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Red: a friend and rival

In the fall of 1947, Bangor High School hired a young graduate of Bates College, Frederick “Red” Barry, to teach and to coach basketball. Red was a great teacher, coach and leader of high school students and, above all, he was a highly respected gentleman, family man and leader in the community.

As the coach of John Bapst High School and later Lewiston High School, I had the good fortune and misfortune of competing with coach Barry. Win, lose or draw, coach Barry was always a gentleman. He proved to be one of the most successful coaches ever in the state of Maine.

The last time we met on the Bangor Auditorium basketball court was in 1959, when we were playing for the state basketball championship. The winner would go on to represent the state of Maine in the New England Basketball Tournament at the Boston Garden. Bangor High School won that game against my Lewiston High School team in the final second – by one point.

I always felt that our rivalry was great, but our friendship and camaraderie were greater. My Lewiston High School supporters had a long ride home on a special B&A railroad train, hired by Lewiston fans.

In the late 1940s, “Red” and I played for the Bangor Potters semi-pro basketball team. The team was made up of former Bangor, John Bapst and Brewer high school stars and the coaches of the three schools. We took on all comers from all over New England.

I received a call from John Mooney, former mayor of Bangor and member of the Bangor Potters basketball team, telling me that “Red” died. We reminisced about the good old days and the various members of that team like Bobby Grafham, Bob McDonald, John “Bones” McCann, Shume White, Ben Tucker and many others. “Red” will always be remembered as one who contributed greatly to not only the students and staff of Bangor High School, but the city of Bangor, eastern Maine and the entire state of Maine. And our hearts go out to his family and especially his good wife Maxine, who is an absolute angel. Nat Crowley, Sr.

Stockton Springs

Soccer reveals change

I will never forget where I was the day the United States won the Women’s World Cup final. How strange, as I am not a sports fan (unless the Red Sox make the playoffs). I didn’t even know the game was going on; I wasn’t paying attention, I haven’t paid much attention to sports or athletics since I was a child in the 1950s and was told that I couldn’t join the Little League. My mind and body grieves to this day that I received such little encouragement toward physical excellence.

Times have changed. Thanks to the hard work of many women and “a few good men,” in the often criticized “Women’s Movement,” I watched my daughter play in the Little League. She remains much more energetic and in better shape than I.

Over the years, I’ve seen great systemic and institutional strides toward a more holistic life for women. But rarely have I seen this change on the face of an American male, like I did on July 10.

I was down at the dock at Mount Desert Island campground, when I heard the roar from the woods. It was too early for the World Series and too late for the Super Bowl. I know nothing about the Stanley Cup. My friend said, “We must have won.” I said, “Won what?”

“The women’s soccer,” she said.

We made our way up to the bank of the noisy campsite. There, with his family and some of his guy friends, was your average American male in a blue baseball cap, watching a small television – and absolutely jubilant over the women’s victory. Huh? Maybe I’ve been in the Oakland woods too long, but I am not used to men anticipating a women’s sports event with such enthusiasm, or celebrating a women’s victory with such joy.

It moved me in a very deep place. Perhaps decades of struggle can pay off in ordinary moments. I didn’t cry; I should have. None of us cry enough. Perhaps I’ve internalized too much traditional male stuff or too much dumb personal pride. I should have wept for joy, when you think of it. I should have asked this guy’s name and told him how I felt about his excitement, but damn it, I didn’t. I would like to thank him now.

I hope that he reads this, or that one of his friends reads this and lets him know I wrote it. Thank you for a wonderful memory. The sound of triumph from the trees.

Thank you for imprinting on my psyche a living image of the face of change.

Susan Jamieson Oakland