Raymond McCoy: The Day I met a Rock Star

The afternoon rolled into a long summers’ day as I drifted about finding my way finally to sound of bouncing leather on the shiny hardwood floors of McCann Gymnasium. I stood silently along the blue padded walls in amazement as young men drenched with sweat crafted their skills. It dawned on me that they were being “coached” by a few men who yelled out instructions from the sidebar though I thought I was watching a pick-up game. My summer football workout of my sophomore year had just ended prior and I was trying to bum a ride to back to my side of town in lieu of the long walk to the “hitchhike corner” that awaited me. The man yelled out…”throw the ball into to Robert!” Everyone within a three hour plane ride knew who “Robert (McCoy)” was…a guy with flowing braids, a quiet swagger, and a game that made him one of the top hoopers’ in the State of Illinois. I had built a local reputation of sorts as the first Black Quarterback the school had seen since it opened circa 1900’…so people would at least waive in passing. I sighed; reserved in my fate that there were no takers from this place that I might easily meet my final destination on this afternoon. I stepped softly under the radar of the coach to an empty court on the far side. A loose ball drifting slowly away got my attention as I grabbed it and began to shoot a few lay-ups. Suddenly a voice appeared from my left shoulder “hey, how about a game to eleven…make-it take-it”. Let’s go”, I replied to this taller guy thinking maybe I could use my muscles to push him for a couple of baskets. He threw the ball to me at the top of the key; I dribble quarter court left side and threw up a shot… “clank”…not realizing that it would be my last. He ran off eleven long range jumpers in row, irrespective of me pushing him, fouling him repeatedly, and even an “oops sorry” after I put my hand directly on his face. We briefly talked afterwards about excitement of his upcoming freshmen year…he would be immediately playing with a group of local “rock stars”. But in his own right…and everyone knew that his reputation had preceded him. I thanked him for the shellacking, slapped him five and ventured off towards’ the dreaded “corner”. My walk that day did not seem so long anymore. I first strolled pass Marnells’ Sandwich Shop…thinking only if I had a buck and some change I could feast on one of their famous beef combo sandwiches, as surely that would hold me until dinner time. I passed further down the way slowing on the main drag hoping I would catch a neighbor returning from the shopping center and say “hey, you going my way?” Maybe I would see a pretty girl perhaps, and this walk would all make sense to me. But there was nothing happening. But it was cool…because I was cool. It was a time in the life of Black America that was still innocent. No hard drugs, shootings, single family homes headed by women or the Prison Industrial Complex. We grew up in the last safe generation. Time seem to stand still…now it rushes by. I arrived to the “hitchhike corner” that served as the last gateway that connected two towns... and copped a ride fairly quickly. Shortly after being dropped off from the defacto’ free cab service and making my way home with an empty stomach and no phone number of the pretty girl that I would only seem to stumble upon in my dreams, I remember feeling special about something. I've lived to tell this story in my mind a thousand times it seems…the day I encountered greatness”. For nothing could replace the joy of my chance meeting with the first and last Rock Star of my life…his name is Raymond McCoy. I last saw him five years ago on a winter trip back to the old neighborhood. The day skies filled with grey as the wind blustered about. He was walking out of a gas station after buying a few “squares”. We embraced and talked briefly as I offered him a plane ticket to spend some time with me in the sunny skies and white sand beaches of Florida. He took my number and replied, “I will call you”. I rushed our conversation partly to escape the cold of Chicago’s unforgiving winter and partly because I was sure he would take me up on my offer. “I am waiting on a call from this job downtown and I am sure I will get it, then I will let you know”, he replied.
All who read this brief anecdote (and perhaps a prelude to a book I will d about him), will agree that there was none better. Though his peers all moved on to success in the limelight of the NBA in some faze or another (Isaiah Thomas, Mark Aguirre, Rod Higgins, Craig Hodges, Doc Rivers and too many others), of Raymond, none was better. We loved him like the time that we lived in. There was a different scent in the air it seemed when we watched him. Maybe he embodied for us “a time when all was good”. Maybe he defined for each of us who knew him and of him “the better part of us”. Maybe he gave us for a split moment a chance to claim that we had the best in our midst and we knew it full well…allowing us for a moment to hold our heads just a little bit higher. Looking back, just maybe he gave us the best part of our lives. Perhaps I still struggle to replace the happiness.
A long time has past since the last sighting of the great one…I still wait for that call from Raymond, knowing facetiously that he has my number stashed away in a some safe place. Perhaps he left me believing in the best of the human spirit… each time my phone rings…each time I check my messages.


Malik Aziz
Co-Convener, The Muslim Street
http://www.muslimstreet.net/