NYC Playground Hoops Stories from My Vault

My blog post about the passing of New York City high school basketball coach Jack Curran led me to reconsider other hoop experiences in the big city.

My parents and I moved to Queens when I was entering my teen years. Our apartment included a view of a junior high school and its adjacent playground. That gave me a somewhat distant vantage point to watch some of the City's best ballplayers compete against one another. I don't know why this particular playground, in the heart of a middle-class neighborhood, was the chosen ground. Two ideas come to mind: (1) The basketball courts were within walking distance of the subway, New York's transportation lifeblood; (2) Gangs were not contesting this particular turf.

The games were typically held on Sunday mornings, starting around seven o'clock. The level of play bordered on superb, with an emphasis on moves to the hoop. Jump shots were something of a last resort. While the players were mostly teenagers, these Sunday morning affairs were a man's game. Competition and testing one's opponent formed the fulcrum of these contests. I suppose somebody kept score, but the final tally wasn't the point.

West 4th Street Courts
(Old School photo: nycgovparks.org/parks)

Basketball for serious adult playground legends didn't take place in my neighborhood. That happened elsewhere. My one window into that world was the West Fourth Street playground in the City. This constantly active scene bordered on Sixth Avenue and sat adjacent to the subway station that was the gateway to Greenwich Village. West Fourth's Showtime atmosphere was just as much fun for spectators as for the players. Some urban hoop legends played here, but I didn't know who they were. The games, at their best, were intensely spirited affairs where, on occasion, wagers were placed. This was also the land of night basketball; it didn't threaten anyone except those hostile to earthy urban lifestyles. When I watched these games, I felt at one with the City, just as much as when I saw boats sail under the Brooklyn Bridge at night.

Jack Curran, NYC High School Hoops Pontiff -- RIP

Jack Curran
(Illustration: molloy.org)

Jack Curran, who coached high school basketball and baseball in New York City for over a half-century, passed away earlier this week.

The late coach's prominence can be measured by his obit on the lead sports page of The New York Times, a Lenn Robbins column in The New York Post that recalled Curran's life and career, a Wall Street Journal notice, and an Associated Press story that the Long Island-centric newspaper Newsday ran. The piece I found touching was New York Post beat writer Zach Braziller's heartfelt, self-deprecating remembrance of "Mr. Curran." Not bad for a high school coach.

The obits demonstrate just how profoundly Curran's story links with Gotham's close relationship with basketball. He coached a number of future NBA stars, notably Kenny Anderson, Kevin Joyce, Kenny Smith, and Brian Winters. Curran's former players also included some who later became hoop coaches. He also was well known in the college game, with basketball deities such as Dean Smith among the people Curran could (and did) call, get his call answered, his request acknowledged and usually addressed.

Curran was a significant locus of the New York Catholic basketball coaching crowd, which over the years featured, among others, Lou Carnesecca, Frank McGuire, Rick Pitino, Bob Hurley (New Jersey's version of Curran), Billy Donovan, and (my favorite by far) Al McGuire. (For a thoughtful, splendidly written insight into this world, read David Halberstam's "He Got a Shot in the NBA, and It Went In," from the collection Everything They Had: Sports Writing from David Halberstam.) Most of their action was spawned in the Northeast, with some outposts, such as Al McGuire's Marquette teams, in the Midwest. New York was this world's heart and soul; Curran lived and breathed that atmosphere. Sometimes, his high school team -- the Archbishop Molloy Stanners -- played in Madison Square Garden. Yes, it was a big deal.

Archbishop Molly HS
(photo: Wikipedia)

The Stanner coach's office at Molloy was not far from the track and field section of the locker room. I was a shot putter through most of my Molloy high school years. (In case you're wondering, I sucked at shot put.) Curran kept to his world, although he often acted as if the track team, which had won many more team championships than his basketball squads had, was an annoying swarm of gnats. The track team's head coach at the time was Frank Rienzo, who eventually became Georgetown's athletic director. He did not tolerate fools and he was bluntly outspoken on matters athletic, political, or personal. For the record, I never witnessed any banter between the legendary basketball coach and the proud, accomplished track boss. Ever.

During the spring athletic season, Molloy's pole vaulters, shot putters, discus hurlers, and javelin throwers practiced inside the track oval. The baseball team, which Curran coached, sometimes practiced in the oval, probably on a shared schedule. Well, one day, Curran and his squad came out with bats and balls and made a move to practice inside the oval, in what seemed an apparent and arrogant violation of the coaches' agreement. The field teams were conducted by a mild-mannered Marist brother from the same Grace family that owned W.R. Grace. When he saw what was coming our way, the man of Christ summoned Mike, the best we had with a spear. "Mike," our coach said, "I want you to practice for distance now." Mike took the hint and let fly.

Now, why anyone would let a teenage boy hurl metal spears around an infield still unnerves me. I'm not alone in that thought: it only took one javelin toss for Curran to get the message. The baseball team quickly retreated from the track area. For the pontiff of New York high school sports, it was a humbling moment, and one that to this day I remember fondly.