Coach Hawkins
And his whistle
Everybody in the neighborhood respected Coach Hawkins. Getting picked for his basketball squad was the dream of many guys in the neighborhood. I had an edge because my older brother Michael played on his team a few years before I tried out.
When I wasn’t old enough to play, I used to hang out watching Coach Hawkins drill Michael’s team. Once he blew his whistle, the players stopped what they were doing, ready to hear about the day’s warm ups. Coach had them run around the court about fifteen times, and then do a few pull ups and push ups before they actually played basketball.
I didn’t like this part of practice, but I was mesmerized by the actual playing of basketball. Michael’s school didn’t have a winning record, but everybody said Coach Hawkins was the man to turn the tide into victory.
During Michael’s free days, he had taken me on as a project, freely tossing the ball to me and heading for the outside basketball court down the street.
“Tommy,” he used to say, “Coach is a stickler for foul shots and lay-ups.”
Michael drilled me in driving in with my strong right arm. When he felt I was getting good at it, he pushed me to dribble in with my weaker left side. I wasn’t one of those ambidextrous guys who could switch hands like some famous ball players, but if…
