On the morning of March 15, 2008, I awoke early and prepared to travel to Chicago with my husband and son for a surprise party for my brother Mike's 40th birthday. I took a moment to glance at the Journal Star and caught the notice that seats from the Field House were going on sale at 8:30 that very morning. I had been vaguely aware that the University was planning to sell parts of the Field House to the fans who had made pilgramages to the great site through the years. But that morning--how perfect! My brother Mike had grown up as a boy who lived and died by the Bradley Braves.
I dashed over in the rain to the Field House and the custodian of the myth, Ken Goldin, was good enough to let me have four 3-foot sections of the sacred red bleachers. I wanted one for Mike, one for my dad, Ed, who played for Bradley from 1950-54, and was a starting player on their Final Four 1954 team, one for my husband, John, who was the JV's most valuable player and leading scorer and rebounder in 1973, and one for a friend of ours.
As we presented Mike's section to him that evening, he knew immediately what it was, though some of the guests looked puzzled. Mike reminisced about the famous Bradley-Cincinnati game and its seven overtimes. With each overtime, Mike and his friends were able to move closer and closer to the floor as, unbelievably, practical-minded Midwesterns who had to go to work the next day left with the players soldiering on. The kind of devotion to the Braves that my brother felt is well described in an article from the Sports Illustrated Vault by former Peoria Rick Telander. PJS sports editor, Kirk Wessler mentions this article in his Captain's Blog.
At my brother's party, we talked about the Field House. Like many of the buildings on Maplewood where we grew up, the Field House holds special significance for us. My sister Theresa remembered what a comforting feeling it was when an event let out late at night (or at least after our bedtimes). As we were snuggled under the covers or maybe peeking out the window, hearing the bustle and murmur of the crowd as people walked to their cars made us somehow feel warm and safe inside our house.
In posts on this blog, I wrote about what it was like growing up catty corner from the Field House, the 1975 Louisville-Bradley game, the Campus Carnival, being a Homecoming flower girl, and my husband's career on the hard wood. There's also a post on how in 1950 my dad decided to attend Bradley and play basketball instead of another school in part due to a visit from some Bradley boosters. Well, seeing the Field House sealed the deal for dad. He couldn't wait to play there. The place was cool then, and it's cool now. Given the monsterous, modern arenas that many teams now play in, the Field House must seem hopelessly outdated. And in some ways it is. But it has a charm, a history, and a much commented upon smell about it that I wish could somehow be incorporated into the new building.
Universities have many different constituencies: faculty, alumni, staff, community members. But undoubtably the most important constituency is the students. They are their raison d'etre. At one of the universities I attended, I felt the alumni were rather oppressive. They mobbed the campus on football weekends, which they seemed to think revolved more around them than the students. It was kind of a turnoff and I remember thinking, shouldn't these people have more important things to do than get giddy over a college game? Now as an alum myself, I understand how fun it is to occasionally get excited by games that in the scheme of things aren't that important. Universities can't really tell alumni to lighten up and probably don't want to; the institutions increasingly rely on them for financial contributions. At places with large, powerful, vociferous alumni bases, like Notre Dame and Indiana University, the alums sometimes seem to be calling the shots when it comes to things like firing and hiring coaches.
Hopefully at Bradley, priorities are determined and decisions are driven by what is best for the students. Given that criteria, I can accept and maybe even agree with the decision to knock down the Field House. It will be nice for the players to have a better place to train, practice, and play. I do think it's important to respect and incorporate the past into the University, while moving on to the future.
In my family, Bradley has had the biggest impact on my dad. He came to the University when he was 18 and essentially never left. He got his masters in counseling and then worked as Dean of Men and the Exective Director of Housing, Residential Life, and Student Judicial System his entire career. Today, at 76, he is an emeritus member and continues to teach the Freshmen Orientation class. It is difficult to overstate how much a part of his life Bradley has been. Dad wrote the paragraphs below and I think they are a good way to summarize what is most important about Bradley--and why we will miss the Field House so much--and to end this post and blog.
The Bradley Spirit
I dashed over in the rain to the Field House and the custodian of the myth, Ken Goldin, was good enough to let me have four 3-foot sections of the sacred red bleachers. I wanted one for Mike, one for my dad, Ed, who played for Bradley from 1950-54, and was a starting player on their Final Four 1954 team, one for my husband, John, who was the JV's most valuable player and leading scorer and rebounder in 1973, and one for a friend of ours.
As we presented Mike's section to him that evening, he knew immediately what it was, though some of the guests looked puzzled. Mike reminisced about the famous Bradley-Cincinnati game and its seven overtimes. With each overtime, Mike and his friends were able to move closer and closer to the floor as, unbelievably, practical-minded Midwesterns who had to go to work the next day left with the players soldiering on. The kind of devotion to the Braves that my brother felt is well described in an article from the Sports Illustrated Vault by former Peoria Rick Telander. PJS sports editor, Kirk Wessler mentions this article in his Captain's Blog.
At my brother's party, we talked about the Field House. Like many of the buildings on Maplewood where we grew up, the Field House holds special significance for us. My sister Theresa remembered what a comforting feeling it was when an event let out late at night (or at least after our bedtimes). As we were snuggled under the covers or maybe peeking out the window, hearing the bustle and murmur of the crowd as people walked to their cars made us somehow feel warm and safe inside our house.
In posts on this blog, I wrote about what it was like growing up catty corner from the Field House, the 1975 Louisville-Bradley game, the Campus Carnival, being a Homecoming flower girl, and my husband's career on the hard wood. There's also a post on how in 1950 my dad decided to attend Bradley and play basketball instead of another school in part due to a visit from some Bradley boosters. Well, seeing the Field House sealed the deal for dad. He couldn't wait to play there. The place was cool then, and it's cool now. Given the monsterous, modern arenas that many teams now play in, the Field House must seem hopelessly outdated. And in some ways it is. But it has a charm, a history, and a much commented upon smell about it that I wish could somehow be incorporated into the new building.
Universities have many different constituencies: faculty, alumni, staff, community members. But undoubtably the most important constituency is the students. They are their raison d'etre. At one of the universities I attended, I felt the alumni were rather oppressive. They mobbed the campus on football weekends, which they seemed to think revolved more around them than the students. It was kind of a turnoff and I remember thinking, shouldn't these people have more important things to do than get giddy over a college game? Now as an alum myself, I understand how fun it is to occasionally get excited by games that in the scheme of things aren't that important. Universities can't really tell alumni to lighten up and probably don't want to; the institutions increasingly rely on them for financial contributions. At places with large, powerful, vociferous alumni bases, like Notre Dame and Indiana University, the alums sometimes seem to be calling the shots when it comes to things like firing and hiring coaches.
Hopefully at Bradley, priorities are determined and decisions are driven by what is best for the students. Given that criteria, I can accept and maybe even agree with the decision to knock down the Field House. It will be nice for the players to have a better place to train, practice, and play. I do think it's important to respect and incorporate the past into the University, while moving on to the future.
In my family, Bradley has had the biggest impact on my dad. He came to the University when he was 18 and essentially never left. He got his masters in counseling and then worked as Dean of Men and the Exective Director of Housing, Residential Life, and Student Judicial System his entire career. Today, at 76, he is an emeritus member and continues to teach the Freshmen Orientation class. It is difficult to overstate how much a part of his life Bradley has been. Dad wrote the paragraphs below and I think they are a good way to summarize what is most important about Bradley--and why we will miss the Field House so much--and to end this post and blog.
The Bradley Spirit
Bradley University believes in the development of the human spirit. The process by which the human spirit is developed is through the relationships we have with one another, ourselves, and with God. These relationships are the essence of our identity. It is through communion with one another that we know who we are. The primary cause of unhappiness is not the absence of things or events but the absence of caring relationships.
Therefore, we at Bradley University make one basic statement: we believe in each other. It is through the values we teach at our University that we share this belief. It is through our actions that we exemplify this belief. It is these values that provide us with the foundation for the art of living and loving.
My husband John with his piece of the Robertson Memorial Field House
