Quite frankly, I am most limited in trying to find anything I liked about winter in Cambridge. As the temperature there hovers a balmy 18 and thick snow blankets the region, I thought positive winter memories might be a good idea, but I don’t have any. OK, this isn’t really true. We had all sorts of fun even when it was so cold it actually hurt to go outdoors. In fact, most of us regularly braved the deep freeze for a CCS basketball game. No matter what your involvement, from spectator to cheerleader, the excitement in the middle of Old Man Winter drew so many people weekly it seemed that just about anyone in Cambridge who could get up and walk went to the games, a major community event. I don’t remember what pittance was charged for admission, but as far as entertainment value goes, I’ve yet to find a better deal. Even the sideshows were a hoot, one in particular I’ll share in detail with fond memories of a great natural comedian. Chevy Chase’s got nothin’ on my pal Al, a superior physical comedian, far better than a lot of famous professionals, and a darn good verbal one too.
For me the basketball games were the highlight of every long Cambridge winter, a chance to hang with friends high up in the bleachers where we positioned ourselves to watch the human carnival below, so much to see and do it was almost a sensory overload.
The fun started even before tip off. Since Dad pretty much had to attend, we never missed a game, and with both Mom and Dad working this meant supper at the Cambridge Diner and the opportunity to eat what I wanted instead of what hit the table.
Later, I enjoyed the three intermissions almost as much as the games. The play always opened with the first half of the JV game, and then my initial sugar fix for the evening, a Coke and fudgesicle combination that if memory serves correctly cost about a quarter. Next came the break between JV and varsity games, and finally the evening cocktail after the first half of the varsity game. With all the sugar in my system it’s surprising I even slept at all and most definitely recall many a lethargic Wednesday.
Socializing at break times was just THE thing to do as a kid and we all gravitated to our cliques, often rapidly. Many times I can remember adults yelling after us. “Walk!” the command would come, and then we’d walk, until turning the corner to the cafeteria, where we’d accelerate again to 100 mph in order to be first served.
As far as the physical layout went, I don’t recall any school having a better gym. It was extremely large for the size of the school, and there was a reason for that. Originally, plans called for a swimming pool, but when this was presented to the community it was killed so there never was a Cambridge swim team. For some reason though, the original size of the gym was kept even though the pool was not, and this created a very big venue that I remember being close to full many times, again remarkable if the population of Cambridge is taken into account.
Crowd watching was always fun and the diverse characters never disappointed. I’m tempted to name a few, but figure it’s best I don’t and not necessary anyway as anyone reading this can draw their own pictures. My favorites were what I like to call “secondary referees,” very vocal and loud enough to be heard clear across the large gymnasium, and often creatively critical. “Come on ref! My grandmother could have called that one and she’s blind,” was one of my favorites out of a few I still remember.
Strangely, after what must have been over 50 basketball games, I can’t recall a single play or special game. I can only remember cheering loudly at every scored point, booing along with the secondary referees at bad calls, the buzzer sounding, the cheerleaders at each break in the game leading one organized call or another, and then the final buzzer that ended the fun for the evening.
What do I clearly recall is Al’s act that was eventually closed down due to a “request” from school authorities who finally figured out it was indeed an act, one that, most fortunately, played long enough to bring a broad smile every time I think about it.
Al Robertson and I were both friends and competitors, the friendship still very much intact I’m happy to say, the competitor part long gone but still fondly remembered.
Since Al was a way better than average athlete, which I was not, our competition had nothing to do with sports. We were entertainers, both hoping to make the comedy club circuit some day, much to the displeasure of many of our teachers, who for some reason never really enjoyed our acts, ones we spent countless hours practicing. Verbally, I could hold my own with Al, but I would not claim superiority either, but as far as physical comedy went, Al was hands down the champion.
Al’s specialty was the fake fall which he mastered to the point I’ve still never seen anyone better, and there have been many great physical comedians going back as far as I can remember, the immortal Charlie Chaplin first comes to mind as do other greats that are more contemporary like Chase.
I must caution anyone with similar aspirations that it takes a very good athlete to pull off what Al could do without suffering serious injury, and offer this test to anyone who might want to imitate Al’s art. While Al specialized in seeming awkward and clumsy, in reality he was extremely well-coordinated. Anyone could see this when Al played varsity soccer, but I was most impressed with how Al often rode his bike to school, sitting backwards on the handlebars as he raced down Main Street, dodging dogs and vehicles artfully and never falling once in my memory.
One of Al’s best acts cost me two weeks in detention. We were coming down the staircase right by the main office. On the landing that looked out over the front lawn, Al began his act, yelling as loudly as he could, “Hey Brown. Cut it out. No pushing!” With that, he threw himself down the stairway crowded with students during the change of classes. He wound up in a ball right in the middle of the main hallway intersection.
Part of the reason I received such a stiff sentence was that I couldn’t stop laughing, and this was viewed as heartless, and the other because, as rules dictated, I didn’t “fink out” and claim the act for what it was, a deliberate stunt, and instead just pleaded innocence, which nobody believed for good reason. Chicken Little had a rep.
I don’t think this was Al’s best fall, however, just one of his more public ones. One of his most creative and dramatic was a tumble he took off the auditorium stage, a great fake trip and major crash. How he managed to do this without breaking an arm or leg I have no idea, but initially a lot of us thought he was really hurt, even knowing most of Al’s regular routines.
Still, beyond doubt, Al’s halftime basketball acts in front of large crowds always got the best out of a natural entertainer, one I’m sure hundreds remember fondly today.
Al always began his act high in the far corner of the gym, the row of bleachers furthest from the main gym entry. Al timed his launches perfectly, beginning about a second before the halftime buzzer. He’d come bounding down the bleachers at a full run and then pretend to trip on the last step where he’d fly like a tumbling missile out onto the gym floor. He’d hit the court so hard his glasses flew off every time, and did this often enough we began to rate his act by how far his glasses were from his body when it finally came to rest.
Sadly, at some point in time, I’m not sure when, school officials figured out Al’s routine for what it really was, and he was told the show had better close down, or else. All good things have to come to an end, but I do know I’ve never laughed harder in a life full of laughter, absolutely the best medicine there is and often free, or in this case, about 50 cents for a basketball game ticket worth millions to me today.