Moonfixer: The Basketball Journey of Earl Lloyd

Appendix A. Sean Kirst on Earl Lloyd and the Fifteenth Ward: Appendix B. Earl Lloyd’s Career, Playoff, and Coaching

Appendix A | Appendix B | Index 115 Appendix A Sean Kirst on Earl Lloyd and the Fifteenth Ward Over the years, as a columnist with the Post-Standard in Syracuse, I’ve had the good fortune to chronicle some important moments in the life of Earl Lloyd. I spoke with him shortly after his enshrinement into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame. I joined him for an emotional return to his old campus at West Virginia State University. Occasionally, in situations that had absolutely nothing to do with basketball—such as a time when community leaders were debating a residency rule for city teachers—Earl provided me with telling insight. We include a handful of those columns and articles in this appendix, reprinted with the permission of the Post-Standard. They speak not only to Earl’s experience but to the memorable Fifteenth Ward community that surrounded him in Syracuse in the 1950s—including a few extraordinary men and women mentioned in the book, such as the Sylvahns and “Lottie the Body” Graves. All told, they are part of the texture of Earl’s triumph. ”Lloyd, Biasone Forever Changed the Game” September 22, 2000 Manny Breland was a quiet listener Wednesday in a room at Le Moyne College . He stood in the back as the Danny Biasone Tribute Committee announced a daylong celebration surrounding the founder of the old Syracuse Nationals, a Syracuse guy just elected to the Basketball Hall of Fame. As part of the Nov. 29 festivities, the committee also plans to honor Earl Lloyd, who spent his best years in basketball playing for Biasone. The mention of Lloyd’s name took Breland back. It will be exactly 50 years ago, on Halloween night, since Lloyd became the first African-American to play in the National Basketball Association by stepping onto the court for 116 | Appendix A Washington against the old Rochester Royals. The Washington franchise later folded, and Lloyd was signed by Biasone and Leo Ferris, the Syracuse general manager. “Oh, yeah,” Breland said softly. “I remember Earl.” To appreciate Lloyd’s role, Breland said, you need to put yourself in that era. Lloyd played for Syracuse for six years in the 1950s, when the city’s black population was confined to the old 15th Ward. “He lived in a boarding house on Fayette Street,” Breland said, “because he really couldn’t live anyplace else.” Lloyd, 72, now retired in Tennessee, is a soft-spoken guy with an easy sense of humor. He has fond memories of Syracuse, particularly the tight friendships he forged with his teammates, but he also can’t forget the reality of the times. He would try to rent a place in “white” neighborhoods, only to arrive and find those homes had somehow become filled. “Syracuse wasn’t different than any other city,” Lloyd said. “Still, I couldn’t leave the 15th Ward and rent an apartment. That happened, man. That’s just the way it was.” So he stayed on East Fayette Street, and he played pickup ball with neighborhood kids, and he spent many nights at the old Embassy Restaurant, a black nightclub that attracted national jazz acts. Breland was 19 or 20, a Syracuse University underclassman and a budding star for the SU basketball team. He felt free to approach Lloyd at the Embassy. Lloyd became Breland’s hero and his friend. “I was fatherless, one of eight children,” said Breland, a retired Syracuse school administrator. His life was changed by his good fortune in finding solid mentors. There was Ike Harrison at the Dunbar Center, a counselor who warned young Breland not to make basketball his only goal. There was Vinnie Cohen, Breland’s roommate at SU, who’d stay up late every night, studying. And then there was Lloyd, whose simple presence was a reminder of every kid’s potential, a man of color who had made it in the NBA. “It was inspirational,” Breland said. Basketball was taking off in the community, already eclipsing baseball as the city game of choice. Breland grew up playing pickup ball at Wilson Park on McBride Street, where the game carried that sense of release and celebration. “I think some of that,” said Breland, “was a function of Earl Lloyd.” As for Lloyd, he is both surprised and pleased that he’ll be honored on the same day as Biasone, who died in 1992. He knows the story, how...