***Of This And That In The Old North Adamsville Neighborhood-In Search Of…..A Running Guy 

 

 

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

For those who have been following this series about the old days in my old home town of North Adamsville, particularly the high school day as the 50^th anniversary of my graduation creeps up, you will notice that recently I have been doing sketches based on my reaction to various e-mails sent by fellow classmates via the class website. So I have taken on the tough tasks of sending kisses to raging grandmothers, talking up old flames with guys I used to hang around the corners with, remembering those long ago searches for the heart of Saturday night, getting wistful about elementary school daydreams, taking up the cudgels for be-bop lost boys and the like. That is no accident as I have of late been avidly perusing the personal profiles of various members of the North Adamsville Class of 1964 website as fellow classmates have come on to the site and lost their shyness about telling their life stories (or have increased their computer technology capacities, not an unimportant consideration for the generation of ’68, a generation on the cusp of the computer revolution and so not necessarily as savvy as the average eight-year old today).

Of course not everybody who graduated with me in that baby-boomer times class of over five hundred students had a literary flare or could articulate their dreams in the most coherent way. But they had dreams, and they have today when we have all been through about seven thousand of life’s battles, good and bad, a vehicle to express whatever they want. As I have mentioned before in other sketches I have spent not a little time lately touting the virtues of the Internet in allowing me and the members of the North Adamsville Class of 1964, or what is left of it, the remnant that has survived and is findable with the new technologies to communicate with each other some fifty years and many miles later on a class website recently set up to gather in classmates for our 50^th anniversary reunion.  (Some will never be found by choice or by being excluded from the “information super-highway” that they have not been able to navigate.) Interestingly those who have joined the site have, more or less, felt free to send me private e-mails telling me stories about what happened back in the day in school or what has happened to them since their jailbreak from the confines of the old town.

Some stuff is interesting to a point, you know, including those endless tales about the doings and not doings of the grandchildren mentioned above, odd hobbies and other ventures taken up in retirement and so on although not worthy of me making a little off-hand commentary on. Some stuff is either too sensitive or too risqué to publish on a family-friendly site. Some stuff, some stuff about the old days and what did, or did not, happened to, or between, fellow classmates, you know the boy-girl thing (other now acceptable relationships were below the radar then) has naturally perked my interest. Other stuff as here defies simple classification such as this unsolicited contribution on my part to a neglected track man from my era (okay, okay friend too).

 

On The Loneliness Of The Long Distance Runner -For The Great Runner Of Our Class of 1964, Bill Cadger

 

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

 

This sketch started life a few years ago as a question about why my schoolboy friend the great cross-country runner and trackman, Bill Cadger, had not been inducted into the North Adamsville Sports Hall of Fame. Well that question was summarily answered for me in passing-except for football there is not such organization. Nevertheless, if for no other reason than to get Mr. Cadger to come out of his lair over in Newton and join this site, the following appreciation of his skills stands the test of time.   

 

Funny how things come back to haunt you, although maybe haunt is not just the right word but will do for now. I, probably like you, was over the top in high school about the school teams, especially football. On any given autumn Saturday the big weekday issues were like tissue in the wind when the question of third down and six, pass or run, held the world on its axis. Many a granite grey, frost-tinged, leaves-changing afternoon I spent (or maybe misspent) yelling myself hoarse cheering on our gridiron goliaths, the North Adamsville Red Raiders, to another victory. Cheering for guys I knew, some of whom I knew personally.

Those guys, those brawny guys, who held our humbles fates, our spiritual fates in their hands if you must know because many of us took the occasional defeats just slightly less hard than the team, deserved plenty of attention and applause, no question. Today though I don’t want to speak of them, but of those kindred in the lesser sports, specifically my own high school sports, cross country, winter track and spring track. Running, running in shorts, in all seasons to be exact. I will mention my own checkered career only in passing. You need not hold your breath waiting for thundering- hoofed grand exploits, or Greek mythical olive branch glory on my account.

What you should give your attention to is my aim below to give, or rather to get, some long overdue recognition for the outstanding runner of our high school days, Bill Cadger. Arguably the best all-around trackman of the era, the era of the “geek” runner, the runner scorned and abused by motorist and pedestrian alike, before the avalanche of honors fell to any half-baked runner when “running for your life” later had some cache. Christ, even the guys on the just so-so tennis team got more school recognition, and more importantly, girl recognition, the boffo, beehive-haired, Capri-pants-wearing, cashmere sweater-wearing, tight sweater-wearing girls and even I went over to the courts on Billings Road when the team had competitions to check out the, uh, volleys and serves.

Needless to say no such fanfare tarnished our lonely pursuits, our lonely, desolate pursuits, running out in all weathers. Even the female track scorer was nothing but the girlfriend of one of the shot-putters, and she served only because no other girl would do it, and she loved her shot-putter. Here is how bad it was- a true story I swear. I spent considerable time talking up one female fellow classmate whom I noticed was looking my way one day. That went on for a while and we got friendly. One day she asked me if I played any sports and so I used that opening to pad up my various meager exploits figuring that would impress her. Her response- “Oh, do they have a track team here?”

Yes sad indeed, but so that such an injustice will not fall on Bill Cadger’s eternal exploits I, a few years back, determined to pursue a campaign to get him recognition in the North Adamsville Sports Hall of Fame. To that end I wrote up the following simple plea for justice, the superbly- reasoned argument for Mr. Cadger’s inclusion in the Hall of Fame:

Why is the great 1960s cross country and track runner, Bill Cadger, not in the North Adamsville Sports Hall Of Fame?

“Okay, okay I am a “homer” (or to be more contemporary, a “homeboy”) on this question. In the interest of full disclosure the fleet-footed Mr. Cadger and I have known each other since the mist of time. We go all the way back to being schoolmates down at Snug Harbor Elementary School in one of the old town’s housing projects, the notorious Adamsville “projects” that devoured many a boy, including my two brothers and almost, within an inch, got me. Bill and I survived that experience and lived to tell the tale. What I want to discuss today though is the fact that this road warrior's accomplishments, as a cross-country runner and trackman (both indoors and out), have never been truly recognized by the North Adamsville High School sports community. (See below for a youthful photograph of the “splendid speedster” in full racing regalia.).

And what were those accomplishments? Starting as a wiry, but determined, sophomore Bill began to make his mark as a harrier beating seniors, top men from other teams on occasion, and other mere mortals. Junior year he began to stake out his claim on the path to Olympus by winning road races on a regular basis. In his senior year Bill broke many cross-country course records, including a very fast time on the storied North Adamsville course. A time, by the way, that held up as the course record for many years afterward. Moreover, in winter track that senior year Bill was the State Class B 1000-yard champion, pulling out a heart-stopping victory. His anchor of the decisive relay in a dual meet against Somerville's highly-touted state sprint champion is the stuff of legends.

Bill also qualified to run with the “big boys” at the fabled schoolboy National Indoor Championships at Madison Square Garden in New York City. His outdoor track seasons speak for themselves. I will not detain you here with the grandeur of his efforts for I would be merely repetitive. Needless to say he was captain of all three teams in his senior year. No one questioned the aptness of those decisions.

Bill and I have just recently re-united [2008], the details which need not detain us here, after some thirty years. After finding him, one of the first things that I commented on during one of our “bull sessions” was that he was really about ten years before his time. In the 1960s runners were “geeks.” You know-the guys, and then it was mainly guys, who ran in shorts on the roads and mainly got honked at, yelled at, and threatened with mayhem by irate motorists. And the pedestrians were worse, throwing an occasional body- block at runners coming down the sidewalk outside of school. That was the girls, those “fragile” girls of blessed memory. The boys shouted out catcalls, whistles, and trash talk about maleness, male unworthiness, and their standards for it that did not include what we were doing. Admit it. That is what you thought, and maybe acted on then too.

In the 1970's and 1980's runners of both sexes became living gods and goddesses to a significant segment of the population. Money, school scholarships, endorsements, soft-touch “self-help” clinics, you name it. Then you were more than willing to “share the road with a runner.” Friendly waves, crazed schoolgirl-like hanging around locker rooms for the autograph of some 10,000 meter champion whose name you couldn’t pronounce, crazed school boy-like droolings when some foxy woman runner with a tee-shirt that said “if you can catch me, you can have me” passed you by on the fly, and shrieking automobile stops to let, who knows, maybe the next Olympic champion, do his or her stuff on the road. Admit that too.

And as the religion spread you, suddenly hitting thirty-something, went crazy for fitness stuff, especially after Bobby, Sue, Millie, and some friend’s grandmother hit the sidewalks looking trim and fit. And that friend’s grandma beating you, beating you badly, that first time out only added fuel to the fire. And even if you didn’t get out on the roads yourself you loaded up with your spiffy designer jogging attire, one for each day of the week, and high-tech footwear. Jesus, what new aerodynamically-styled, what guaranteed to take thirteen seconds off your average mile time, what color- coordinated, well- padded sneaker you wouldn’t try, and relegate to the back closet. But it was better if you ran. And you did for a while. I saw you, and Bill did too. You ran Adamsville Beach, Castle Island, the Charles River, Falmouth, LaJolla, and Golden Gate Park. Wherever. Until the old knees gave out, or the hips, or some such combination “war story” stuff. But see, by then, Bill had missed his time.

Now there is no question that a legendary football player like Bill Curran from our class should be in the North Adamsville Sports Hall of Fame. On many a granite gray autumn afternoon old "Bull Winkle" thrilled us with his gridiron prowess running over opponents at will. But on other days, as the sun went down highlighting the brightly-colored falling leaves, did you see that skinny kid running down East Squantum Street toward Adamsville Beach for another five mile jaunt? No, I did not think so. I have now, frankly, run out of my store of sports spiel in making my case. Know this though; friendship aside, Bill belongs in the Hall. What about making a place in the Hall for the kid with the silky stride who worked his heart out, rain or shine, not only for his own glory but North's.