Dad wanted me to be an athlete. He had been a star on the football team during his senior year at Fort Mill High School. He was so good and so outgoing that even though he didn’t move to Fort Mill until the summer before his senior year, he joined the football team and was elected president of his class.
I was tall and thin, 6’1” in the eighth grade, and 160 pounds. Dad knew I would never be an inside lineman like he was, but he was convinced I should play tight end. One of my teachers, Barbara Rogers was married to (believe it or not) Ken, who had played tight end and kicker for Clemson College. Dad talked Ken into working with me and so I went out for JV football. Ken did his best to teach me the correct ways to catch a football, tuck it in and how to avoid tackles. While my heart wasn’t in football, my Dad’s heart was and I wanted to do well for him.
In the first scrimmage against the Chesterfield JV team, the Jackets were on the fifteen-yard line and I got the call to go to the end zone for a pass. I was not covered and Donnie Shaw threw the perfect pass. The ball was right in my hands…and then it wasn’t. Dad never said a negative thing about the pass but I knew, and I think Dad knew, that my career in football was going nowhere from there. It was an introduction to failure and I spent years trying to undrop that football.
Basketball was a little different. Because I was tall for my age, I was interested in basketball and played in what was called the “Midget” league for kids ten through thirteen. I held my own and made the All-Star team and actually scored in double digits in the first round of regional play-offs. I made the Junior Varsity team in the ninth grade and moved up to Varsity as a 10th grader. I believe I made the cut based on potential because of my height.
At the beginning of my junior year, I showed up for practice in a new pair of Chuck Taylor All-Star basketball shoes. Jim Walser, the head basketball coach, saw them and with the ribbing that goes on in practice said, “Mike, Do you think you will ever be worth a new pair of shoes?” We both knew the answer but we kept it to ourselves.
The only things that kept me from being a good athlete were a lack of talent and a terrible work ethic. We did have great uniforms, with gold shorts and socks, blue jerseys with gold lettering and a white warm-up suit with our names on the back. It felt great to be a part of a team and I believed the uniform enhanced my chances with girls.
Through my three years on the varsity, I only played a couple of times a season. During one game near the end of my senior year we led by 30 points and my time had come. With three minutes left before the end of a one-sided game, Coach Walser said, “Hill, Go in for Sam White!” Startled and excited, I was half-way to the starter’s table before I remembered to take off my warm-ups. My mantra was “Don’t mess up!” That is probably not the way great athletes think.
When I walked onto the court, a strange thing happened. There was a sudden roar and I got a standing ovation from the student section. Startled at first, I realized that it was just my friends having a little fun at my expense and, hey, we bask in the sunlight we’re given.
Amazingly I charged up and down the court a couple of times without making a mistake. Then my crowning moment came. Someone threw the ball to me and before I could do anything wrong, I was fouled.
Our gym was small and the teams sat on the ends of the court about 15 feet behind the basket. To prevent players from banging into the brick wall after a fast-break lay-up, canvas-covered wrestling mats were hanging from hooks on the wall behind the team benches. I know that because I sat on that bench and leaned against those mats throughout almost every home game.
My friends were still taunting me with cheers when I took my place on the foul line. The referee said “One and one” and handed me the ball. I dribbled a couple of times and set myself to shoot. There, staring directly at me from the bench, was Coach Walser. I felt the pressure but steadied myself and arched the ball toward the basket. Swoosh! Nothing but net and my peanut gallery erupted in cheers.
I looked at Coach Walser. He had pulled a towel over his head and you could see his head shaking as he chuckled beneath the towel. The referee handed me the ball for the bonus shot. Again I went through my routine and set myself to shoot. Coach Walser had come out from under the towel but he was still grinning in disbelief.
Once again I arched the ball into the air and once again, Swoosh! The crowd went wild and even the cheerleaders got caught up in the delirium. (I am sure most people in the auditorium wondered what was going on.) Jim Walser threw his towel straight up in the air but it didn’t come down. He sat with his hand out and a puzzled look on his face. The towel had caught on one of the hooks holding up the wrestling mat.
I was triumphant! My free throw percentage for my four years of high school basketball was 100%. I don’t think that record has ever been equaled.
Jim Walser moved from coach to principal and in later years, hired me to teach English at Fort Mill High School. When I first walked into his office, I could not resist the urge to tell him that I was not the immature kid that he had coached. He told me that he never had any problem with who I was. He and I became friends and when he retired, I wrote a tribute about him for the school newspaper.
I was told by one of his family when he passed away that my article had been his favorite of all the high praise he had received as a caring principal, a good man and an incredibly patient coach.
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