THE LEGEND OF BEVERAL WAITE

You can find one in almost every community. Colored clay, busy feet, a ball and at least one basketball hoop are the variables that make up any real basketball court. The one of which I speak is located at the corner of Cypress and Camp Street on the East Side of Providence, Rhode Island. As the weather began to change and the days got longer, dozens of pre-teens, teens, young adults and an occasional group of grown ups, off from work, were drawn to the place affectionately known as “the courts.”

Everything happened at the courts as I recall. In the early days of the JVC™ Boom Box, and before MTV fell in love with Black culture, the court was the place where you could hear the latest jams; from Rakim’s “Eric B is President” to “Rumors” by Timex Social Club. There was no need for a video countdown, because no one wanted to stay indoors and watch television. Songs played in accordance to their popularity at the courts. The courts were also where you went to see the flyest girls in the neighborhood. More importantly, they were where you went to make assists, dunk, block shots, play and win basketball games. The better your game, the more favor you found. To that point, the objective of playing was to put together an unstoppable squad that would win consecutive games, and rule the courts. Assembling that invaluable squad was tantamount to having good credit, college acceptance or landing your dream job.

On a good day the right team could easily net six consecutive wins. After losing that sixth game, they’d call “next,” wait and try it all again. This pursuit of court dominance prevented most of us from going home before midnight. Instead we would spend 8 to 12 hour days in the scorching sun; passing, shooting, cracking jokes, listening to jams and playing basketball. Yes, we were addicted to the courts and the game. My cousin Joey’s immersion in playing ball led his mother to say, “Are you going to that damn court again? You might as well take your bed down there.” He eventually went home, but like the rest of us, he was back at the courts bright and early the next day.

My homeboy June loves to play chess. On a good day you can find him playing in the park on the corner of 142nd and St. Nick’s in Harlem. I agree with June’s assessment that you can judge an opponent’s personality by the way that he or she plays chess; however, unless your chess opponent were an impulsive savage, the courts provided an even quicker litmus test of one’s character. The first dribble at the courts didn’t only reveal who could play basketball; it revealed who was flashy, stingy, arrogant, and timid or even worse, a cheater! See, Mike Adams’ father coached Providence College’s Men’s Basketball Team. This affiliation afforded Mike a solid game and the flashiest sneakers, shorts and multi-colored knee high tube socks. Beveral Waite stood 5’ 10”. There was nothing flashy about his attire. He was stocky and unassuming. He could have easily been mistaken for a displaced football player minus a helmet and shoulder pads on the basketball court. But like Mike, “Bev” could play.

Many courts have a set of twins, brothers or cousins that make up an unstoppable duo. Beveral, however, put a twist on that concept. Years before it became the norm, a 5’ 6” dynamo with a crazy handle, a lightning fast pass and a nasty finger roll joined Beveral’s squad. Her name was Iris Waite. Iris was Beveral’s sister and the sole female playing basketball at the courts. Her skills earned her the nickname, “The Nurse,” the female counterpart to NBA legend, Julius “Dr.J” Erving. Yet, as quick and skilful as Bev and The Nurse were, in a land devoid of referees, Beveral Waite had a penchant and arguably a passion for cheating.

Regardless of his opponent’s age or size difference he’d do anything to avoid having his squad lose. So, he generally saved his tactics for the end of the game. A crowd of female spectators stood in awe as you made a quick break through the middle of the paint to win the game! Beveral ended that moment of glory with a foul. You’ve sent a bounce pass to the big man on your squad to end the game with a dunk? That sounds nice. Bev was there to damn near assault him. What about that high arching, all net game winning jump shot? After some arguing the basket would count, but not before Beveral was there to call walk or traveling. The same tactics applied when he would miss a winning basket. His antics went on and on. But depending on the day and time, and always after an aggressive argument, honesty often prevailed. The sun went down, and summer came to an end.

One fall some unsuspecting adult decided to give Beveral a job at the local recreation center. Managing the center’s indoor basketball court was part of Bev’s job description. So, armed with jurisdiction over the courts and his unsportsmanlike deportment, Beveral Waite added to his legacy of defrauding East Side basketball players. He found plenty of time to assemble squads and play ball on the courts that he was supposed to manage. Whenever he realized that he couldn’t win a game, he’d just turn off the lights and lock up the basketballs.

I’m not certain of where Beveral and “the Nurse” are nowadays. My cousin Joey called me the other day. He had just come back from the courts where he beat a group of 16 to 22 year olds in a free-for-all game known as “Hustle.” As for me, this summer will mark the three-year anniversary of my retirement from “the courts.” My rationale: I work. The IPod has replaced the Boom Box and I’m part of the machine that aims to plaster songs and videos all over MTV, BET, You Tube, millions of mobile phones and the radio.

To the hundreds of pre-teens, teens, young adults and occasional groups of grown ups, off from work, listening to jams and playing basketball from the East Side of Providence, Rhode Island to the hilltop parks of East Oakland, California remember, the courts attract every personality type. Has anyone seen Beveral? I’m sure he’s there: hacking, throwing elbows and making up calls. Just WAIT!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
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