"Backyard Blacktop Basketball"

"Backyard Blacktop Basketball"

I don't remember how old I was when we moved into the West Main Street house closer to town. (We'd lived further to the west on the other side of the 224 bridge across the Blanchard river for several years before that.) It was sometime early in my elementary school years, I'm guessing. (I'm sure one of my sisters, Nancy or Phyllis, will fill in the necessary information when they read this.)

The house and building behind it were formerly occupied by the Jerry Ruhe family and business. For our first few years there a large, gangly willow tree occupied the majority of the backyard. It was a great tree in which to climb around. There were many choices of where you could go in it to settle for awhile. It was a comfortable tree in which to spread out your body. I spent many hours reading in the outstretched arms of that tree; but, I spent a great deal more time sitting or laying in its lounge chair-like comfort just thinking about athletics, family, religion, friends, school, girlfriends, community, and life in general (not necessarily in this order!). Oh, I tried to hide in it a time or two as well!

Well, sometime near the time I entered junior high school it was decided that the willow tree should come down and the area blacktopped for a basketball court. It may have had something to do with the black bugs that also enjoyed the tree; the risky and adventurous spirit that was my brother, Gary, and his breaking an arm in a fall from it; the death of our beloved dog, Cyndi, whose doghouse was sheltered by the big willow but who had worn the area around the tree into a mud-pit with her constant walking; or, it might have been because I really liked to play basketball and dad wanted me to hone my skills where he could, uh, er, shout words of encouragement or correction my way. (Now, let's not talk to the sisters about what their memories of the reason might be, OK?)

Anyway, basketball on our backyard blacktop basketball court became a popular activity. The guys who worked for dad often played a little HORSE during their breaks and lunch hours. But, it was also where many of us on the west-end hung-out. We played baseball - Home Run Derby - in Dan Ruhe's backyard and we played basketball in our backyard - HORSE, 3 on 3 - it was really too small for 5 on 5. That's just the way it was and what we did. First, it was mostly the neighborhood guys: Larry Rosenberger, Dan Ruhe, Bill Plummer, Tom Maidlow, Frank Warren, Charlie Hoepf, Larry Cox, and once in awhile we'd let the young guys, Jeff Huggins and my brother, Gary, play. And over time, Larry's brothers and cousins (Tommy, Willie, Charlie, David, Jack, John, Bruce, and Wayne Patrick), Gary Clossen, Jerry Agner, Mike Ellerbrock, Paul Quint, Jim Van Housen, Sam Stowe, "Big Dave", and "Horse", and on and on I could go (feel free to note your name if you choose to respond to this post if you were among those who frequented this blacktop space). (As we got older I remember going to play in a barn at Tom German's.) Notice the absence of the big guys - Dan Sager, Dave &  Butch Ruhe - the court wasn't big enough to handle them. Dan could cross the whole thing with two steps!

While I was known to often go out to the court and shoot around by myself at night, there was this one night when Jerry Agner, Tom Maidlow and I met there after a high school dance. It was fairly late - late enough that we probably shouldn't have been bouncing a basketball on a blacktop in a residential neighborhood. But we were teens and we were just shooting a basketball and shooting the breeze talking about things that were bothering or concerning us - mostly laughing. (Yes, we had spotlights that lit up the court! They were mounted on the roof of the house.)    

Who knows why my parents didn't stop us - maybe they were already asleep and they were so used to the sound of basketballs bouncing against blacktop that they didn't notice it - or, maybe they had told us that it was time to stop but we hadn't listened yet. At any rate, up drives this police car and out of the car comes the police officer - I wished I could remember who it was. As he approached the court, with a grin on his face, we stopped bouncing and shooting the ball and waited. By this time, we knew we should have stopped. I don't remember his exact words but they were something like: "Hi, boys! I know what you're doing is pretty innocent, but it is after midnight and some neighbors are having trouble sleeping. I think it's time to stop."

He left and we did stop. Bouncing basketballs on a backyard blacktop basketball court provided some good times and kept us out of trouble most of the time.