
I was going downtown to see a man about a horse. It was 9 a.m., which is pretty early for me these days, and I was driving like I wasn't completely awake. Naturally, I was in the wrong lane, so I couldn't get off the freeway at the correct exit. So I went further and got closer to Veterans Memorial Auditorium, Wells Fargo Arena and whatever other buildings are in that area of Des Moines. Being that close to the arenas got me thinking about this week's girls' state high school basketball tournament and next week's boys' tournament. Being that close to the Auditorium got me thinking about the Drake basketball games that used to be played there, but that's a column for another day. As I thought about the high school tournaments, I began thinking about guys like Chuck Burdick, Jim Moackler and my brother, Phil. Even Brad Wilson. I had covered my share of state tournament games with those sportswriters in the previous century. All of those great guys are gone now to the big arena and press box in the sky, but they remain in my mind. I remembered sitting through afternoon and night sessions of both the girls' and boys' tournaments, and I can still feel the hard, wooden benches we sat on. I remember Burdick, who wanted to be every high school coach's friend, sitting at the end of various' teams' benches so he could get to the interview area quickly after games. He was a classic. He lived hard and he wrote great stuff. I was on Grand Avenue, and drove past the street where Babe's restaurant used to be located. I remembered how the sportswriters would gather there before and after the games. I miss Babe, I miss his restaurant and I miss his pizzas. I remember Joe Tolan, the man we at first called Father Tolan and then Monsignor Tolan. Tolan was a Catholic priest in a number of northwest Iowa cities, and he was quite a guy. He was a friend of all the sportswriters and a lot of the state politicians, and was always ready to host a party. He'd have a bathtub filled with ice and anything anybody wanted to drink, alcoholic or otherwise, in his downtown hotel room during the high school tournaments. The conversations in that room sometimes went on all night. I remember Jack Ogden, the longtime high school writer for the Cedar Rapids Gazette and the man who was my mentor. Every time Jack came to Des Moines to cover the tournaments, I made sure we had at least one long talk. Jack, too, is now upstairs in the big arena. A tremendous man, that's what he was. I think of Wayne Cooley and Bernie Saggau, who ran the high school tournaments so efficiently. I remember Cooley lighting up one of his huge cigars. Lots of people were lighting up lots of things in the Auditorium in those days. Smoking was allowed, and there was always a cloud hanging over the arena late in the day. No wonder there's so much lung cancer in this state now. What a shame. I remember fighting the deadlines that weren't as bad then as they are now for the sportswriters. But the paper went to more places in those days, and we were always concerned about getting something in the first edition, which went to cities like Sioux City and Keokuk. Now I don't think the paper goes to either place, unless Uncle Bill sends a clipping to his nephews via the U. S. mail. I thought the freeway had been busy this morning, probably because people were coming to the tournament. I know there are two girls' 4-A semifinal round games this afternoon. I thought a little bit about going. But I talked myself out of it quickly. I knew finding a parking place would be difficult, and somehow I didn't think it would quite the same without Burdick, Moackler, Brad, Jack and Phil. Maybe next year. Thanks for letting me remember.
































































