Warrior/ Poet

Tom Meschery was a power forward for the Warriors in the Sixties...his number in fact hangs from the rafters - though very few fans would know who he was. He was the first foreign player in the NBA, a Russian kid born in Harbin, China under Japanese rule in 1938. Interned in the war, he was finally united with his family in the US when it ended.... and their name changed from Mescheriakoff to better fit in during anti-Russki Cold War USA. He developed into a 6'-7" bruising forward who played with Wilt & Al Attles - banging with Tommy Heinsohn, Wayne Embry & the like. I knew of him back in the no-TV era because he also wrote poetry and had a book of Beat-influenced verse published while still a player. It was too perfect for San Francisco in those days, to have a pro ballplayer who was a real poet.

Meschery retired long before big salaries...and had various jobs before getting a degree and ending up as a schoolteacher in Reno. He continued to write, and published a poetry collection in 1999: "Nothing We Lose Can Be replaced". It has a segment of NBA memory poems, and this one struck me the most:

"TOM MESCHERY"

I admit sleeping late at the Hilton,

ordering room service,

handing out big tips while other men

are opening their lunch buckets. I know

you would have scolded me:

'What kind of work is this for a man?'

Old immigrant, I admit all of this

too late. You died before I could explain

newspapers called me a journeyman.

They write I roll up my sleeves

and go to work. They use words

like hammer and muscle to describe me.

For three straight years on the job

my nose collapsed. My knees ached,

and I could never talk myself out of less

than two injuries at a time. Father,

you would have been proud of me:

I labored in the company of large men.