Tales of Tennessee
by Marvin West

Hang 22 from the ceiling

Steve Pearl’s number is headed for the rafters. As sure as you are reading Tales of Tennessee, 22 will be the next basketball number retired in Big Orange Country. Anticipate another celebration of wonderful times past, standing ovations, happy hugs and sincere pats on the back.

Bruce Pearl’s son figures to be in the front row of the cheering section. He is wearing 22 on a temporary lease arrangement, negotiated with a famous friend of the family. The number belongs to Ernie Grunfeld. He said OK when Steve asked to wear it awhile.

The return of Bernard King, the impressive retirement of his 53 and the victory over Kentucky combined for an electric evening at Thompson-Boling Arena. Thank goodness Ray Mears was part of the party. Of course Ernie was there.

No question Bernard deserved first honors. He was the best ever. Forgive or forget past sins. That was 30 years ago.

Many, many memories of Ernie and Bernie have competed for playing time in my old mind. Bernard was in our home as an 18-year-old. He wrote poetry and read it to Sarah. He never knew what to think of me but he whispered his dreams to her.

I remember when Bernard ordered a hamburger at a famous restaurant, when everybody else was having prime rib or rack of lamb. I remember when he came to a formal team meeting munching French fries. Mears was shocked. I remember when the King stopped the team bus and ran into a drug store to buy batteries for his music box.

I tried to describe Bernard’s greatest college moments – and they were sensational. I did not sweep his troubles under a rug. I thought it was best that he depart early for the NBA. I thought it was terrific that he finally returned.

It was so good to see Bernard smile. It was sad that Stu Aberdeen didn’t live to enjoy the show. It was moving to see the great Grunfeld off to the side, applauding enthusiastically.
Ernie and Bernie played the same way, unselfishly, tough with a touch of class. That’s why one basketball was enough for two All-Americans. They shared mutual respect. Mark this on your calendar: King will be back when Grunfeld is honored.

Grunfeld is deserving. He put it all together. His word was his bond. When he told Aberdeen he’d come to Tennessee, that was the end of a mad recruiting race. He was a classic good citizen. He went to class. He was proud, punctual, polite, smart. He worked hard at his game. OK, he wasn’t real good on defense.

At the other end of the floor, Grunfeld was a scorer, not a shooter. He wore out opponents between the wing and the hoop. He shot a lot of free throws, 653, four more than he deserved, according to former Kentucky coach Joe B. Hall.

Joe and other old Wildcats remain miffed that Ernie innocently strolled to the line and threw up a few free ones when Kentuckians were certain they had fouled Irv Chatman. Do you really think Ernie would have done such a thing, just because Chatman was shooting 22 percent?

At the time, Ernie said “I don’t know what would make people think such a thing.” He said he felt a foul. He noted that an official handed him the ball and allowed him to shoot.

Gamesmanship? He never considered it a big deal. So, maybe he shot four for Irv. He got 39 other points that night in a 90-88 Tennessee victory.

Ernie G is a glorious success story. He was born on April 23, 1955, in Satu-Mare, Romania, to Alex and Livia Grunfeld, Jewish survivors of the Holocaust, the Nazi purge of World War II. The once affluent family arrived broke in New York when Ernie was 9. They spoke Hungarian.
The Grunfelds got jobs, persevered, saved dollars and opened a cloth and sewing shop. Ernie knew about love. He learned about discipline and effort. He worked with his parents in the store, after school and in summers, until his dad noticed his interest (and skill) in playground basketball.

In improving English, Alex said “Go play, I’ll hire somebody to do your job.”

Grunfeld played. As a senior at Forest Hills, he was New York’s scholar-athlete of the year. He was the first white player in 10 years to make all-city. He was a prep All-American.

I know. I was there. I checked out his high school and the playground from whence he came. I visited the Grunfeld apartment. I saw the trophies. I understood he was good. Aberdeen said he’d be great. In several ways, he exceeded expectations.

Ernie G was second only to King at Tennessee. He went where Bernard wasn’t invited, representing the Vols and the U.S. in the International Cup, the Pan-Am Games and the Olympics in Montreal. He brought his gold medal to Neyland Stadium and seemed surprised by the applause.

Grunfeld wasn’t a pro star but he played nine years in the NBA and stayed as a radio analyst, assistant coach and eventually an executive, general manager for the New York Knicks and Milwaukee Bucks, now the respected president of basketball operations for the Washington Wizards. He’s one of the big boys, one of nine on the USA Basketball Committee. Yes, he has a flaw. He smokes cigars.

Once asked about the unlikely trip from the strange beginning to the top of the world, Grunfeld said he’d never had spare time to think how far he’d come – but God bless America.

Many times Ernie G has made the university proud. His contributions have been considerable. High on that list was his recommendation of Steve Pearl’s dad to be coach of the Volunteers.

Retiring basketball numbers is a fun idea. Hang 22.


(Marvin West invites reader reaction. His address is westwest6@netzero.com).