Growing up American. BasketBall and Saint Monica High School. Santa Monica, California

Saint Monica High School in Santa Monica provided much for this hack with a keyboard and yes, even pen and pencil. Believe or not junior there was at one time an instrument of recording one’s thoughts,emotions,observations etc by (drum roll please.)hand! This was known as a journal! Novel yes? No? (NYC accent) Go get me a Cannoli you shumuck and make it snappy! Now where was I? Oh yes Saint Monica High School. The Catholic institution of religion and education located at 7th and Lincoln Blvd in beautiful Santa Monica, California.

To begin,the good old McGinty family kids two doors down from grandma’s place, all attended Saint Monica High School.Thee girls and two boys, all red headed, milky,fair-skinned, and freckled all over. The sisters teased and punched me incessantly being 5 to 8 years older than I. The older brother already in college ( he made the BBall team at Washington U) would show up on vacation to show off  the fine art of the J. That left John. John 4 years older than yurz truly, the scrub,the ball boy, the constant buzzing in your ear, begging to get in the game.Begging,”Pick me . pick me, man!” John played for the Saint Monica Mariners, starting forward.

Carrying John’s gym bag, yammering on about the upcoming game as we walked down Lincoln Blvd past the park to the High School gym. I was a pest for sure but a useful pest, The iconic steeple and church in the nearby distance grew ever larger.

I was a body and this body worked all the drills. Weave, give and go, lay up lines, pick & roll, defense,
chasing loose balls,passing out towels, and everything else that I could do to play a little  basketball with the team.

Good old John McGinty, he turned me on to music as much as the 90’foot game. Artists such as David Bowie and Jimi Hendrix. The radio would blare these tunes as we passed the ball around, then I would attempt to guard John, he toyed with me dribbling the brown Wilson leather ball between his legs, around the back, suddenly rising like an elevator, straight up, releasing the ball so clean and effortless hanging in mid air,shouting, “Hawkins” and drain a 25′ foot J smooth as silk, the net snapping, cleanly, making that beautiful swsaintmonicaish.

Rest in Peace, John McGinty.


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