A Game in the Gym
March 25, 1935
The steel factory had blazing streaks of light coming from the molten steel, jumping into the air after hitting the enormous kettle pots it was being poured into. The steel took on a life of its own as it flowed down the metal chutes. It looked like a snake in pursuit of its prey, turning and twisting as it headed to its destination. It was hard to believe that this liquid metal would be used to create the automobiles the American public so coveted.
At the end of the corridor Jake, a foreman, walked with two factory workers. The men liked Jake because he had an easygoing personality; also, if they had a problem they could confide in him. Jake had started out in the factory as a maintenance worker and had worked up through the ranks until he had been promoted to one of the top jobs. A tall man with curly black hair, he was an excellent go-between when the men had a grievance against the company. He was a good listener. Jake also knew a lot about sports; in fact, he had a passion for sports.
Jake and the two men stopped at the place where the molten steel was beginning to harden. They were discussing which basketball team was going to win tonight. Jake said he was placing his money on The New York Renaissance Five (the Rens), an all-black team. The other two men were betting on the Original Celtics, an all-white team. The Celtics were having a great season and were expected to win most of their games.
The anticipation for tonight’s game had been building for several weeks with bets being taken over breaks in the lunchroom. A few men had even bet their entire week’s paycheck because they were sure the Celtics would win. This was going to be an exciting game.
Most of the steel workers, including Jake, were going to be heading over to O’Brien’s, the local tavern. Their shift had ended and the men gathered in the restroom to clean up. Leaning over the washbasins and scrubbing their hands and faces with the warm soapy water, it would take a few minutes of scrubbing to get rid of this reminder of the day’s work. Some of their faces and arms were almost completely black and the water felt so refreshing.
In the next few minutes, there would be a mass exodus of steel workers heading down the few blocks to O’Brien’s. The men pulled up the collars on their coats and yanked down on the bills of their hats as the late winter cold and wind bit at them.
O’Brien’s was the tavern of choice, a simple place with a lot of character. On this particular night, O’Brien’s was starting to get packed as the men from the factory poured through the front door. The establishment had dim lighting and Jake could see the wisps of cigarette smoke floating in the air.
Jake walked over to a round table that was crowded with a group of men smoking Lucky Strikes, telling jokes, discussing the economy, sports, and anything else that was on their minds. Jake listened as the men tipped their bottles of Hamm’s beer while expressing how they were glad to be done with work for the week.
Claire, the waitress, skillfully maneuvered around the small tables. She smiled at Jake. She knew what each table of men liked to discuss and what type of beer the regulars drank. She gave great service and the men rewarded her by leaving good tips.
They especially liked arguing about sports. Tonight’s first topic of discussion was who was the best hitter in baseball. Roger, a muscular steel worker, said Jolt (Joe DiMaggio) was the best. Ken, another steel worker who was always smiling, thought Babe Ruth was at the top. Someone from the next table shouted out that Roger Hornsby was king. Bruce, who was probably the strongest of the bunch and had an insatiable thirst for beer, said he would put his money on Lou Gehrig. Jim, who could lift more steel beams than anyone in the room, said Ted Williams was ahead of anyone in hitting. Williams’ stats would prove it, too.
Bill, a pretty skinny fellow, but one who could stand up to most anyone in a fight, said Bob Feller who played for Cleveland was the best pitcher. Most of the table agreed that the New York Yankees was the best team to ever play baseball. Everyone raised his bottle, toasting the Yankees. Jake was getting hot from heat and laughter.
When they put their bottles down and quit laughing, Jake said, “The best baseball team was the 1932 Pittsburgh Crawfords. They had the best pitcher who’s ever pitched in baseball, Satchel Paige, and the best hitter in Judy Johnson. They also had the game’s best all-around player, Josh Gibson. They won like they invented the game.”
Ken and Bruce nodded and said Jake just might be right. The conversation then turned to boxing.
Bruce said, “Max Schmeling’s the best boxer.”
Jim nodded, but added, “Jack Dempsey was the toughest.”
Ken argued, as he tipped back his beer, that Gene Tunney was the best.
Then Jake said, “Jack Johnson was the toughest boxer who ever lived.”
“No,” answered Bill, leaning back in his chair and motioning Claire for more beer, “Jess Willard was as good as any boxer to come along.”
“Hey,” interjected Roger, “Joe Louis, the Brown Bomber, could beat them all.” They all raised their beer bottles and saluted Joe Louis as the king of boxing.
After Claire set down more bottles, the conversation switched to that night’s basketball game. They were especially excited because two great teams were going to be on the court tonight – the Rens and the Original Celtics.
The game was going to start at 7:30 p.m. and that gave them enough time to eat the daily special of corned beef sandwiches and fried potatoes. After downing their last beers and finishing their meals, they tipped Claire, headed out of O’Brien’s, and started walking toward the gym just a few blocks away.
When they got outside the building, they could see the light that was coming from the gym windows. This was a solid building made of cement blocks. Posters plastered on the front door promoted both teams. When they entered, Jake and his cohorts stopped at the ticket booth. Tickets were normally 75 cents, but tonight they sold for a dollar – these were two great teams.
A heavyset man stood under the open archway leading into the gym. He took their tickets and told everyone to keep moving inside. When they took their seats, they were looking down on the gym floor. The gym vibrated as fans yelled and screamed at the players. The Rens were in their element, executing difficult moves. It was hard to believe this skilled team had to leave right after games so the players wouldn’t get seriously injured.
Most of the time food – and even dangerous items such as nails – was thrown at the players as they ran down the court. Chicken wire was used to protect players from the fans, but the wire didn’t keep out all the nails and metal bolts that were thrown. The wire did manage to keep the beer bottles from hitting the black players.
Both teams were on the floor warming up. One thing about the Rens – they were fearless. Their main obstacle wasn’t the opponent, and they were respected for their basketball skills. It was generally the fans the Rens’ players had to worry about. After the games, police had to escort the Rens’ bus out of town. Most restaurants wouldn’t serve the team, so more often than not they ended up eating cold-cut sandwiches on the bus. Also, most hotels wouldn’t accommodate the black players, so many nights they also slept on the bus.
Many of the Rens’ players were not even 6’ tall, but they made up for their lack of height with amazing shooting skills and blazing speed. Players for the Rens included 6’4’’ Charles “Tarzan” Cooper and 6’5” Wee Willie Smith. They controlled the inside for the Rens. Clarence “Fats” Jenkins at 5’7” ran the breaks for the team. Jenkins was considered to be the fastest man in basketball.
Bill Yancey (5’10”) and Eyre “Bruiser” Saitch (5’11”) were the primary outside threats. John Holt (5’11”) and James “Pappy” Ricks (5’11”) were the reserves.
The Celtics were composed of seasoned players with a rare combination