Laurie and I were stretched out on a grassy slope that led below us to Mount Hermon’s football field, where NMH and Deerfield Academy were locked up in a rivalry that was as old as local preschool history. As we watched the teams’ give and take, a tall man separated himself from the crowd below us, came up the slope and sat down. Bob Dolan, Recorder editor: “Paul, would you like to write sports stories for us?”
Jimmy Fox was the Recorder’s sports editor at that time, 1960, and he needed support. I needed money: Sure, I’d take that on.
For the next five years I climbed stairs to the reporters’ desks, put a typewriter in front of me and a telephone in reach, and talked to local high school coaches about their teams’ successes and failures, composing short stories I thought would make good reading for teams’ supporters. This I did, late in the day, often till 1 in the early morning when the last games were reported.
One thing led to another. Editor Dolan gave up his hunting and fishing columns, turned a fresh responsibility to me — I hunted and fished, and eventually “Said & Done” was born. My writing has seen the light of day in our Recorder for more than 50 years. In the course of this time, there have been several remarkable stories really worth the telling. There are two — especially — that have begged the telling, and so I’ll produce them here. They’ve not been before in print — so they are fresh off the “writer’s” ribbon.
Charlie Johnson was a sprinter, about as good as you’ll find in New England colleges. I saw him grow from a Brookline High School ace — he was first in the Garden finals. Boston College took him, he as Roman Catholic as the Pope, a perfect fit. This next is the story. Wince as you read it. It was awful!
Charlie won the preliminaries, qualified for the finals in the Knights of Columbus track meet on a Saturday night at Boston Garden. Picture it: officials, all solid citizen Roman Catholics, dressed in tuxedos, white shirts and bow ties. Relaxed, doing a job they knew.
Officials called for runners to assemble at the starting line for the final. Instructions were given: one false start (jumping the gun) allowed, a second and you were out, disqualified. Charlie Johnson along with seven other sprinters, knelt in their blocks. “Set!” They rose to run. Charlie was away — a split second too soon, a false start.
“On your marks!” Try again. Charlie rose to run on command — then away — all by himself! Dead silence made the Garden’s air heavy. I know. I was there. It was painful.
Charlie, quite alone, got halfway down the track — then the unmentionable: An expletive (The Lord’s name taken in vain) not to be printed here.
Boston College’s priests did double penance when back on campus. Charlie’s cry was one of pure anguish. The Devil had him by the heels. It still rings in my ears.
In 1940 public high schools rarely boasted a runner who could “break” 55 seconds in the 440-yard run. In those pre-historic days, the quarter-mile was not considered a “sprint” but a taxing, exhausting middle-distance “run.”
Little wonder, then, that Brookline High School went three seasons unbeaten in the 440. Three of its relay teams could run 52-seconds, and their “anchor man” could be counted on to threaten 50-flat.
Bob Leventhol, Malcolm Stern, David Specter and Paul Seamans composed the unbeaten mile relay team. Seamans, the “anchor man,” worked overtime at getting to 49.9 — but didn’t make it till his college days at Tufts.
Every year, Fitchburg High School hosted its famous relays event, inviting teams from all over New England to send entrees. It was a popular event and took an entire day to run.
There is a story in this, probably never before told.
When the clerk called runners to the starting line of the mile relay, we assembled. I had stepped aside for a word with the starter. When I rejoined my teammates, Mal Stern grabbed me by the arm: “Seamans,” he said, “if you don’t carry the stick first over that line, we’re going to circumcise you on the spot.”
The last I looked I’m still in one piece.
Those boys are all now in their mid-90s. Bless you Charlie Johnson, Bob Leventhal, Malcolm Stern and David Specter. In this writing we remember you.
Paul Seamans has written Recorder columns for more than a half-century.