IZ: broadcaster, actor, singer ... legendary character

     (Part I of 4)    

      There was a young man named Irving
      Who to sing was always right willing
       He burst into song
       At the sound of the gong
       And to hear him was always right thrilling.
                            -- Alice Thomsen

Irving Zeidman ("IZ") at home
in Shreveport's old ballpark.

      Irving Zeidman -- the memorable and legendary IZ in Shreveport -- was a magnetic personality, a center-stage character.
      Center stage, figuratively and literally.
      He was, to those of us who knew him first as a sports broadcaster, our introduction and early education to baseball (Shreveport Sports, 1954-61) and college basketball (Centenary College, late 1950s through mid-1960s).
      After that, through the end of his too-short life, he was most remembered as "Tevye," the milkman/narrator of Fiddler on the Roof, and he starred in the summers of 1971 and '72 in one of the Shreveport Little Theater's most popular productions ever (to this day, I would guess).
      Irv was Tevye -- his Jewish roots showing, his beautiful baritone voice (he really could sing) booming, his large sense of humor ever-present.
      He was a big man (6-foot-4, 200-plus pounds), an athlete once and forever (in his mind), a funny, loud story-telling, room-dominating presence. If the situation presented itself, he would sing ... anywhere, any time.
      He was not -- obviously -- bashful. He was not, at times, humble, and not often soft-spoken. But he was genuine. 
      Long before Fiddler, as a younger man, he participated -- and sang, naturally -- in other plays and even an opera. In the first half of the 1970s, he became a Little Theater regular; among his roles, Don Quixote in Man of La Mancha.
      His dream "trilogy" of roles: Tevye, Don Quixote and Zorba The Greek. But Zorba was his impossible dream. He never got the chance.
      We lost Irv on November 6, 1975, heart disease (arteries). He was only 57. It was, apparently, hereditary; each of his parents also died of heart troubles at about the same age.
      Born too soon. A few years later, and maybe the medical developments that soon came to be -- bypasses, stents, etc. -- might have given IZ more time. 

Young Irving, left, with his father Abraham, mother
Sena, younger brother Morris, in Boonton, N.J.

      Only 57. As we grow older, as society grows older, we realize now his was a relatively short life. But he packed so much into it, and he had so much fun, gave pleasure to so many.
      In his lifetime, he was a good son, brother, football player and discus thrower, a husband, father and grandfather ("Zeda"), a soldier, a radio personality (morning show), a baseball-basketball-football announcer, insurance salesman, community theater actor who might have gone big-time. 
      If you knew Irv -- and that became my privilege as a young sportswriter -- he was (obviously as I write this) unforgettable. 
      He knew my parents, knew their story and, because he'd grown up Jewish -- his parents were immigrants from Europe --  and he'd been in the U.S. Army in World War II, he could relate.
      We would see him around town, and he always spoke. His visits to The Shreveport Times sports department (early 1970s), mostly to see sports editor/columnist (and friend) Bill McIntyre -- who wrote about the Sports and Centenary -- were always interesting. Irv, as noted, took over the room, always with stories and opinions.
      He had grown up in Boonton, N.J., close to New York City (where he was born) and his boast for years was he was "the greatest athlete to ever come out of Boonton." The reply would be: Was there any competition?
---
      This year, as I again researched professional baseball in Shreveport and touched on the first "golden age" of the Shreveport Sports (in the early 1950s), I thought of Irv often.
      Knew he was a native New Yorker, transplanted Southerner. But when and how had he come to Shreveport?
       Remembered his youngest son, Danny, from athletics in the early 1960s and at Byrd High School. Remember Irv's wife (Hazel) with a strawberry-blonde complexion; Danny favored her. Knew of Irv's sports and stage connections.
       But what else? Wanted to write about him.
       So through Internet and then Facebook searches, I found a grandson, who led me to the two Zeidman daughters -- Barbara and Susan -- who survive. The two sons, David (Susan's twin) and Danny, died too soon.
        Susan, as it turns out, has resided in this area (Fort Worth-Dallas) for years. She now lives in Frisco; we corresponded by Facebook, and then met recently, where we perused a large stack of newspaper clippings/stories about IZ, and photos, too.
        Some of what I am writing is taken from those clippings, especially the columns done by McIntyre (The Times) and Jerry Byrd (Shreveport Journal) a day or two after Irving's death, recounting his life and contributions. Some are Susan's recollections.
         Some are mine. Because he was a significant part of my early days in this country and Shreveport.
         Next: IZ, the sports broadcaster

Vinny and KG: the best in our business

     In my 45 years of newspapering, Vince Langford and Ken Gladstone were the absolute best at what they did.
     Sports copy editors -- an unsung, behind-the-scenes job.
     Without them working to make stories accurate and sharp, to write -- or as often was the case, rewrite -- headlines, journalism loses.
     As of this week, both are retired.

Vince Langford (Star-Telegram photo)

     Before I go any further, you should know this: These two guys are among the best friends I ever worked alongside. (Ken is a year or two older than me; Vince a few years younger). So, yes, I am extremely partial.
     We shared many stories and laughs, and we battled -- grinded -- toward many late-night deadlines. I greatly admired their work ethic and their dedication. 
     But anyone who worked with them -- Vinny at the Houston Post (which folded in 1995) and for the last 21 years at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram (I was there for almost 10), KG at the Florida Times-Union in Jacksonville for 24 years (five when I was there) and then 11 more at the Orlando Sentinel -- likely will tell you what I'm telling you.
     They were excellent sports copy editors. They were the heart of the sports-desk operation.
     I worked with many talented sports columnists and writers, layout people (designers, in more modern terms) and sports editors. Some were as good as Vinny and KG in what they did; none was better.
     Yet while you easily would recognize columnists and writers from their photos and bylines, few outside our building knew just how valuable these guys were. 
     But those of us on the sports desks sure as heck knew.

Valerie and Ken Gladstone

     Vinny and KG knew the English language -- yes, grammar and punctuation and sentence structure; they knew sports, and sports history, and when they weren't sure, they were diligent fact-checkers. 
     They could polish well-done columns and stories; they could make the so-so efforts reasonable reads. They often improved headlines, or came up with clever ones themselves. 
     And they did it with a soft touch, not tearing up what the writers had done ... and doing it quietly. Rarely if ever did they admonish or criticize anyone publicly -- a great trait.
     Never heard either of them talk much about themselves, certainly not brag -- no ego involved -- and they deflected praise the best they could. No bull or craziness from them.
     Going to say right here that neither -- especially Vinny -- will relish this blog piece being done. But it's my blog, so ... 
     (And if they want to make corrections, as they have done often on things I wrote or missed while copy editing, they are free to do so.)
---
     Most appreciated, though, by me -- not exactly Mr. Cool -- was their ability to work through the chaos of a newsroom, specifically the sports desk.
     It could be a noisy place, full of mischief and "jocularity" -- thank you, Father Mulcahy of M*A*S*H -- and people watching (not quietly) games on television. 
     Vinny and KG just kept working. Not much time to waste, no desire to let stories pile up in their queues. (There were editors -- assigning editors -- and copy editors who took forever to work stories, and of course, writers filing copy who pushed us to the limit -- and beyond -- on deadline.)
     They were most often responsible for "the last read" on stories and columns, so it was a key role.
     Neither had final say of story play and photo selection; that was left to the sports editors/assistant sports editor, "night editors" and main design people. But Vinny and Ken made many big decisions on how well stories read.
      (Two others, Steve Schroats and Roger Pinckney, filled the night editor/copy chief roles most nights at the Star-Telegram, both with the same selfless traits as Vinny.)
     Ken's title at the Times-Union was sports copy "chief" (hail to our chief), although at one point before I arrived he had been a co-sports editor.
     Vinny did not have a "chief" title, but most nights that in effect is what he was. He most often made out the "duty roster" -- assigning stories to the copy editors -- and no question that he directed traffic in our department.
     (The night of my "tryout" at the Star-Telegram, my tall and talented friend Vince assigned me 14-15-16 stories -- I lost count; it was a terribly busy night -- and it was so many that the department workers thought I'd never return. I did, to haunt them for a decade.)
     My guys were intense workers. If the noise or fun got to be too much (I was never guilty of that, right), Vinny sometimes pointedly put a stop to it. But when there was time, he had as great a sense of humor as anyone.
      KG was more laid-back. He did not often instigate the fun, but took part in the laughter. But I do know of one instance he did not appreciate.
      A new sports editor -- words were not his strong suit -- was talking with Ken about his role on the sports desk and observed "you make a lot of money for what you do."
      That did not go over well with KG, and even less with me when he related that tale to me.     
---       
      In the massive reduction in the newsroom at the Star-Telegram over the past nine years, Vince survived. Having reached Medicare age and needing to take care of family matters, he leaves this week -- thankfully, on his own accord.
      He is going home to Tulsa to care for his elderly mother, and I am sure, root for the Oklahoma Sooners -- he is an OU graduate (1973) -- and the Houston Astros. He will commiserate with me on what he always calls "the Yankee boys."
      I suspect that Vinny would have stayed longer at the Star-Telegram had the job not changed. But the McClatchy Corp. powers have broken apart the sports desk for a "universal" desk, and the job title "audience growth editor" -- where online clicks are more important than the old-style print newspaper -- is not what we desired. (Cannot imagine myself in that role.)
      KG has been a Florida resident since high school, a transplanted Long Islander who came to Ocala with his retiring parents and did a couple of stints at the University of Florida (so he's a Gators fan; he's not perfect).
      He got his layoff note from the Orlando paper in 2011, worked a couple of short-lived sports copy editing jobs since then, and through some health issues, had fun working at Disney World and now as an Uber driver.
      If he had his choice, I'm guessing, he still would be editing sports copy at a large daily newspaper.
      We share a lot of "inside" jokes, and one is the rumor that Val and Ken have been married for 21 years (gee, we missed the wedding). KG also knows that we had "morons on our team" and "we have got no money going down the mountain." (These are lines I adopted/adapted from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. He's heard them often.)
      As I said, newspapers are a poorer lot without Vinny and KG. 
      I have used my blog to say thank you to many people who played important roles in my life and my career, and here are two more. 
      They edited to daylight, and nearly every day made very good sports sections even better.

Family matters: about the name Van Thyn

    Leo Van Thyn, a native Dutchman who lives in Canada, is our family historian -- genealogy is one of his interests -- and it is through him that we found much of the Van Thyn origin.
    When he first contacted us in the mid-1990s, as I recall through my parents and my sister Elsa, we found another cousin. 
     Not quite sure of the connection, but it is only a few generations back. For sure, Leo and I have much in common, such as:
     -- Born in Amsterdam, to parents who had survived the Holocaust.
     -- His father's name was Abraham; my mother's father's name was Abraham.
     -- Came to North America with our parents and one younger sister in the mid-1950s, he to the Toronto area, us to Shreveport; he was almost 11; I was 8 1/2.
     -- Within a half year of each other in 1976-77, we each married a woman with a child from a previous marriage (their Lisa, our Jason were born in 1974). Then we happily added to our families.
     -- Remarkably, we each have a daughter originally named Rachel Van Thyn. Ours is two years older.
     -- We had long careers in jobs we loved -- Leo in teaching, me in a less-important endeavor (sportswriting).
     -- We are sports fans. Leo roots mostly for Toronto teams (Blue Jays, the long-suffering Maple Leafs, and the  Argonauts of the Canadian Football League). He first was a New York Yankees fan, in the days of Mantle (his favorite all-time player), Maris, Yogi, Whitey, Richardson, Kubek "and the boys," and then 20 years later when the Blue Jays began playing, "I changed allegiance."
     That was a mistake, of course, although he is forgiven a bit when he writes, "I still have a soft spot for the Yankees, which, by the way, is not a popular stance around here." 
     -- We like writing, and are prolific at it. 
     Eventually I am going to turn this blog piece over to Leo, to write about his family's story and about our last name.
     When I asked him for a brief summary of his life for this blog, he answered with a l-o-n-g, eight-paragraph "summary." Like I said prolific.
     He started with this: "I seriously doubt most of your readers care about some guy with the same name as you who lives in that vast country north of the U.S. [and] who cheers for foreign teams."

     Hey, we care. Now, here is where we are a bit different:

Carol and Leo Van Thyn

     -- He is much older (eight months-plus older) and that's easy to see. He might have less hair, but more above his upper lip. 
     -- He and Carol have three children, to our two. They have three grandchildren, to our four (theirs are the same age range as our oldest three). Our family likely won't grow; theirs might.       
     -- Their grandchildren live within 15 minutes, so they see a lot of them. One set of ours is an hour-and-a-half away; the other set is two good days' driving away.
     -- They are much more religious than we are.
     Leo is "actively involved in the ritual aspects of our synagogue" (a half-mile from their house), "one of two coordinators of all things High Holy Days, which takes 5-6 months." 
     Carol has worked at the synagogue as administrative secretary since the early 1990s, so their responsibilities often overlap. Their Rachel, now married, is a rabbi in Brooklyn.
---
     Leo was a school teacher for 30 years in west Toronto (they live in Mississauga, a sizable suburb). He taught all grades, from kindergarten to grade 9, specifically mathematics, English, and history in the older grades. In 1998, he retired as a teacher and then worked at a GM dealership until 2009. 
     He enjoys going with his children to see Toronto's sports teams play occasionally, says that rooting for the Maple Leafs (no Stanley Cup champions since 1967, rarely a contender) qualifies "for psychological evaluation."
     His life these days: "I go to the gym three times a week, do synagogue stuff, a little genealogy, and spend as much time as possible with my grandchildren. The highlight of my week is when they visit for Shabbat on Friday afternoon. The religious holidays often become an excuse to be with them."

---

     Leo, on his family's history:
     "My parents, may they rest in peace, were Abraham van Thijn and Clara Vos. They were married in September 1941 and were almost immediately deported to concentration camps, ending up in Auschwitz. They spent 3 1/2 years in captivity. 
     "After being freed in 1945, they had to begin again. Ninety percent of our family had been murdered. I know all of their names. [His parents] were afraid, as were many others, that the Soviets would gobble up all of Europe and that the same nightmare would begin again. 
     "In the early 1950s they applied to emigrate to the U.S. However, to go to the U.S., you had to be sponsored by someone. My mom's first cousin, living in the Cleveland area, working as an appliance salesman, was deemed to have insufficient income to sponsor two adults and two children.
     "They had friends in Toronto, Canada. Personal sponsorship was not required. The Jewish Immigration and Aid Services supported us and we arrived in Toronto on September 25, 1957. At the time I was almost 11 and my sister Frances (Frouke) was 6. In 1958 my sister Kay was born."
---
     A little more than a week ago, Leo sent this note -- about our name -- to members of the Van Thyn family:
     "On September 25 sister Frances and I marked 60 years living in the Toronto area.  It made me think of lots of things but especially our last name.  As most of you have experienced and are experiencing, the name causes much confusion. 
     "Even in this day of computerized everything there will be times when at an office or store, someone can’t find me in their system.  We might be under V but it may be entered as VAN THYN or VANTHYN.  Sometimes I am under T because they think VAN is another first name of mine rather than part of my last name.  It is amazing how often I receive things addressed to Mr. THYN.
     "My passport is VAN THYN. My driver's license is VANTHN. My health card used to be VAN-THYN and it took a while to get through the bureaucracy to change it. There are other examples.
     "My parents realized this more than 50 years ago and simply changed their last name to Vanthyn. As such sister Kay [and her family] don't have to deal with this. I wanted the name to remain as close to the original as possible and didn't go along with the change. 
     "If we were living in The Netherlands our name would be "van Thijn" rather than what we use in North America. In Dutch VAN is neither a first name nor a last name. In the Dutch white pages, we would be listed under T: eg. Thijn, Leo van. VAN is simply a connector like VON in German, DE in French, DI in Italian, FON in Yiddish, etc. The letter Y is written as "ij" in Dutch.
     "In 1811 our name was created because Napoleon declared that all citizens in the empire should have civic last names. Jewish folk simply had no last names. There were a lot of Abraham Josephs, Jacob Isaacs, Solomon Nathans, etc., walking around and he simply couldn’t keep track of the taxes he demanded."  
       The name can be traced to what is now the Czech Republic. There's more, but we'll leave it here.
       Leo wrapped up that letter with: "Aren't you glad you asked? [On Oct. 4] I turned 71. It's my excuse for a lot of things.
       "Peace and love."
       OK, well, Leo, we didn't ask. But thank you. And, yes, we are familiar with seeing the name in different forms.
---  
       We first met Leo and Carol at a Thanksgiving family gathering in Knoxville in the late 1990s. The connection then included Ron and Sonja Dubois of Knoxville. Sonja is part of the family (her birth name was Clara Van Thyn).
       She was a "hidden Dutch child" -- subject of a blog piece more than five years ago.
       Leo reminded me of our parents' connection.
       "I should point out that my parents knew of your parents," he wrote. "They met your father a number of times when he was a streetcar conductor [in Amsterdam].
      "The name "van Thijn" was not all that uncommon as we come from a very large family, so they didn't assume that our fathers were related. To you and me the name seems quite uncommon.
       "In the early 1970s I started genealogical research and with my mother's help I wrote a letter to your parents about our possible connection. It took quite a while to get answered and your parents wrote that they didn't believe we were related. 
      "It wasn't until the late 1990s that my studies uncovered that all van Thijns were related, as were van Tijns, and van Teijns, and many Fontijns, Fonteijns, and Fonteins.
      "You might remember that when Carol and I visited Sonja and Ron ... we suddenly showed up at your house, and your parents and children were there. I already had been corresponding with Elsa, but she didn't know what I looked like and she told me later that when we arrived at your house her initial thoughts were, 'How dare Sonja invite strangers?' "
      But we are connected, and that's a good thing.
      "So often, when you write about your parents," Leo wrote, "I find myself thinking how alike your parents and mine were.
      "I really enjoyed corresponding with your mother for some years. It was like talking to my mother. Our parents had much in common and said so much of the same things." 
--- 
http://nvanthyn.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-hidden-dutch-child.html

Giovanni-Johnny Piazza: a story, a story-teller

      We knew him as Johnny Piazza, but that's only part of the story. At home growing up he was Giovanni Piazza, and that is Chapter 1.
    Our high school friend, our star fullback/linebacker in 1963, and "Mr. Woodlawn" in the 1964 yearbook, had 70 years of stories stored up.
    So he put together his story -- and his many stories -- in a book, From Giovanni to Johnny, and I think that it is "a good read."
    It is a good read especially if you were a Woodlawn Knight in the 1960s. But it is a good read for anyone because it is about life in general.
    It is, as one of our mutual friends said, "an honest book. His recall of high school was spot-on; I was surprised he had kept all that within himself all this time. ... He kept this spark alive for 50 years. 
    "He captured the feeling of a period; it is a good period piece."
    This self-published, 222-page book is about Shreveport and the United States in the 1950s and 1960s, and then about Johnny's nearly four-decade career as a high school teacher and football coach.
    You will find that, in the end, he has great fulfillment from his career and from his marriage to Rosario, his wife of 28 years, and his children. 
    It is a plain-written story -- with lots of funny tales -- of a second-generation Italian kid growing and trying to find his place in his world. This is a book without harm, without malice.
     Makes one realize (again) that among your high school friends most are just casual friends -- or maybe acquaintances -- and you don't know what really is going on in their lives.
     To me, Johnny Piazza was quiet and polite, a team leader good enough to earn a college football scholarship, and one of the most popular kids in the WHS Class of '64.
      But read the book and you find that despite the outward camaraderie, there was much insecurity that he kept well-hidden. 
      His home life often was a tough one with his World War II Army veteran, policeman father. Johnny calls him his "oddfather" and says his mom was the soft touch. Johnny  came up in "Little Italy" of Shreveport, his Catholic roots showing, and he was teased endlessly about his Italian (more specifically, Sicilian) heritage.
     The "nice guy" we knew actually was a prankster and a bit of a troublemaker early in school; his junior high and high school dating life was a mess; his football playing days were challenging but satisfying; and his adjustment to being an ex-player took a while, as did his finding his career.
      Don't think we ever had a conversation of any detail or substance until Sunday night when we talked for 40 minutes about the book, about Woodlawn, and about our lives.
       "I was retired and I thought I had some good stories," Johnny said, "and I wanted to share some of the fun I had in high school and then as a teacher and coach."
---
       The book captured me in the first sentence of the introduction with a reference to The Beatles' song In My Life, one of my favorites. Johnny goes on to say that the book is "a shout out" to "the people who made my life so wonderful."
      He makes it fun by interjecting trivia-quiz questions (provides answers pages later) and short poems. There are many pop-culture references -- chapters on '50s/'60s music,   television, sports and automobiles. 
       There are lines from popular songs throughout the book.
       There are what I consider courageous chapters on the civil rights movement, the role of minorities in our society, abortion, the hippies, the Catholic church, women's rights and wrongs, and "Barbie." And one less serious one, a farce, on -- yes -- McDonald's.
        Much of the early portion deals with growing up in the neighborhood -- first in the Italian section a block from Texas League Park (later SPAR Stadium), later from deep in Cedar Grove, and all the trouble kids can find. Playing football in the street and on the playgrounds was foreshadowing.
       To be honest, the book includes some ethnic names, locker-room language and jokes, bawdy sexual references (body parts, bathroom humor) and a really smelly chapter on his summer work as a sanitation worker (garbage man).
        And there is an eye-rolling chapter on his U.S. Air Force Reserves' basic training and duty.    
        There are some corny plays on words ("eargasm," "eleckissity," "I don't know jack about Jill," great sets of "ears," "two silhouettes on the shade," "Rigor Mortis dance"). 
        I'm just saying, be warned.
---       
       For our Woodlawn friends, Chapter 11 is titled "Finding Camelot." 
       As an eighth-grader, he declined an invitation to attend the all-boys Catholic school in town (Jesuit), a decision he later regretted. In 1961, he originally was zoned into the well-known, highly regarded old-line high school -- yes, that school on Line Avenue -- and started there in the 10th grade.
       He stayed one long day, asked about football and was refused, realized it wasn't for him, and began skipping school. Found out, he confessed to his parents, and they went to the school board -- and arranged a transfer into the district where most of his junior high school friends were, the new school near Cedar Grove.

Miss and Mr. Woodlawn, 1964:
Sheila Mondello, Johnny Piazza

        His introduction to Woodlawn (page 72) will please just about any ex-Knight. Believe me.
        His loves: He goes into some detail -- but nothing explicit -- about girls he dated (the names are changed). These are nostalgic tales, and Johnny is self-deprecating, almost to a fault, and you can feel his pain at the breakups.
         His friends: His closest friends -- in football and off the field -- are Jack and Mitch, with the woebegone Don as an accomplice in mischief. They had some crazy adventures.
        Also mentioned are the "very truthful" Thomas as their designated straight guy, and Warren as part of a double-date Natchitoches Christmas Festival trip.
         Some photos from that time are there; those of us involved then know the last names. 
         Football: In 1963, Piazza was our best running back and one of the best players on that 8-3-1 team (an indication of how strong Woodlawn's program -- from 1961 to '69, that was the worst record of any team).
         All three losses were by one touchdown to strong opponents -- Bastrop, Byrd and Class AA state champ Minden. The tie, 7-7, was in the state playoffs at East Jefferson (Metairie) on a memorable day: Nov. 22, 1963. (East Jeff won the first-down tiebreaker, 6-5, to advance.)
       Johnny had a tough act to follow; the fullback from 1960 to '62, Tommy Linder, was Woodlawn's first outstanding running back who received an All-American honor and a college scholarship.
        Johnny's football recollections are not exactly what I remember, but I won't nit-pick here. As our friend Warren said, "You are probably the only one who would know those things anyway."
        In a very short chapter, Johnny pays tribute to our quarterback, Trey Prather (with his photo), and his death as a U.S. Marine in the Vietnam conflict. He mentions the other Woodlawn grads killed there, and follows with a chapter on the ugly Vietnam war. Very touching.
        Piazza earned a football scholarship to then-Northeast Louisiana University. He redshirted as a freshman, and paid the price for facing the varsity in scrimmages as new coach Dixie White, who had been an assistant at LSU, began to toughen the NLU program.
       But Jack and Don, who had gone to NLU with him for football, left after a semester, and Johnny -- heartsick for home and a girl he left behind -- decided he'd had enough, too. 
       Coach White told him he was the No. 3 running back on the depth chart for spring training 1965 when Johnny went in to tell him he was leaving. White was not happy.
       Eventually, after a wayward year or two, Piazza returned to NLU, his football desire gone but with new determination to earn a degree and become a teacher and coach.                
---
       And he did. As the book winds down, you sense the pride, pleasure and dedication he took in those jobs.
      There are plenty of stories about teaching American History, geography, civics and drivers' education (separate chapter) and his relationship with administration, fellow faculty and students.
      And on coaching. After nearly three decades as a freshman coach and then defensive coordinator at Southwood, he became head coach at -- as he writes it --  HHS.
      That's Huntington High, and the challenge he took on for five years there was as a white head coach at a predominately African-American school. 
       He three times had applied, and not received, head-coaching positions in Caddo Parish. But this turned out well. 
       After three sub-.500 seasons, the Raiders in 2002 had a 9-3 record and in 2003 went 8-5. No other Huntington teams in the school's 44-year history ever won that many games. 
       In 2002, Huntington won a playoff game for the first time since the school's lone playoff victory in 1980. In 2003, it won two playoff games. 
       In those years, Piazza points out, "We beat every Shreveport-Bossier public school we played." In the 9-3 season, two of the losses -- regular season and playoffs -- were to state superpower Evangel Christian, the private school which beat everyone else, too. 
       And in his personal life, Johnny also "hit it lucky."

Warren Gould, with Rosario and Johnny Piazza.

       He met Rosario, a native of The Philippines visiting the U.S. on a visa, through a date set up by a Filipino student of his. They clicked, and when she went home, he soon followed for a visit. "We got serious there," he recalled, and he asked her to marry him.
       Agreed. They filled out the necessary papers and in the summer of '89, she returned to the U.S. as Mrs. Piazza. 
       They have a daughter, Nicolette, 24. Johnny has two sons from a first marriage -- Chris, 45, and Benji, 43. And through a family connection, they have an "adopted" granddaughter, Sophia.   
      And now Johnny -- the little Italian kid grown up -- has a book.
     "I achieved a lot more than I ever thought I would," he  summed up Sunday night.
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To order the book: https://www.amazon.com/Giovanni-Johnny-cultures-setbacks-laughter/dp/0692594957 
    
               

Making the calls: basketball's striped shirts

      (Part II of series)
       Robert "Tony" Rhodes of Shreveport officiated a thousand-plus basketball games in 32 years. Two stand out.

Tony Rhodes, left, makes a call late in the 1980 NCAA men's Final
Four semifinal between UCLA (in blue) and Purdue.
(photo taken from official NCAA Final Four film, off YouTube)

       In March 1980, in Indianapolis, Rhodes -- for decades a high school coach in Northwest Louisiana -- was one of the officials in the NCAA Tournament's men's Final Four.
      Yes, the big show.
      He was one of three men calling the second semifinal, UCLA vs. Purdue. (UCLA, coached by Larry Brown, won to advance to the championship game vs. Louisville). Two days later, Tony helped call the third-place game: Purdue vs. Iowa.
      Known for his cool demeanor, good judgment, hustle, and strong mechanics, Rhodes was the epitome of the many college basketball officials from the area.
      He followed in the tradition of the area's most familiar  tandem of the 1950s and early 1960s, K.P. "Frenchy" Arceneaux and Alaric Smith, although they were better known as baseball umpires.
      And Tony preceded and overlapped with another prominent big-time Shreveport-Bossier college basketball referee: Mike Thibodeaux.

Mike Thibodeaux watches carefully

      Thibodeaux never got to the Final Four, but he got as close as a couple of Elite Eight assignments and his credentials are strong: 36 seasons, 27 in the Southeastern Conference, 14 NCAA Tournaments.       
      He left the floor for good just a couple of years ago -- after two hip replacements -- but remains deeply involved in officiating in Northwest Louisiana, although -- in a twist -- not in basketball.
       He is in his 28th year as the football assigning secretary for Louisiana High School Athletic Association area schools, and also has assigned baseball officials the past four years.
       Those positions might be as difficult as officiating games themselves.
       And Thibodeaux came away with a surprising connection ... ready? He has a friendship (of sorts) with Bobby Knight. Is that possible? Read on.
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       Among others from the Shreveport-Bossier area who officiated college basketball:
       -- Carl Pierson, the tall, lean junior high coach who became longtime athletic director for Caddo Parish schools. He called Southwestern Athletic Conference games for men and women for years (and also officiated football).
       -- Ed Hearron, coach-turned school administrator who was a Southland Conference referee for two decades (also worked in the Trans America and American South conferences) and called in a Final Four of the NCAA Division II championships.
       -- Danny Walker, whose two decades included games in the SEC among several conferences. (More on him below.)
       -- Billy Grisham, later a ref-turned-softball coach, was a confident referee in local high school gyms and officiated in the old Trans America Athletic Conference.
       -- Ron Payne, of nearby Plain Dealing, who had time in the Southland Conference. So did the late Mark Hensley of Haughton.
       All of them, plus Rhodes and Thibodeaux, got their starts at the local level and, for a couple, the experience grew with games in the very competitive East Texas junior college circuit -- Tyler, Kilgore, etc.
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Tony Rhodes today

       For most of three decades, Tony Rhodes was a high school coach -- football in late summer and fall, baseball or football in the spring. 
       First, in the early 1960s, he was an assistant at DeSoto (Mansfield), where he helped two future major-league pitchers, Vida Blue and Jesse Hudson, get started in baseball (they were football standouts, too). Then he moved as head coach to Walnut Hill, one of the smaller all-black schools on the outskirts of southwest Shreveport. He was there five years.
       When Caddo Parish schools integrated in January 1970, and Walnut Hill was phased out, Rhodes became a football assistant/head baseball coach at first-year Southwood High.
      Through the integration merging, black head coaches who had been moved to assistant jobs at previously all-white schools, were promised head coaching jobs when they came open. That happened for Tony in 1973 when Huntington High School opened in far west Shreveport.
       He was the Raiders' head coach for 18 football seasons. There wasn't overwhelming success, but the highlights were four district championships in a six-year span (1980, 1983-85) and five playoff teams, and a stretch of nine seasons in 10 with .500 or better records.

Another view, another call: Tony Rhodes, Final Four, 1980

       He was as well-known, though, for his "second job" -- basketball referee.
       It was not only a supplemental income, it kept him on the road each winter from 1965 to '97.
       At times, he called games in the Metro Conference, the Southland, SWAC, TAAC, and Big State (Texas schools), plus games for smaller schools in East Texas. 
       The NBA took a look, too -- in 1969, he called an exhibition game.
       There was more time for officiating after he left coaching following the 1980 season, a half year after his NCAA Final Four assignments. He moved into school administration for a short time, then taught ninth-grade math until retirement. And he officiated for another dozen years.
       He turned 77 earlier this month and still lives in Shreveport.
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       Mike Thibodeaux, 61, living in Princeton (rural Bossier Parish), was an athlete of sorts (basketball-baseball) at Southwood High and then Baptist Christian College in Shreveport. 
       Employed by Kansas City Southern railroad while living in Baton Rouge in 1980, he saw ads advertising for prospective officials for basketball and baseball, and joined up. Working games and then attending summer officiating camps, he grew more experienced and more interested.
       It was with the help of Mac Chauvin, an SEC referee and top Louisiana high school official from Baton Rouge (he later became assistant commissioner of the Louisiana High School Athletic Association in charge of officiating), that Thibodeaux broke into college basketball.
       By 1986, he was calling Southland, Sun Belt and TAAC games, the SEC spot opened in 1989, and Conference USA and the Southwest Conference (later the Big 12) picked him up, too.
       Back in Shreveport, he retired as a data processor with KCS in 2000, having often worked midnight shifts to create more time for officiating in the winter. 
       All the running took its toll, and his hips gave out. "A hundred games a year will do that to you," he said.
       In the Big 12 Conference, from 2001 to 2008, he occasionally refereed games involving Texas Tech and head coach Bob Knight -- the notorious one, never hesitant to rudely blast refs or anyone who displeased him. 
       "We hit it off well," said Thibodeaux. (Not making this up). In fact, he worked one of Knight's monumental victories, the one which broke Dean Smith's record for most wins by a men's college head coach.
       A photograph caught Knight pointedly talking to Thibodeaux -- wonder what he was saying? -- and the coach signed a copy of it for the ref. 
       When Dr. Billy Bundrick, North Louisiana's foremost orthopedic surgeon involved in athletics, saw the photo, he asked Thibodeaux for a copy. So did Northwest Louisiana Fellowship of Christian Athletics director Terry Slack, who wanted it for an FCA auction.
       "That won't bring you anything," Thibodeaux joked. A Knight fan bought the copy for $2,000.
       As much "stuff" as Thibodeaux caught from coaches and fans during his officiating days, he has found the football assigning secretary role almost as controversial.
       "You have to defend actions by others [officials] every Saturday," he said of coaches calling to complain about crews in their games. "That is difficult because I haven't seen the games or the tapes. When I was officiating on the basketball floor, I was in charge for 40 minutes and knew how to handle myself."
         Thibodeaux stayed in the game and proved for 3 1/2 decades he could handle the heat.
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         Those who know Danny Walker know he is multi-talented (ordained minister, college sociology professor, sports radio play-by-play announcer, political consultant, successful owner/operator of Texas hospice facilities) and an upbeat, funny teller of tales.
         He was a demon basketball and tennis player at Fair Park High, chasing down opponents and smashes with abandon, and leaving lots of laughs as he played.
         Not as demonstrative as an official as when he played, he didn't mind the spotlight. He called SEC games, the Southland, TAAC, Metro, Sun Belt and other leagues.
        Two games he refereed at Centenary College's Gold Dome stand out:
         -- Nationally ranked University of Houston's one-point victory over Centenary in the 1972-73 season finale when Gents' freshman 7-foot center Robert Parish (No. 00) missed two free throws with 0:00 showing on the clock (and no one else on the playing floor).
         -- Indiana State's January 1977 three-point victory -- a last-minute comeback -- when its top player was a super-talented and relatively unknown 6-8 sophomore forward, Larry Bird ("he scored 28 points," Walker remembers). 
         What he remembers, too, is "I must have called a thousand games with Tony Rhodes."
         Good times. Good calls.