When the Yellow Jackets Played
by
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FROM ENCOUNTER OF A PRISON KIND
The truck ride to Joliet Prison in Illinois on Sunday was a quiet ride. No one seemed to have much to say. Once the team arrived, the experience of moving from outside the prison to inside was sobering. The sobering feeling continued in the locker room that had been provided. There were reminders everywhere in the form of locks, bars, and guards that you were in a secured, confined area. There was no hostility. It was simply a feeling and understanding that you were being gently confined by an entity that could easily increase the confinement if it so desired. Freedom was no longer in your control. The feeling affected the entire team and they would talk about it in years to come. As quickly as this confined feeling began, it ended as the inside doors to the locker room were thrust open to expose and reveal down a long hall the interior courtyard of the prison. This courtyard, now a well-manicured football field, was surrounded by an extremely excited and enthusiastic crowd of not less than 1,000 prisoners, guards, and guests. As the Yellow Jackets ran onto the field they were, to their surprise, greeted by cheers, as was the prison team. Wolf was selected by the team to represent for the coin toss. As he approached the center of the field, two of the prison team met him. Neither of them looked like running backs but rather offensive linemen who had seen more than a few seasons. The coin was tossed and the Yellow Jackets won and elected to receive. As they shook hands, the larger of the two prison players grasped Walt's hand, smiled, and said “Zycze Szczescia,” which means “good luck” in Polish. Walt smiled back. The prison team kicked off. The game was underway.
FROM A COLD AND HUNGRY VICTORY The Crown Point game was a ground game on Crown Point's part and an aerial attack on the part of the Yellow Jackets. Throughout the entire afternoon the temperature continued to plummet as had been predicted. By game's end it was quite cold and a light sleet was coming down. When the team got out to the truck they found that the front passenger side tire was flat. A quick exploration of the outside tread revealed a pretty good sized nail, so immediately repairs were underway: jack out; tire up enough to loosen lugs; up the rest of the way; cold hands removing the punctured tube; scratching; gluing; new patch; wait; put back in; pump; tighten lugs; lower jack; finally get covered in back of the truck with tarps, huddle close and then back down Route 8 slowly in a heavier sleet, on a slippery road. At this time the Yellow Jackets were cold, damp, tired, and hungry. Really hungry. "Walt,” said Heine. “Walt,” he repeated. “How much money did we get from this game?” "Why?” "C,mon, Walt.” "$37.25.” Then Heine, “You know that “all you can eat”joint we saw as you get to 41? "This is all the money we have, Heine.” "Yeah, but we're all really hungry, Walt, really hungry.” Walt: “Okay, let's take a vote.” Lefty interjects, “Vote, shit, Walt. Any body votes no and I'll personally throw has ass of the truck.” The inside of the restaurant was light and as you entered you could smell a distinct and pleasant aroma of cooked food. As the cold, damp, and hungry Yellow Jackets entered and began to fill tables, they noted that there weren't many other customers, probably due to the weather.
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About the Book
As I began the conclusion of the writing of this book, I finally started to understand its whole meaning. All the times I had sat and listened from my early childhood, all the times my father had taught with his eyes and soul on fire, I had not ever really understood. I had assumed time and again that I was listening to a story about a 1930s semi-pro football team. How had I missed the point. I was, all these years, being told a love story. A love story on so many levels. On one level, I was being told about how an American game captured the hearts of a group of mean, immigrant street kids and gave them some of the rules by which to live. How, on another level, they were supported and immersed in a depression community whose own rules and ways of loving complemented the game they played in ways that even they didn't always understand. And I came to understand the depth of feeling these individual young men had for their families, neighbors, teammates. They were crass and tough on the outside --boxers, laborers, steel workers. On the inside they were constantly swelling up with tears for those who all around them were unemployed, jailed, losing hope, and forever hungry. Finally, I think, I understood the power of Lefty. That his love of the game and his love of life were really the same. That the passion, hard work, the integrity, and the intelligence that went into playing hard and fair were the things that allowed him to play his best at the game of life. This was Lefty's real gift to me and to the others who were lucky enough to have heard these stories. I hope that you will enjoy the reading of this story as much as Lefty would have enjoyed the telling of it to you. And I assure you, had you been interested, he would have told it to you, and you would have slipped away to a place where you could laugh, cry, cheer, and be amazed at the strange places you could find hope and love.
About the Author
Raymond J. Golarz was born in 1940 in East Hammond, Indiana, the setting for this book. He spent his earliest formative years in this community, even attending much of his elementary school years at St. Mary's School. As a young adult, he spent his early working years employed in steel production, processing, and forging plants. He married Marion Joyce Simpson, and together they have six children: Tanya, Michael, Scott, Jocelyn, Daniel, and Thomas John. He became a teacher and later directed delinquency prevention programs near Chicago. For years he taught law enforcement officers before becoming an assistant superintendent and superintendent of schools. He taught psychology at St. Joseph's College, Purdue Calumet, and City College in Seattle. He has keynoted major conferences in every large province in Canada and in virtually every state in the United States. He is the co-author with his wife Marion of The Power of Participation, published in 1995. He received his doctorate from Indiana University in 1980. He currently resides in Bloomington, Indiana with his wife Marion. His personal “Rosebud” continues to be the 1930s and 1940s neighborhood of East Hammond.