The Rat That Got Away: A Bronx Memoir

26. Passage to Europe

26 Passage to Europe As I stood at John F. Kennedy Airport with 21 other would-be pro basketball players hoping for a job, I felt very small. I was the only player from a small college, and except for Rick Hawknose, a guard from North Carolina State who stood about 6⬘2⬙, I was the shortest player there at almost 6⬘6⬙. I also felt like a rookie. I wanted to ask questions, but my street sense counseled me to shut up and check things out before I opened my mouth. Most of the other players there had played in the European leagues before, so this was old news to them. Meanwhile, my agent was beside me handing out contracts that we were supposed to sign before we got on the plane. The agents wanted 15 percent of our earnings—a sizable chunk—but because it was a take-it-or-leave-it situation and given that most of these brothers had come from the streets, we all signed. I was uneasy with the whole thing until I saw Ed Searcy, a brother I had played against back in our street ball days. Ed played for Power Memorial High School and later for St. John’s University and the Boston Celtics. He saw me, too, and we gave each other head nods. Even though we didn’t engage one another in conversation, it made me feel better to see a familiar face. During the wait to get on the plane, my mind drifted back to the sports banquet at Roanoke College just three days before. The coach announced to everyone present that I would be signing a contract to play pro basketball in Europe, and everybody was surprised and happy. He also announced that I had made small college all-American. However, my sense of accomplishment was tempered by humility. Graduation was 153 154 Passage to Europe just days away, and I would not be included in the ceremony with my teammates, friends, and the rest of the class of 1974. But I had made this choice on my own, and I was prepared to follow through and become the best player I could be. I also knew, as I prepared to begin a new career in Europe, that I would have to make some big changes in the way I presented myself to the people I was going to meet. I was going into an environment very different from the Patterson Houses, my small college campus, or the insular world of big-time basketball. First of all, street talk would have to go right out the window. Nobody in the world I was entering would understand or appreciate my saying ‘‘motherfucking this’’ or ‘‘motherfucking that.’’ I would need to replace the slang I had known all my life with more proper and precise words so that I could converse comfortably and be understood by everybody. I also had to start shaking people’s hands instead of giving high fives and shouting, ‘‘What’s happening, brother?’’ And the word ‘‘nigger’’ would definitely have to be left out of my vocabulary. Now all of this might seem simple enough to most people, but old habits are hard to change. Still, I was committed to playing the part and had actually succeeded to a point where nobody looking at me would mistake me for a gangster or a thug. I dressed and carried myself like a college graduate, even though I didn’t have a degree in hand. Fortunately , my experiences at Cornwall Academy and Roanoke College had been gradually preparing me for this role. I was used to spending time around wealthy, educated white people and was comfortable with them in social situations. Also, it helped that my family had taught me good table manners and basic social graces long ago, which came in handy when I would eat in expensive restaurants or go to dinner parties in people’s homes. I had always led a double life, only now I was in control of both of them. Even as I cultivated my professional side, I made sure I kept my street side as well. I was no longer a dude divided but a multifaceted man of the world who could move easily in any environment. Leaving behind the world of the streets had not been easy for me. Before I headed out to the airport, the good-byes people gave me were inspirational. Everybody in and around Patterson...