The Golden Age of Indiana High School Basketball

By Greg Guffey

“Captures what basketball meant to Hoosier players and fans in the ‘40s and ‘50s . . . [a] nostalgic journey through a simpler time when basketball was king.” —Steve Alford

The years 1945–1959 marked the time when basketball truly became the sport of Indiana. High school basketball bound together communities across the state, and interest in the sport rose to a new level. The period saw the Milan/Muncie Central game, given new fame through the movie Hoosiers. It also saw the first televised game, the start of the career of Oscar Robertson (who played for Crispus Attucks), and friendly town rivalries to build the state’s biggest gymnasium. It was a time before the massive consolidations of the 1960s and ‘70s, with more than seven hundred teams involved in basketball tournaments. (There are some three hundred now.)

In this book, Greg Guffey captures the flavor of the period—and showcases many of the best teams, players, and coaches.

Includes photos

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Nov 24, 2005
• ISBN: 9780253027726

Book preview

Introduction

The road to John Little’s house in deep southern Indiana winds over hills, through fields, and past the Ohio River. His address is listed as Elizabeth— a dozen miles or so south of the state’s first capital city of Corydon—but the real location is a long way from nowhere. He built the house himself and designed the entire lower level as a shrine to his beloved Indiana University basketball and football teams. Jerseys, photos, autographed balls, and programs line the walls and the showcases, reminders of great players and even greater teams. It goes without saying that the basketball memorabilia occupies much more space than the football items.

The interior of the Corydon gymnasium. Photo courtesy of Alan Stewart.

On this warm fall day, a dreadful Indiana football team occupies the big-screen television against an equally dreadful Penn State squad. But the story of this day is basketball, as Little has arranged for more than twenty former high school basketball players to spend an afternoon reminiscing about glory days. The ballplayers, as Little calls them, are set to arrive at staggered times throughout the day. Most arrive early and stay long past their allotted interview time, while Little makes sure to add their autographs to his growing collection.

The outside door of the Elizabeth gymnasium. Photo courtesy of Alan Stewart.

To make one thing clear: these are not former champions talking about the trips to Butler Fieldhouse. Most of those in attendance never won a sectional tournament; many of those in attendance lost more games in their careers than they won. They come from places such as Mauckport, Lanesville, New Salisbury, Marengo, Laconia, and English, schools not among those mentioned when the talk turns to the greatest teams of the greatest era in Indiana high school sports.

The remnants of the Little York gymnasium in Harrison County. Photo courtesy of Alan Stewart.

Yet they come together at this out-of-the-way gathering place with one thing in common—a love for the game they played more than fifty years ago. Most of those in the crowd played in a sectional that included New Albany, Jeffersonville, or, for a period of many years, both. Says 1959 Marengo graduate Scott Miller, The gym at Marengo was not anything like the New Albany floor. It was like walking into a different world. When you walked out there on the floor, you knew you had made the big time and that a lot of people were watching you.

Most of the time, those people were watching these players ultimately lose to New Albany or Jeffersonville. Most small schools knew when the sectional came, it was the end of your season, said Clyde Sailor, a 1958 graduate of Corydon. You went to the sectional, but you knew you didn’t have a chance, adds 1950 Mauckport grad Harold McBride. If you could beat New Albany, that was like winning the state for us. That’s what you went for— to beat New Albany.

The remains of the Marengo gymnasium in Crawford County. Photo courtesy of Alan Stewart.

And a victory over New Albany didn’t necessarily mean an easy route to the sectional title, given the parity among these smaller schools. Corydon upset the favorites in 1957 only to lose the next night in the sectional final to tiny Marengo. You think you beat New Albany and it’s going to be a cakewalk, recalls Sailor from that Corydon team. Marengo didn’t think that way.

The outdoor court where Mauckport practiced in the 1940s and 1950s. Photo courtesy of Alan Stewart.

The New Salisbury gymnasium in Harrison County. Photo courtesy of Alan Stewart.

You had all of the towns with teams, says Miller, one of the lucky ones who played on that 1957 sectional winner for Marengo. You had unbelievable competition between those towns. It was war, and that’s just the way it was. Even people who didn’t have children followed basketball in those days. Everyone kept up with what was going on. Growing up, we knew all about the ’47 team [which had won Marengo’s only other sectional title]. My generation growing up—not until 1957 had we ever thought about getting to the level of ’47. All of a sudden, things kind of gelled together.

The 1950 Mauckport Pilots won the Harrison County tournament. Starting bottom left of M and proceeding through the letter: Ferrell Duley, Norman Timberlake, Darrell Jacobs, Harold McBride, Clinton Fisher, Donna Loop (Frank), Mary Ann Goldman (Brown), Darlene Frakes (Love), Rex Bliss, LaMar Smith, Art Timberlake, Paul Singleton, Wayne Jacobs. Coach Marlin McCoy is on the far left, and manager Jimmie North is on the far right.

They talk for hours about the game they loved, most of the stories having grown larger over the years. They renew acquaintances and make new friends. They bring scrapbooks and photos to remind them of memories forgotten.

Basketball was your life at that age, says Billy Brown, a 1955 graduate of Elizabeth. You shot layups till the morning bell, free throws at noontime, and practiced after school. Your dream was to win the sectional.

It was a pretty high honor just to play on the team, says Kermit Hays, a 1949 Mauckport grad who played on a team that had no gym and practiced outside even in the dead of winter. We didn’t have a gym, and at the time, we didn’t think it was a disadvantage.

The 1954 Elizabeth Pirates won the Harrison County Tournament. Front, left to right: Murl Shaffer, Earl Stewart, Carl Shaffer, Ralph Barger, Bobby Board. Back, left to right: James Cunningham, Paul Hendricks, coach Edward Reagan, Delano Allgood, Ronnie Beams, Bill Brown. Photo courtesy of the Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame.

Harold McBride carries the picture that made it all worthwhile—the team photo on that outside court with County Champs emblazoned on the front. We really thought we could beat the big teams, McBride says. We thought we could beat New Albany that year.

Says 1958 Lanesville grad Bill Lyskowinski, There were packed houses. If you had two undefeated teams at Christmas time, the place would be packed. There was more closeness than there is now.

The talk, as it does in every such setting throughout the state, eventually turns to class basketball. These are the players who would have benefited from today’s system, one that keeps small schools away from powers like New Albany and Jeffersonville. No one, at least not publicly in this type of setting, admits to being a fan of the new system. A sectional title against smaller schools? That’s why you played the county tournament, comes the reply. We could play all season against teams our own size, says another.

Perhaps no team would have appreciated class basketball more than Lanesville, one of the smallest of those small schools. In a fourteen-year period between 1946 and 1959, the Eagles won just eight games total in the sectional, not once making it to the championship game. I knew we didn’t have a chance, says 1952 Lanesville grad Bill Baker. We’d play them [New Albany and Jeffersonville] in the sectional, but we knew we didn’t have a chance. We liked to play on the big floor in front of the big crowd, but we knew we couldn’t do it.

But we liked the chance to do it, adds teammate Bill Hussung.

And just the chance made it all worthwhile.

*   *   *

In much the same manner as World War II defined America as a country, high school basketball defined the communities within Indiana. Almost eight hundred teams competed annually for the state’s top prize —all in one class, all against the same common opponents. After World War II, people would come out to watch anything, says Spence Schnaitter, a member of Madison’s 1950 state championship team. They would have watched a dogfight. It gave people something to stand for other than the war. When Friday night came, there wasn’t an empty seat in the gymnasium.

Longtime IHSAA officials Phil Eskew and L.V. Phillips.

The game of basketball dealt with many of the same restrictions and rations placed on the rest of the country. Gasoline shortages limited travel and took away the opportunity for teams to play a statewide schedule. Schools recycled uniforms. A good basketball was hard to find, even for use during games. During and at the end of the war, it did become a rallying point for the community, says Jim Jones, a sectional champion as a player at Wabash in 1946 and later as a coach at Wabash and Logansport. As I recall, everybody had a central purpose. You didn’t have any bickering or anything like that. It was the rallying point for the community. They did what they needed to do to keep it going. Transportation was limited; we traveled in cars. I remember some of the basketballs we had to practice with were unbelievable. Some were sewn like a football. It was a big honor for any boy to make the team. If you were a starter on the basketball team, you were an important person in the community.

At that time, the game of basketball had aged more than three-quarters of a century, but it still existed in a relative state of infancy. The NCAA tournament was less than a decade old on the collegiate level, and the pro game was just beginning to amass star power with the likes of Wilt Chamberlain, Bill Russell, and George Mikan. The phenomenon of athlete as celebrity— and the corresponding exposure of a star’s personal side—was still years from birth. Those people were idols that we looked up to, says Rollin Cutter, a sophomore on the ’54 Milan state champs, but we knew them for what they did on the court.

The arrival of television in the homes of the working middle class expanded the scope of high school basketball from a regional game into a statewide obsession. Radio already had resulted in generations of Hoosier families gathering around the kitchen table to listen to the exploits of teams from distant parts of the state. I remember very clearly to this day listening to Evansville Bosse winning in 1945, says Jim Schooley, a member of Auburn’s 1949 state finals team. I could visualize the games. Hilliard Gates was the voice of basketball in the state. Those games lived —they really lived. We had no idea what Evansville Bosse looked like, but as far as paying attention to the game, we really did.

With the first statewide telecast of the finals in 1952, Muncie Central became a known commodity from Gary to Madison, winning its fourth crown with a victory over Indianapolis Tech. When the engaging and enduring stories of Milan and Crispus Attucks followed a few years later, television had successfully hooked a string of generations on the high school game. I watched the Milan game on TV, remembers long-time Knightstown coach Bill Bergmann. We didn’t have a TV, so I went down to the neighbors’ and we all gathered around theirs. I watched it because it was basketball on TV. It was a novelty. Ironically, the same medium that introduced a new audience to the high school game and helped fuel its popularity would also stunt its growth more than four decades later with the onslaught of programs and games on cable television.

Madison coach Ray Eddy and players Spence Schnaitter (left) and Ted Server accept the 1950 state championship trophy.

The local newspaper served as the only source of information for many people in both large and small communities. The exploits of the high school team often made the front page, and a story or column about basketball could be found every day in the sports section. Larger papers covered the entire state, not just their immediate circulation area. The newspaper writer became as much of a celebrity as the coach and the players. If Bob Collins of the Indianapolis Star was in attendance, it gave instant credibility to that team and game. In the Indianapolis paper now you might find the score someplace, says late 1950s New Castle star Ray Pavy. "At that time, they covered the whole state. On Saturday morning, everyone got the Indianapolis Star to see what Bob Collins had written and where he had gone. Collins and Lamm [Corky, another well-known Indianapolis writer]—they covered the state. You knew what was going on in East Chicago and South Bend and Evansville."

The downtown area served as the gathering point for every city or town throughout Indiana. A person found everything often within a few city blocks—barbershop, market, department store, soda fountain, diner. There were no strip malls scattered in different parts of the city. People visited downtown for different reasons and different occasions, but they almost all gathered on Friday nights after the basketball games and on Saturday mornings to replay the win or loss. It was hell to go downtown on Saturday morning after you lost, says Madison’s Schnaitter.

It didn’t matter if the town was big or small; it cared about basketball. A good basketball team meant bragging rights throughout the county. A sectional winner, if a town was lucky enough to have one, meant bragging rights for an entire year. For a couple of decades in the 1940s and 1950s, everything came together perfectly to make high school basketball the focus of a school and a community.

Dick Haslam, a member of the 1958 Crawfordsville state second-place team: The stores closed down on Friday nights. Everybody went to the basketball games. You wouldn’t even think if you were a merchant to stay open on Friday night and compete with the high school basketball game.

Jack Colescott, a team member at Gas City, graduating in 1948: Basketball was something the community just lived around. They took so much pride in those communities. The county tourney and the sectional were just so important. It’s amazing how much spirit there was in those small schools. Those were great days in Indiana basketball.

Fans board special Tourney Express buses on Monument Circle in downtown Indianapolis for the short trip to Butler Fieldhouse for the state finals in the 1950s.

Milan players Ray Craft (left) and Bob Plump at a dinner in the days following their victory in the 1954 state championship.

George Savanovich, who later shortened his name to George Vann, a member of the 1947 East Chicago Washington final four team: It was a very, very different time. The young guys playing in high school were treated almost like professional athletes. We were the primary source of entertainment all over the state. It seems every school at that time had one of their better basketball teams. It was a very exciting time to be a high school basketball player. Some nights, there were more people outside trying to get a ticket than there were inside.

Montezuma brothers Bill (left) and Bob Knoblett made quite a contrast as the Indians won the sectional and regional in 1954.

Oscar Session, a member of Glenn’s 1951 sectional and regional championship team: Basketball in the small communities was one of the most important things to them. We were too small for football. Basketball became the sport the community embraced.

Bob Shraluka, a member of the 1959 Decatur sectional champion team: It was the only thing. There was nothing else. The excitement of it all—on a Friday night, that was the thing. The whole community revolved around it. Everything was wrapped around it in so many ways. I know there were people who didn’t go to the games, but it didn’t seem like that.

Harold Pee Wee Lakeman, a member of Madison’s 1959 regional champion team: That was our life. On a Friday morning, you knew you had a game because everyone was talking about it. Every girl in school was in love with you, and you didn’t even know it until thirty years later.

Larry Hedden, a member of Mississinewa’s 1954 regional champion team: It was the age of innocence. You just grew up playing basketball—played in alleys, cinders. We didn’t know any different, and it was great. In a small town, you were really innocent. It was an unbelievable life of growing up without pressure and without distractions. We were innocent and unexposed.

Charles Vaughan, a member of the 1948 Lafayette Jeff state title team: Basketball was the only thing you had going. Everyone wanted to make the team. I was fortunate enough to be in the golden age of basketball. The enthusiasm was great, and it was a very fun and competitive atmosphere. You had really good coaches who knew the game. You didn’t have the science teacher becoming the basketball coach.

Harry Hobbs, a member of Sheridan’s 1950 final eight team: Basketball was the focal point of the community. If the team won, the coach was great. If the team lost, then maybe you should get another coach. The fans had a great deal of enthusiasm.

Jeff Blue, a member of the 1959 Bainbridge Sweet Sixteen team: It was more than a basketball game or a basketball team. It was the important social activity. People would get together before the game and after the game. When you had a winning team, it was stronger than ever. That was the form of conversation wherever people went—to brag about the team or bemoan the losses of the team.

Bobby Plump of Milan attempts a shot during the 1954 Indianapolis Semistate against Crispus Attucks.

Bill Butterfield, a junior on Evansville Bosse’s 1945 state title team: You really were interested in your schools. If there was a football game, you were going to the football game. If there was a track meet, you were going to the track meet. If there was a basketball game, you were going to the basketball game.

Dick Eberle, a senior and team member at Pine Village in 1954: It was an identity. It identified Pine Village. We didn’t have a whole lot to identify us, but the basketball team did. Everybody was behind us, and they went to the games. They wanted to latch on to something, and that was it. If you won, there was all good talk. If you lost, they told you what you did wrong. We were a very close-knit community, and everybody was pulling for us. The one thing is, I’m sorry we didn’t win a sectional. We always came close but couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t change it for the world. I loved every minute of it.

In most counties, the smaller schools would gather for a mid-season county tournament. That was only the prelude to the year’s big festivity, the sectional tournament. The sectional tournament—contested at sixty-four sites around the state, with champions at those locations crowned on a Saturday night—brought one or more counties together at the home of the largest school in the area. Students received early dismissals from schools, and fans arrived hours before scheduled games, always staying after their team had been eliminated.

The big school always carried the favorite’s label, but small schools would pull upsets across the state every year. That was the beauty of the sectional tournament— somewhere, somehow, several small schools would put together the performance of a lifetime and shock the host schools.

George Kaiser, a member of the 1957 Providence sectional championship team: That’s definitely what you’re thinking of the first day in practice. In Indiana, every boy from the age of eight, that’s all you lived for—to play on the local high school team and go as far as you could go.

Bob Shraluka, a senior and member of the 1959 Decatur sectional championship team: There were people everywhere. The town was alive at that time. All of a sudden this is your last chance. When you’re not a senior, there’s always a feeling, ‘We can do it next year.’ At that time, if you didn’t win a sectional, you were a zero. You could go 20-0, but it didn’t mean anything if you didn’t win the sectional.

Bob Powers, a 1955 Connersville graduate and longtime newspaper editor: The sectional was just a big reunion. More than the basketball game, you saw friends you had not seen in a year and renewed acquaintances. Back then, small schools looked at it as a challenge and an opportunity to knock off the big school.

Kent Poore, a 1951 graduate and team member at Anderson: That was the conversation. It didn’t make any difference if it was at the hospital or at the factory. When the sectional came around, it was the talk of the town. It was awesome—it was so loud.

*   *   *

One of the most significant rule changes in the history of the game helped usher in the new era of high school basketball. Before 1937, a center jump would follow each made basket. It gave a tremendous advantage to a team with a big center or someone who could jump well, as opposing teams discovered in 1934 when Logansport gained virtually every jump ball on its way to the state title. The end of the center jump resulted in a faster-paced game that gave each team equal chances at scoring.

The IHSAA made a cosmetic change to the tourney that had long-lasting implications when it introduced the semifinals, later changed to the semistate, in 1935. The semifinals placed the sixteen regional winners in four sites around the state rather than bringing all of them to Indianapolis for the state finals. The move generated incredible interest within diverse geographic areas, allowing fans to more closely follow their teams. The Sweet Sixteen, as the weekend would become known, resulted in standing-room-only crowds at large regional fieldhouses. The final four, played the next weekend in Indianapolis, became even more of an event because more fans had the opportunity to watch and follow teams in the Sweet Sixteen.

There were other important changes in the rules during the 1940s and 1950s. Until 1944, a player’s fourth foul resulted in disqualification, and a player could re-enter a game only once. Until 1947, a jump ball was held wherever the tie-up occurred on the court. Before 1948, coaches had to make better use of pre-game and halftime talks as they could not talk to players during the course of a game or timeouts. The players would huddle near the free-throw circle during timeouts, taking water and talking among themselves but having no direct contact with their coach. The 1948 change allowed coaches to perform the modern-day duties of instructing their players during a stop in play or timeout.

The 1950s brought the removal of several specific rules that took precedence in the last two minutes of a game, including the choice of a team to take a free throw or take the ball out of bounds after a foul. Other changes saw the free-throw bonus shot in 1952, the adoption of offensive goaltending in 1956, and the introduction of the twelve-foot foul lane in 1957. Another rule that generated plenty of interest and controversy—the sudden-death overtime guideline, which gave a victory to the first team to score in the second overtime— was abolished in 1961.

*   *   *

The golden age of high school basketball was not immune to many of the same problems facing society during the same time period—most notably the issue of racial discrimination. When the IHSAA granted membership privileges to all-black high schools such as Indianapolis Crispus Attucks and Gary Roosevelt in 1943, a multi-year struggle for acceptance and respect began. It was a struggle not limited solely to all-black schools. Any team that had black players found itself the object of scorn and discrimination depending on its location and schedule.

The 1951 Glenn Pirates won the Terre Haute Sectional and the Bloomington Regional. Front, left to right: Mike Dragon, Harley Gaston, Howard Killebrew, Pat Dragon, Bill Tanner. Back, left to right: coach Jack Williams, Dick Richmond, Clifford Phillips, Charles Session, Don Wagle, Oscar Session.

The high school basketball coach, often one of the most powerful and influential men in town, had the most impact on racial harmony during the era. Babe Wheeler, the coach at Brazil, put four black starters on the floor in the 1940s, traveled the state, and refused to stop at restaurants and other stores that would not treat all of the players equally. Jack Williams coached at tiny Glenn High School in eastern Vigo County. He started three black players in the 1950–51 season, ignoring the criticism from the community and leading his team to the regional championship. Charles Cummings took the Anderson job in the summer of 1942. A few of the local businessmen paid a visit to Cummings and told him they didn’t mind if he put one black player on the court, but that was enough. Cummings told the visitors that if his five best players were black, then all five would play at the same time. He further said they could pay off his contract and he would leave before he coached a game. He stayed— and Anderson won its third state title in 1946.

Most of the black players from the 1940s and 1950s endured some form of discrimination during their basketball careers. They also admit that athletes, especially very talented athletes, were spared some of the treatment that other students suffered. All agree on one point—discrimination was much worse in Indianapolis than in any other city in the state.

Crispus Attucks coach Ray Crowe celebrates with players following the 1955 sectional championship.

Johnny Wilson, 1946 Mr. Basketball and state champion from Anderson: Indianapolis was completely different. It was hard to find places to stay; we had to eat at different places [than the rest of the team]. There was no excuse for them to be that way in the state capital. It bothers you but it doesn’t affect you.

Clifford Phillips, a member of the 1951 regional championship team at Glenn: We knew about it, and there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot you could do about it. They threatened to fire him [coach Jack Williams] and everything else. He was willing to sacrifice for us.

Oscar Session, a teammate on the 1951 Glenn team: We never had a problem with the other players, but it was a different story with the fans. If something like that happened, we were going to get on the floor and beat them that much worse.

Paul Harvey, a member of the 1953 South Bend Central state champs: "There was a restaurant where I would get a lemon pie. I would