The sound of the basketball thundered throughout the gymnasium, with each bounce creating a reverberating thump. Joining in the hardwood concert were well-worn high-tops, adding their own rhythmic squeak as the player worked from left to right, then shifted from right to left, and finally raced from one baseline to the other.
Sometimes when he shot, the clank of the rim signaled a missed opportunity. Sometimes, but not often.
Usually when the ball was catapulted by his right hand, the only sound was a swish.
Harley Mayfair was born to play basketball. His father coached the local high school boys’ team – the Freetown Firebirds – and Harley started tagging along to practices and games from the time he could walk. He was the quintessential “gym rat.”
He loved the sounds in a gym … all of them. The furious grunting that could be heard during suicides, the sound of his dad shouting, “You never know what’s next, so always be ready” after every drill, and the roar of the crowd whenever the Firebirds hosted a game.
He often thought back to the first time fans cheered for him. It was during the opening game of his freshman season. With just a couple of minutes to go in a blowout win over Milton High, his dad decided to put him in to get some game experience.
He recalled how dry his mouth was as he took the court and how embarrassed he was when a small group of his friends starting chanting, “Harley! Harley!”
He thought he was going to throw up.
But when one of the seniors brought the ball up court and passed it to him, he calmly raced toward the top of the key, stopped, pulled the ball to his chest and launched a beautiful set shot that barely touched the net on its way through the hoop.
The crowd, as they say, went wild.
By the time he was a sophomore he had replaced the set shot with a dead-eye jumper, and finished the year as the region’s leading scorer.
The word “superstar” wasn’t a phrase used much during his prep years, but he most certainly was one. In fact, he was so good by the time he finished high school he had college scholarship offers from across the country.
He wanted to stay close to home so his mom and dad could watch from the stands, so he signed with Calico Polytechnic Institute. The CPI Bulldogs played in what looked like an old Army barracks – Calico Hall – and Harley loved the echoes inside the 5,000-seat arena.
He even enjoyed day games, where the sun would often shine in through the windows of the building and provide the north end of the court with something of a spotlight.
And that’s what he was waiting for today – one last day in the spotlight. One last day in his old stomping grounds.
Across the way, the sparkling new Harley Mayfair Memorial Arena was set to have its grand opening in just a few months, and Calico Hall would be razed and replaced with a parking lot.
It was progress, of course. And CPI – now known as Calico Tech – was due for a makeover.
Much had changed since Harley played in the 1950s, and even more since he died in 1997.
But there was one more chance to work from left to right, then shift from right to left, and race from one baseline to the other.
He might even have time to take a set shot before the hydraulic equipment was moved into place for the demolition.
Calico Hall had always seemed like home to him – especially in the afterlife.
After today, though, he’d have to move on.
Like his dad used to say, “You never know what’s next, so always be ready.”
