Order on the Court
by Steve Bernstein, 1994

Anyone who thinks basketball is just a kid’s game is mistaken. The year was 1965.

I didn’t know much about basketball until I met Anthony. I was playing stickball at the P.S. 104 schoolyard one Saturday afternoon. All the other kids left and I was just practicing my pitching up against a big painted square on the side of the building when this tall black kid comes in to the schoolyard dribbling a basketball. For some reasons beyond my comprehension, basketball seemed like it was a sport just for black kids. At this time in the 60’s in the Bronx there was a lot of racial tension. People of color were moving in to what were white neighborhoods. White people felt under siege and black people were looking for a place to call home. It was a war zone. Crime, drugs, fear, hatred, were running rampant. I didn’t get it. I just thought people were people.

I never really knew prejudice up until then. Only later when I experienced anti-Semitism as a teen and beyond and also when I moved from the south Bronx to the north where it was all white did I come in contact with what I know now to be hatred.

After about 10 minutes of practicing my pitching and this kid shooting baskets we looked at each other across a space that seemed to span not only time but cultures as well. Just then I started to amble towards him when he yelled out"hey, you wanna play some basketball?” I said “yeah.”

At 11 I knew nothing about basketball, never played it much. His name was Anthony. He was older and much bigger than me. It was quite obvious that after a few minutes of dribbling and shooting, my skills were crap. He asked if I would like to learn a few moves and maybe how to shoot. He did it in a way that didn’t make me feel stupid. I wasn’t used to that. I said “sure”.

We played for 2 hours. That same day, I started learning the fundamentals. He taught me about, dribbling, shooting, lay-ups, foul-shots and passing the ball. By the end of the afternoon, he said “I’m not going to kid you, but you got a long way to go-but you got potential.”

I went home and basked in the warmth of my new reality. I had a friend , a mentor a big brother and best of all he said I had potential. Whatever that was. Anthony said to meet him every Saturday at the school yard so we can practice our moves. I was kind of a loner anyway. I never felt too comfortable with most of the kids in the street. They were either mean or immature. I needed someone different-smarter, cooler. I started to feel like something.

For about 6 weeks, we met and practiced and hung out. We actually became a good team. I think Anthony had this idea from the beginning. I think right from the start he really did think I had potential. We played 2 on 2 with other kids and nearly always won. I think Anthony put us together to kind of hustle other kids. On the face of it, we sure didn’t come across as anyone to be worried about on the court. After all I was just this little white kid. No competition. Not true, Anthony and me cleaned up. Funny, I always saw him collecting money after we beat kids.

After not too long I had the moves and passes down where I was able to get free and find Anthony under the boards with a quick sharp pass before his man was on him. I even developed a good baseline shot that was virtually un-stoppable. Anthony would get my pass, fake, give me a no-look pass dead on in the same spot on the baseline and I would bury it. That was good for a couple of baskets every game. The rest was lay-ups under the hoop that I fed him He was tall and strong and was able to get up over everyone else.

During that time I got to know Anthony’s family. He had four sisters and 2 brothers. His mom was real nice but always sickly. There were a couple of fathers in and out, neither of them Anthony’s. I was confused at first, but then as we all got to know each other I stopped trying to figure it all out. They more than accepted me in to their home, their family. After a while it was home. My home was a war zone with the abuse and my dad’s alcoholism raging all the time. I mostly stayed with Anthony back then.

As time went on, I learned about racism the hard way. I didn’t realize that that was the lesson I was learning but there it was. I got my share of street beatings, threats, being jumped by gangs all because I dared to be friends with a black kid. There weren’t too many white people left in the neighborhood, so it was black kids who beat me. Whenever it happened, Anthony went out, took care of business and told me it won’t happen again. Lots of violence, hatred. I was always scared but being Anthony’s friend was what mattered most.

In the spring of 1968, I was 13 and Anthony and I were closer than ever. We were up at the projects that I had lived in just before we moved to the neighborhood where I met Anthony. There was a park where we sometimes played hoops in. We were playing 3 on 3 and as usual beating the other team mercilessly. We had really perfected our game by that time. Just as we were playing for the final point, a news flash came on over the transistor radio that was coat hangered to the chain link fence. I remember like it was yesterday, right after a song by The Temptations the announcer came on and said: “The Reverend Dr. Luther King has been assassinated today………………….by a white man.

You could hear a pin drop. Everyone in the playground stopped. Balls stopped bouncing, kids stopped playing. At that instant it was clear to me that something big, profound and earth shattering had happened. You see, everyone in the park was black; I was the only white person. I knew about Dr. King. Albeit my home was crazy, my dad and mom were educated, liberal thinkers who taught us to the best of their abilities about diversity and equality. We were atypical for Jews at that time and place. For many reasons, both good and bad we did not flee the neighborhoods for whiter pastures during that desperate, strained and heated time in the city were you could cut the racial tension with a knife on all fronts. I knew Dr. King was the most important leader to the black people at this moment in history. I was aware of the movement and the marches and saw up close, the riots. I had, for my age, a working knowledge of the issues-more so than any other white kid as my life was lived with mostly black people.

As the news story went on, I looked around the park. It probably in reality took less than a minute. In the course of that minute, I watched Anthony’s face turn from grief to anger to panic as he threw the ball over to a kid and quickly shuffled me out the gate into the street. I pricked up my ears as I heard someone yell “the king is dead! whitey killed the king.” At that point, I was sprinting as fast as I could to keep up with Anthony who kept moving me along saying, “Steve, hurry up just follow me and stay close”. I glanced back and saw the crowd gathering back at the court and moving out the gate. He just kept saying move! I did like he said and ended up back at his apartment where I stayed the night. He explained how Dr King was was their savior. He was going to lead his people to equal rights and freedom. Anthony was so torn and confused himself. He was 16 with the weight of the world on his shoulders. On top of that he had this white kid friend that he had to look out for after whitey killed the king. At least that’s how it seemed. He cried that night and told me he was scared.

The next day, Anthony said “they might have killed you out there in the park”. He told me to go home and not come around until he let me know it was safe. I was crushed. We had been tight and close for almost 2 years. Best friends. We were great on and off the court. He became the inspiration I needed just to survive my own home life and all that I had to endure with all the craziness, parentification, looking out for my sister and my mom and taking care of my little brother who had emotional handicaps. His family took me in and now I had to go.

While I was not hanging out with Anthony, my dad got arrested made the front page of the Daily News. One thing led to another and he lost his city job, we were evicted from our apartment and found ourselves in another apartment in a worse neighborhood several blocks away. One of the funny things about the Bronx back then was, there were great apartments, but it was hell on the street. So, with that environment I learned how to make it on the street.

After I moved, I made some new friends. I only saw Anthony a few times during that transition. He came by my new neighborhood and immediately got into a fight with some of the kids I was hangin with. Looking back, I believe he was jealous. Anyway, we re-connected and became closer than ever. He told me he was moving to Delaware soon, as that’s’ where his family was from originally and they had a house near Wilmington. “Where the fuck is Delaware”? I asked. He said south.

About a month after Anthony moved he wrote me a letter inviting me to come for a visit. He said he was living in something called a private house with his cousins and there were trees and parks and grass-better than the Bronx. So I went. It sounded great. I took the train.

When I got to the station in Wilmington, it seemed unreal, maybe the word is surreal. Like from a different place and time. Things moved slowly. There were flowers in barrels, it was clean and quiet. There was a certain orderliness to it. Certainly not something I was familiar with. I was used to fast paced, dirty, smelly, rude, cold New York and New Yorkers. The oddest thing was how the black people were there. Kind of subservient, too nice, too helpful, too courteous. It was starting to feel weird to me. Anthony’s mom arranged for a cab to meet me and I found myself in front of a white wooden house on a kind of nice suburban street. Never seen anything like that before.

When I got to their house, it was a great to see my buddy again. His sisters and brothers and mom and one of his dad’s all hugged me and welcomed me like no time had passed and nothing changed. I was home again. He lived with his 3 cousins and their family as well. The extended family didn’t know what to make of me at first but by dinner time everyone warmed up and we were tight. Anthony was 17 and driving by then. He and his cousins took me to a drive in theater in Philadelphia, he said “this is where its’ happening around here”. After Anthony set the pace, his cousins and me were cool.

I asked Anthony what it was like living here. He said “well its’ real different than the Bronx. There’s trees and houses and fresh air and space and you can drive without too much hassle and no tenements”. The odd way he said different stuck with me all night. His mom gave me my own room and as usual treated me like a king. It was good to be hooking up with Anthony once again although something was really different about everyone. Nonetheless, I became even more aware of how great it was that we had this special bond.

The next day I talked Anthony into getting his cousins together so we can show them our moves on the court. As expected they highly doubted that I had any kind of game as they were all expert ball players in their own right. At least, that’s what they said. Anthony didn’t let on, made the usual offer to put up some money on the game and off we went to the high school basketball court.

There was an odd number of us, 5, so Anthony said “how about me and Steve take you 3 on. More money was bet. So we played 2 on 3. Not only did we not lose a beat on the court, we were better than ever. It was great to be on the court again with Anthony. We kicked ass. Yo! Anthony on the baseline, no look pass between one of his cousins legs-swish! Yo Anthony! Heads up! A no look pass under the boards, he leaped and was able to get rim at that point and just about jammed it. Wow! We were back. We shut ‘em out. They paid up. Didn’t know what hit them. I gained their respect at that point. No one could touch us; we were back. It was heaven.

After we got some sodas and we were sitting down on the side of the court shootin the shit some kids came on the court. I didn’t fully know what was happening, but I sensed something drastically change in the air. Kind of reminiscent of the day whitey killed the king, but different. I looked over to Anthony and he had his head bent down lookin at his feet kind of shuffling around. His cousins too. Didn’t quite get it.
They were just some kids, white kids came in to play ball I thought. No big deal. What was going on? I called over to Anthony, “whatsup?” what’s a matter? He said shut up Steve. As usual I took his lead and quieted up.

They ambled over. Looked me up and down, looked at Anthony and his cousins and said what the fuck you doing with a white boy? I threw down the ball and raised my fist ready to beat the shit out of this redneck. Anthony grabbed my fist in midair and made sure I knew this was serious and to butt out. I took his cue and backed off. For once I was feeling like it was Anthony who needed my help.

The white kid looked at me with scorn and hatred and then looked over to Anthony and his cousins and said with a smirk “you niggas going to play ball with us now or not”? I looked over at Anthony and he said “yessir we will”. I thought to myself what the fuck is going on here? Is this the Anthony I adored, admired, and looked up to, followed and loved? I took Anthony on the side and asked him “since when are you kissin anybody’s ass?” He told me I didn’t understand. Things were different here. I was outraged, enraged, confused and ready to whip their ass on the court if that’s what this was all about. I said “alright Anthony lets’ make em wish they was never born.” He just looked up at me with that same sad resigned look. He scared the shit out of me now. I thought I was in the twilight zone or something. It was like that night in the Bronx when he told me he was scared.

Being who I was, where I came from, what I had endured and learned in the street, especially with the guidance of my mentor Anthony, I knew no fear, no compromise when it came to honor. My world was shattering. I was ready to demoralize these pieces of shit on the basketball court and then beat the piss out of them on their way off the court. But something was telling me that maybe I was the only one thinking this.

It was their ball first and right off the bat I stole it and got it to Anthony, back to me and swish my patented baseline jumper. These white kids had no game, couldn’t shoot, couldn’t dribble, nothing, I kept stealing the ball for 3 possessions up and down the court.
They were getting pissed and started throwing elbows, fists, and kicks at me. I told ‘em you ain't seen nothing we were just warming up. Then a kid jabbed me and I went for him. Anthony again restrained me.

The next 5 times up the court Anthony never got me the ball. He passed it to his cousins who fumbled it lost it and turned it over for the white kids to score. I kept asking him “what the fuck are you doing? I’m open just get it to me, we’ll do our thing, what’s going on?
He said I told you things are different here. Under his breath he said “we have to let them win”. I couldn’t believe my ears. I said “fuck that. What has happened to you?” The ground was falling out from under me. This can’t be happening. This is Anthony. I’m having a nightmare. Just then he turned the ball over again. I never touched the ball for the rest of the game. My boys froze me out. Me and Anthony never let any one win. Oh, we had our share of losses but we never did this, we never let anyone win. But that’s what happened that day.

I said “don’t let these scumbags do it. They’re shit”. Not only did I lose the game, I lost Anthony that day. I couldn’t bear it.

The white kids “won”. They left the court saying “when you niggas gonna learn”? and sauntered off lookin me up and down and shaking their heads laughing.

I let the whole thing go for the next day and the day after that. Nobody said a word about it. I cried that night.

I said my goodbyes to the family, thanked them and said “I hope to see you soon”. I gave Anthony a handshake our eyes didn’t connect.

I never thought that I would ever be happy to go home to my apartment and the Bronx. I looked at my old world and realized I liked it better than the south. Wasn’t great but it was better than that. A couple years later I graduated high school and decided to go back to my old neighborhoods and see if there was anyone left that I grew up with, as by that time my mom moved us up to the north Bronx after my dad got stabbed, to a whiter neighborhood. Not sure it was better though. I went to where me and Anthony first met and bumped into Rodney. Rodney was a good kid. He was one of Anthony’s close friends back in the day. The Rodney I found was a junkie, nodding out, eyes red and half closed, slurred speech and half awake standing in front of the bodega just spacing out. He remembered me and we had a few words and I asked him if he ever heard from Anthony. He asked me if I had any money, I gave him whatever I had in my pocket and he said no, but his step dad still lives in the building and he told him that Anthony became a boxer. I said “wow really?! No shit”. Anthony always did like to spar around a little. He and I set up a heavy bag off the fire escape in his alley one summer and worked out on it.

A little later that summer I was reading about the upcoming ‘72 Olympics and boy was I ecstatic when I saw his name in print.! Right there in black and white, Anthony made the cut for the Olympic boxing team!

A tear came to my eye and I said to myself you go for it brother!

I never heard from Anthony or saw him since Delaware 1968.