People in my life

I hung around the Hagert playground area with the WTO boys. Pat was a Lot boy but he was one of those dudes everyone liked and respected and we hung out often, playing sports, finding trouble, whatever. He was a funny and fun person to be around.

We once played a tackle football game at Franklin field, right off Clearfield and Jasper streets, near the Conwell Middle Magnet school in Philly. We had the game setup for about a week against the guys that hung and lived around Conwell school. We were around 16 and under or so but the locals had guys from about 15 to 22 years old on their team. We were on their turf, a frozen and unforgiving field, a long way from home. Only about 6 or 7 of us showed up to play at first, a few younger skinny guys and couple seasoned players.

Our reputation had proceeded us as reckless and tough talking and in a few instances, a little fearless (or foolish, depending on your point of view). Well, we went ahead and started the game with what we had which wasn't much. No substitutes to give somebody a breather, not much talent and severely outnumbered. We weren't the confident bunch we normally were and we got pushed around for awhile. As with every game in which we played against different neighborhoods, the potential for violence lingered, but this time we were the ones that seemed to pray for civility. It was too far to tuck tail and run if it got too ugly and standing our ground and fighting meant attempting to overcome 4-1 odds for each one of us. We had become so confident that we never calculated odds and that threatened to be our undoing. We were handled very rough and we're down 4 touchdowns to one. I was sacked at an attempt filling in as a quarterback, by being flung in a circle by my shirt and lost the ball in the process. I was ridiculed and laughed at for being the one with a big mouth and then not backing it up when it was my turn to make or save a play. It looked grim. Three plays later it happened.

Pat caught a pass and he was tackled in a similar manner; grabbed by the shirt at the back of the neck and swung unceremoniously to the ground, by the same guy that got me a few plays earlier. He started to crow and howl and dance and talk all type of garbage. Pat slowly stood up, brushed himself off and turned towards the defender. And out of nowhere Pat Morris drilled the guy right in his head with the football! Bounced it right off his forehead!!!! Everything froze. I thought that this was it, time to fight or fuck off. My reaction was almost instantaneous. I shouted, “Yeah, Pat, fuck these dudes!!!”, laughing like a loon. Pat just stood there, looking at the dude, almost daring him to do something. The other player shook it off and they exchanged some words while their sideline started to get rowdy, I for one was so busy celebrating that play that we hardly took notice. It didn't seem like much had happened but to me it seemed that we proved our mettle once again. Little by little, more of our friends trickled in and we were able to turn the game around. I don't remember if we won or not but we wound up playing 3 or 4 more games that day. More importantly, we showed the courage that made us who we were, if only to ourselves...if only to myself, and it was Pat Morris that provided the spark. I learned that we didn't calculate odds because we knew that all we had to do was stand when we needed to.

Pat was an athletic, good looking young man. Dark hair, clean-cut looking with maybe the hint of a stubble of beard. He was wearing a white headband, a t-shirt over a white thermal underwear top, a pair of sports gloves, football cleats and dark basketball shorts, despite the freezing cold. That moment is burned into my being until the end of time. I don't even know if anyone else shares this memory but to me it holds profound meaning. It was art work come to life. I live my life each day knowing that, no matter what the odds, we must stand up for what we know is right.

I know that it was most likely just a simple act of defiance probably motivated by frustration and maybe youthful aggression perpetrated by what could have been any anonymous teenager. But to me, in my delusions of grandeur, I saw a brother stand up to a rival when I was being timid, and it has inspired a lot of my life. So, thank you, Pat Morris. May God keep and bless you, and we'll meet again one day.