FEDERATION NEWS - The Jewish Georgian

July-August 2012 THE JEWISH GEORGIAN Page 39
Out to the field: An Atlanta Jewish sports story, Part II
By David Geffen
Part I of this story appeared in the May-June
issue of The Jewish Georgian.
My football career continued in a limited
fashion. I acquired a secondhand football and
a helmet, so if I was somewhere and had this
basic equipment with me, a game was possible.
We had a few games at Grant Park, the
public park on Atlanta’s south side. A rowdy
group frequented the park, and those of us who
were not really athletes got banged up. My
parents could not figure out where all my
bruises came from, since I merely told them
that I was just going out to have a good time.
After one season in 1948, my football
burst and there was no interest in reviving it.
What made all these sports more fun were the
games behind the shul, Shearith Israel, on
Washington Street.
The synagogue building, the little shul,
was completed in 1930. As part of its previous
structure, Shearith Israel had built a large mikvah.
There, many of the boys and girls, none of
whom is still alive, learned how to swim. My
grandfather, Rabbi Tobias Geffen, was not a
certified lifeguard, but he was the one who
checked the mikvah to make sure it was
“kosher.” No pictures of that mikvah exist, but
I was told that it was enormous, 40’ x 70’.
Women came only after 8:00 p.m., and the
men had free range the rest of the time.
When the new shul was constructed, a
piece of land was left in the back, extending up
to the wooden fence that marked the boundary
of the property. In spite of the rocky terrain, in
spite of rising ground on the sides, and in spite
of the length and width, that land became a
sports paradise. Every day, before religious
school started at 3:30 p.m., the field behind the
shul was packed.
Let me recall a few of the notable athletes.
The first were the Tuck brothers: Bobby,
Leon, and Albert. They happened to be
Kohanim, and I assumed that, when they
duchaned on the holidays, their sporting spirit
rose. They blessed us, and God blessed them.
Only Albert was in my age range. He was
a natural athlete who excelled in all sports. His
hands were large, so he could handle a football
and basketball with ease. Albert seemed to
have springs in his legs—jumping was no
problem for him. His two older brothers,
Bobby and Leon, played high school basketball
well and led their team to the finals on a
few occasions. Albert’s crowning moment was
in the Georgia state tournament, when he not
only scored 20 points but also blocked a number
of shots.
Irving “Boogie” Boorstein played only
when he was home from the yeshiva in
Baltimore where he studied. His set shot was
superb; he could steal bases without any indication
whatsoever; and he was a wonderful
wide receiver long before that term was used.
Charles Firestone got most of the height
in his family and used it to good advantage in
softball and basketball. His older brother,
Stanford, was a terrific basketball player. As I
watched all these people—as well as others I
have not mentioned—I wondered what I could
do.
First off, my father was a southpaw—a
leftie—so I thought that he could not teach me
too much. His left-handedness and my righthandedness
turned out to be heaven-sent. He
had an old glove from the teens, southpaw of
course, but he made me use it while he and I
practiced throwing. After a few weeks, I could
catch and pitch pretty well. Then, with my
own glove, I moved on to the shul, where I
practiced my batting and got into shape.
By age 10, I was ready for the shul
league. I was always stuck in the short outfield,
but I did make a few nice grabs. My hitting
picked up—mostly singles, but at least I
was in the lineup.
The big concern was always the fence at
the end of the outfield, which marked someone
else’s property. Of course, hitting the ball over
the fence was a home run. The problem was
how to retrieve the ball. Different people performed
this function with skill and finesse.
One day, someone hit the ball over the fence
when I was playing.
“David, climb under the fence and get the
ball.”
“Why me?” I cried out. “Surely another
person can do it better and quicker.”
“Just because you are the rabbi’s grandkid,
you think that you are special, someone
said.”
What could I do? I slid under the fence,
got the ball, and threw it back.
“Kid, what are you doing in my backyard?”
a woman shouted from her back porch.
“This is private property, not for Jewboys like
you. I am coming out to give you a whipping.”
Luckily, I was able to get back under the fence
before she came out there. Was I scared1 That
was the only time I ever got the ball.
As I gravitated from playing behind the
shul to playing on a real field, I realized that I
had a talent in softball. I discovered that my
right throwing arm was really strong, so I was
able to make the teams in the Boy Scouts, in
AZA. and later in the college fraternity as an
outfielder. I challenged many runners to take
an extra base on my arm, and, usually, I was
able to throw them out. My hitting was never
that consistent. I was too slow to steal bases,
but my arm was like a rocket.
Stan Silverman, our AZA softball coach,
once told me, “You have studied a lot of Torah
to have a throwing arm that strong. I knew that
your grandfather could teach, but I never knew
he taught baseball, too.”
I did not make the traveling squads for
any sport, but I enjoyed the competition and
the camaraderie that I found on the Atlanta
playing fields in my younger years. When I
look at my children and grandchildren and
focus on all the sports they have played in
Israel, I am really proud of them. They have a
joyful sense of sporting enthusiasm.