SAN FRANCISCO, CA - 1964: Gary Hill #7 of the San Francisco Warriors practices at the San Francisco Civic Auditorium circa 1964 in San Francisco, California. NOTE TO USER: User expressly acknowledges and agrees that, by downloading and/or using this Photograph, user is consenting to the terms and conditions of the Getty Images License Agreement. Mandatory Copyright Notice: Copyright 1964 NBAE (Photo by NBA Photos/NBAE via Getty Images)
I always loved the game of basketball. It did not matter if I played the game, viewed the game, listened to the game, or just imagined and dreamed about the game. I will always love the game.
At the age of nine in 1962, my family bought a house and shortly moved from our home in near downtown Oklahoma City to the Las Vegas neighborhood, the lessor known historic area just west of the Gatewood neighborhood, just a mile and one half from our quad two story apartment house. My Dad bought a house that had a well-known OKC bootlegger as a former resident and the remodel of the older 1930’s house was finished in a year.
My Mom and Dad had their children in mind with the improvements of our new place to live. My Dad, a man that could build anything, put in new game room to the back of the house allowing us to have an official sized pool table with plenty of room to not cramp your shots anywhere around the green felt.
The greatest improvement for my entertainment was a basketball goal install on the new carport (which my Dad had built), with a height of nine foot six and not the standard ten foot reach. He installed a heavy duty rim on the large thick ply-board, painted it white to go with the best net he could find. I was in business to play the game with the large new concrete driveway he had just installed, wide and deep.
With a new “best money could buy” Spaulding basketball, especially for outside use, I could be found most sunny days playing myself (or new friend Walter) on that driveway. Having one hell of a wonderful time scoring put backs, long shots, and effective 2-point bank shots from every angle “Skipper” and I had a perfect place to play. My life got so much better with the move from “6th Street” as I had a new best friend and a place to hone my limited skills as a young basketball player.
The first summer at the new home I spent most days playing ball, upwards to two hours each and every morning or afternoon. I noticed one late evening that the duplex next door had a new tenant and he was a rather tall and young guy. The man did not take anytime to come over and introduce himself and I could tell my goal and basketball driveway had caught his interest. As a follower of my local college team just blocks from my new home, I knew who the man was, yet I had never spoken to him. After a brief introduction he asked if he could take a few shots and I told him sure. At my pudgy five foot two at the time, the man had to be at least six foot three or more. He did not look like just an average joe off the street and I could tell within seconds he was trouble, in a good way. It did not take more than a minute or two when the new resident took my ball, dribbled down the driveway, did a 360 twirl, and tomahawked my new ball into the basket. He did it with little force and the rim took the dunk without issue.
After some more casual conversation the guy told me he was a college basketball player for the Oklahoma City University Chiefs, and had just been drafted to play in the NBA, being the 11th pick in the 1964 draft, by the San Francisco Warriors. Technically, he was the third pick in the 2nd round as the Association had only eight teams at the time. He was a Helms All-American and he told me he was just back from playing in the EAST/WEST college All-Star game where he had scored 18 points, more than any player in the game, either side. I then told him that yes, I knew who he was and had watched him play some games of the previous season at Frederickson, on the campus of OCU.
After a few more minutes the young man did another dunk shot and this time he gave no mercy on my goal and rim. With tremendous force he ripped at the shortened goal and destroyed it as the steel rim pulled away from the carport, falling on the concrete. With in a second, the guy said he had to go, was sorry about breaking my goal, and was off. I was not to upset, knowing that my Dad could reattach the goal without a problem as the backboard was not broken and the goal itself was not bent. Pop had it fixed within an hour.
Forty six years later I met the young man, now an old guy, at a reunion of great basketball players of OCU. This was 2009. The Chiefs had been the most productive Division One college program in the state of Oklahoma from the early 1950’s through the middle 1970’s with many NCAA tournament appearances and a bevy of All-American players.
The man did not look as tall that night, especially standing next to some Chiefs of the past that towered up to seven feet, even as old men. I could tell he was in poor health and in fact he was. His mannerisms were of a sick person and his coloring was not good. Gary Hill, 1963 All-American, NBA player, passed from this earth a month or so later. I did say hello to him but did not mention our earlier meeting when I was a kid and he was off on his NBA adventure. But I will never forget that day when an NBA player took my goal down.
Feature photo Credit: Oklahoma City University
https://www.ocusports.com/hof.aspx?hof=3&path=&kiosk=
