Tom pulled up at Amon’s rebuilt wharf one Saturday morning in early April. Amon was tinkering with some electric wires that ran from a utility pole on Richmond Terrace to his tugboat.
Walking from the docks to his tugboat, Tom yelled up to his friend, “Come with me. You need a break. We’ll play some basketball.”
Amon, wiping the sweat from his face, readily agreed. “I haven’t played hoops in years. You’ll have to show me how native New Yorkers play the game.”
“Yeah, sure. You picked up baseball pretty quickly, as I recall,” Tom responded.
He remembered the impromptu game of catch on Pulaski Avenue with Joey Caprino in February. One of Amon’s hard throws whistled through Mrs. Egger’s window, which the able young man quickly repaired.
The two young men arrived at the PS 21 school yard in Tom’s 1964 gray Pontiac. They headed for the nine-foot baskets where Tom had spent countless hours as an adolescent, perfecting his sweeping hook shot, line-drive jump shot, and awkward banked layups. As they warmed up, it was clear that Amon was more than rusty. It appeared that he had never played the game and knew little about its rules and techniques.
As with science, Tom was a patient teacher of basketball. He showed Amon how to dribble and how to shoot a two-handed set shot and a one-handed jump shot—allegedly invented by Bud Palmer. As in the case of tossing and catching a baseball, the young stranger was a quick study at mastering the techniques of schoolyard hoops like a native New Yorker. Initially, Tom didn’t guard Amon too closely, allowing him to shoot and dribble without interference. At first, the young man was off target as his shots slammed off the metal backboard and clanged off the iron hoop. Tom was rusty, as well, as his line-drive jump shots and his sweeping hook shots were errant.
Then, a transition began to occur. Amon began hitting his shots. His main offensive weapons were a high-arching two-handed set shot and a soft looping jump shot. Tom was surprised by the high trajectory of Amon’s shots. Usually a good defender, Tom could do little to hinder Amon’s shooting. In terms of physical stature, he was about the same as Tom’s six-feet two-inch height but appeared to be twenty pounds heavier. Amon’s jumping ability was exceptional, along with his uncanny ability to accelerate after an initial step or two.
At a certain point, Amon began to play defense, swatting away Tom’s layups and forcing him to take his jump shots from beyond the foul line. He even tipped a few of Tom’s sweeping hook shots, which surprised the latter. Little by little, Amon closed the gap between himself and the skinny teacher. Time seemed to slow down as both young men huffed and puffed from the exertion of the hotly contested game. Amon was repeatedly leaping so high that his wrists reached above the nine-foot rim. With the game tied at twenty apiece, Amon throw up a high set shot that seemed to hover over the basket for a second, before falling cleanly through the hoop.
“Wow! For a beginning hoopster, you’re not bad at all,” Tom exclaimed.
“You’re not too shabby yourself. I’m totally winded, but it was exhilarating.”
“That it truly was. Man, you could have played high school basketball and been a star!” Tom said, gasping for breath.
“It’s just focus. Once you’re in the groove, your body does what you want it to,” Amon replied, catching his breath faster than Tom.
The two young men decided to sit on the bench of the old cemetery that faced the school yard across Walker Street. Tom had brought along two cans of soda, which they sipped slowly, cooling off in the gentle April breeze.
Looking around and running his finger on the old wooden bench, Amon said, “I can just picture you years ago, sitting with Joanie and talking about waxing and waning moons, and Peter Stuyvesant purchasing the island of Manhattan from the Indians for twenty-four dollars.”
“Holy shit! I’m beyond amazed. I’m absolutely astounded. How the hell did you know that?” Tom replied, incredulous at Amon’s remarks.
“It’s something I can perceive—a feeling, an aura, a scene—which gradually comes into focus.”
“I wish I could see stuff like that. What a gift that must be!” Tom declared.
“It’s not so great to see such things. It can be a burden,” Amon said gloomily.