiving mood. I decided to attend the game.

Inside Madison Square Garden, the Globetrotters were introduced one by one to thunderous applause by the capacity crowd. One of the last players introduced was Seth Franco, the squad's newest member. As he jogged onto the court to join his teammates, I stood frozen and slack-jawed. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Seth Franco was WHITE.

I looked around at the other faces in the crowd. While they didn't show it on the outside (they were smiling and laughing), I assumed underneath they were experiencing the same feeling of shock and exhilaration that I was. At that moment I remember only two thoughts going through my head. Was this real, and, God I hope he's good. Then the game started AND...... to borrow a line from Seinfeld, Seth Franco was real and he was spectacular!

The kid dribbled just like Curly Neal. He was fast and smooth, had a great outside shot, and was a lockdown defender. He more than fit in, he was arguably the best player on the team! When the game was over (a Globetrotters win), I sat down and sobbed for about 10 minutes. Unlike the tears from my childhood, these were tears of happiness.

The next day I took a leave of absence from work and followed Seth Franco and the Globetrotters for the remainder of their 2004 tour. I won't lie. Missing the first few months of my newborn baby's life was hard for me, but it was something I needed to do. I needed to cheer and support Seth Franco both for me and for all the other white children like me that were never allowed to chase their own Globetrotter dreams. I needed closure. 

Seth did not disappoint. From city to city and arena to arena, he took the country by storm. It was a watershed moment. His tremendous play forced both the small-minded and the racists to judge him solely on his basketball talent and not at all on the color of his skin. By being accepted, he paved the way for all future white children. While it was too late for me, there was no reason now why these other children couldn't chase their own Globetrotter dreams.

Last week I took my daughter to her first Globetrotters game. I smiled as I noticed there were now two white players on the team. The fact that my daughter thought nothing of it made me smile even more.

Twinkies and Corpses - Perfect Together

All this talk about Twinkies and Hostess cupcakes reminds me of a very funny story.

Many years ago I had a friend whose grandfather absolutely loved Twinkies and the NY Post (he enjoyed the headlines). When his grandfather died in the early 1980s, his family placed a few boxes of Twinkies and a copy of the NY Post inside the coffin.

About ten years later, his wife (my friends' grandmother) died. She wanted to be cremated and have her ashes buried with her husband. My friend asked the cemetery to dig up the coffin so he could place the ashes inside, but they refused. Not letting that deter him, he convinced a bunch of us to sneak into the cemetery at night. Our plan was to dig up the coffin, throw the ashes inside, and quickly re-bury the coffin. A very simple plan, provided we didn't get arrested in the process.

On the night of our adventure, it was very cold and the ground was hard. It took us what seemed to be an eternity, but we were finally able to dig up the coffin. At that point someone pulled out a thermos and started handing out cups of hot coffee. While we were drinking the coffee, my friend reached into his grandfather's coffin and passed out the Twinkies (making sure to still leave a few with his grandfather). He proclaimed (tearfully) that his grandfather would have been happy to share his Twinkies with the people that reunited him with his wife.

We ate the Twinkies and drank the coffee. We were happy. We did a great thing. Or so we thought.

A few years back I ran into my friend (who I hadn't seen in years). We got to talking about our night at the cemetery. It was at that point that he made a confession. He admitted making up most of what he had told us about his grandparents. In a nutshell; both he and his grandfather loved pranks. He bet his grandfather that after his death he could convince a few saps to show up to the cemetery at night and dig up his body. His grandfather loved the idea! In fact, it was his idea to include the Twinkies in the prank. Whoever the saps ended up being, his grandfather really wanted them to eat food out of his coffin. According to my friend, towards the end of his life it was all his grandfather talked about. It became his dream in life (and death). He needed a food that would last, so he chose Twinkies.

Putting the ashes into the coffin was his grandmother's idea. She was in on it as well. My friend had the prank all planned. He just needed his grandmother to die. When she finally passed, he was sad, but also very excited. He told me that at her funeral he looked like the cat who swallowed the canary. This elicited many strange stares from the other mourners, but he didn't care. After years of waiting, he was finally going to dig up his grandpa.

Talk about one funny (and sick) family.