Tuesdays with Charley at Sab’s, and Other Eckman Memories

November 6, 2019 Michael Olesker

The late Charley Eckman was a colorful sports broadcaster, basketball coach, media personality and raconteur. (Photo courtesy of Linda Eckman Watts, PressBox))

They’re bouncing basketballs all over America right now, which means my thoughts automatically go to Charley Eckman.

Younger folks may ask, “Who’s he?” Older ones will reply, “Sit back, kids, there’s a thousandEckman stories to tell, and many are printable.”

Charley, Charley, you wuzour brudda in street-corner Bawlamer English, which translated intodecades of broadcasting sports on local radio and refereeing thousands ofcollege basketball games before that.

Among the pleasures of my college years was sitting courtsideat the old Cole Field House, where I covered University of Maryland basketballgames for the school newspaper, TheDiamondback. On nights when Eckman officiated, he was more fun to watch – and overhear — than some of thoseTerrapin teams.

I can hear him now, tooting his whistle over a foul, freezingall action, and Charley, charging through a forest of players, hollering as if hewere taking hostages, “Don’t nobody move, I got you with a hip right here.”

One night, he called a foul on a kid from Clemson, who said,“What’d I do?” I was close enough at courtside to hear Eckman reply, “Juststand there a minute, I’ll think of something.”

Some Eckman stories have become national classics. Beforecollege basketball installed the 30-second clock, North Carolina’s Dean Smithsometimes installed a four-corner stall. Nothing moved, except an occasionalpass. Smith was killing the clock, but also killing all interest in the game.

He tried it one night when Eckman was referee. After 15minutes, the score was 2-0. Charley marched to the scorer’s table, grabbed achair, and dragged it out to the middle of the floor. Then, he hollered atSmith, “Hell, you ain’t doin’ nothing, I ain’t doin’ nothing.”

In his broadcasting days, Charley would sometimes join agroup of us who met every Tuesday at Sabatino’s in Little Italy. “Hello,Leader,” he’d holler. “What’s the deal?”

That’s how he greeted everybody: Hello, Leader. Among the lunch group was a great guy, a roofernamed John Vicchio who had cannonball muscles.

Vicchio remembered a recreation league game from decadesearlier when Charley called a foul on him. Charley remembered, too.

“Sure, I remember,” Charley said. “Your man’s laying on thefloor. You’re going, ‘I didn’t hit him.’ I said, ‘Oh, yeah? How’d he get downthere, by bus? Ain’t nobody here but you and me.’”

At those Sabatino’s lunches, everybody wanted a seat atCharley’s table. “Bring on some ugly guys,” he’d shout. “It makes me lookbetter.”

In the midst of the laughter, though, he showed some realsensitivity.

“My theory was, let the kids play the game,” he would say. “I’dtalk to ‘em all the time. ‘Quit holding him,’ I’d say. Or, ‘Nice play.’ Youknow, let ‘em know I was giving ‘em some room. Believe me, there’s enoughpressure on these kids.”

He remembered a particular game one night at Madison SquareGarden where a hot-shot player named Dick McGuire missed one free throw afteranother. During a time-out, Charley stood nearby as a priest approachedMcGuire.

“Don’t cross yourself before your free throws,” the priestsaid.

“But Father,” McGuire said, “I’ve been doing it all mylife.”

“Yeah,” the priest said, “but you missed eight in a row.You’re making the religion look bad.”

At Eckman’s funeral in July of 1995, the late, greatsportscaster Chuck Thompson imagined Charley arriving in heaven, where a coupleof saints volunteer to talk to him about his record down here.

“And God walks up and says, ‘I’ll handle this. This is a jobfor the varsity.’ And then Charley turns to God and says, ‘Hello, Leader.What’s the deal?’”

A former Baltimore Sun columnist and WJZ-TV commentator, Michael Olesker is the author of six books. His most recent, “Front Stoops in the Fifties: Baltimore Legends Come of Age,” has just been re-issued in paperback by the Johns Hopkins University Press.