Sports Stories – Stephanie

I lived in West Berkeley from 1978 until 1984, and I loved that neighborhood. It was predominantly Black and Hispanic, with some Asians as well. I was one of the few Caucasians in the area, but most of our neighbors were very accepting of me.

We bought a small house with a few bedrooms, and my grandparents helped us with the purchase. My stepfather, who was very handy, did some renovations and added a fourth bedroom. I got to join my stepfather and his dad to re-roof the southern face of the home. It was a lot of fun, and today, I wouldn’t call hauling comp shingle packets weighing fifty to eighty pounds each a joy, but I was young and eager, and took to the work with pleasure.

Our neighbors were great, allowing me to join them in street football games and sidewalk baseball, and my folks bought me a basketball, and I dribbled over to the local school playground and shot hoops for hours most weekday afternoons after school.

I couldn’t really drive to the hoop, but I had a half-decent jump shot. The locals were pretty generous because they used to call me Larry Bird. I was energetic, committed, and could make some distance baskets, but any comparison to a serious schoolyard contender, let alone an NBA star, was purely far-fetched.

There were many young guys who played together at the school each day; some regulars and some who were there occasionally, but I only recall one female: Stephanie. I don’t think I ever knew her last name. She was a contender. She could shoot, drive, and dribble, and she was kind to me, but seriously outclassed me on the concrete.

We met at the courts in the schoolyard with others, almost every weekday, as I recall, in the afternoon. I hustled and tried to hit hook shots, free-throws and three-pointers, while she made a lot of shots and also drove inside the paint, probably for a lot of layups; I don’t recall if she could dunk; our courts weren’t ‘regulation’, so dunking wasn’t as difficult.

We played day after day for maybe a couple of years. Then, a few years later, I was at home one day, probably avoiding my schoolwork, when my mom and stepdad walked into the room. They had some news. Stephanie had been playing varsity hoops for Berkeley High School, where I would later attend. I am not sure if she was at their former West Campus location or the main campus, but one of the two. They told me what they had learned.

Apparently, Stephanie was playing a game when she suddenly collapsed. It seems she had spinal meningitis, and no one knew. I may have asked if she was okay, but I recall with sadness that my parents said she had died. I had played many merry games of basketball with her, and she couldn’t have been beyond her teen years, and she was gone, just like that. It was a grim day.

I never became much of an athlete or sports fanatic—though in my years on the stage, and my two-year stint running obstacle courses in my forties, I was definitely in tip-top condition—but I have always had a special place in my heart for basketball, along with ultimate Frisbee, volleyball and a few other sports. I am more of an avid amateur player and a reader of sports journalism than a true sports follower, but there are some individuals who’ve touched my life indelibly, and regarding basketball, none so much as my friend, Stephanie.