Kris Galvin Archives - BillBored.org

Our Greatest Team Ever

On a Thursday night, Leap Day 1968, I played my last game of school sports. It was the greatest team I ever played on. Also my last. There were no epic come-from-behind victories or marquee moments. No half-time speeches to an inspired victory with movie-perfect moments to remember for the rest of our lives. It was just a bunch of 14-year-old boys playing basketball after school. Our team disbanded the following day, yet those 9th-grade friendships lasted over five decades. And Jake Thomas was my best coach ever.

There were 16 or 17 boys who turned out, but only 11 survived the two-cut process. A sheet of paper was posted to the gym wall and my name was written. My basketball skills didn’t save me from the cut – the coach liked me. Practice began the next day and Coach Thomas had us run ‘lines.’ That meant darting up and down the length of the court, bending to touch the baseline, then back again. We ran lines and more lines until fully exhausted, and then ran more. I thought we were here to play basketball, but all we seemed to do was race back and forth along the gym floor.

The Boys’ gym where our 9th grade team ran lines. Our school nickname was the Chieftains.

We called him Coach Thomas to his face, but Jake, behind his back. On the second day of practice, Coach suggested we all buy white, high-top Converse sneakers. Jim Clem led a short discussion afterward and we all agreed to ignore his fashion tip. The next day we showed up in black, low-top Converse, everyone of course except Del Sonneson.

Each day we worked on fundamentals – dribbling, passing, set shots, jump shots, and rebounding. On defense, we learned man-to-man and zone formations. Coach taught us how to press and how to avoid it. We had two offensive plays, cleverly disguised by holding up one finger or two.

After drills, strategy, and more drills, we’d play five-on-five. That meant I was playing against much bigger stars like the towering Jims: Clem and Ewalt; sharpshooters like Wayne and Lester; and the big-butt, box-out rebounders, Rick Barry and Del. With no special skills save a modicum of speed, I delighted in practice, relishing time spent running up and down the court with my pals.

Enumclaw Junior High – the gym was on the second floor with windows on the south and west walls. The locker room was in the basement below.

Each night before leaving, we shot 25 free throws and posted results to a clipboard hanging from the gym wall. Lester Hall was particularly good – making 21 or 22 shots most nights, and sometimes even 24. I was mediocre, my best was 17. Steve McCarty, our manager kept stats during games, picked up balls after practice, and generally cared for team needs.

Those were the days my friend, we thought they’d never end. We practiced until 5 p.m., then showered for as long as we liked. In the basement shower stalls at the old junior high, we plugged drains creating mini-pools where we sloshed about. After soaking up an excessive amount of hot water, we dried off, got dressed, and walked home with heads steaming in the cool winter air.

**The Boys’ locker room had communal group shower stalls with benches and baskets in the adjoining room.**

On Thanksgiving weekend, Coach Thomas ordered drills for Friday and Saturday, “We’re gonna run off all that turkey.” After morning sessions, Coach left the gym open for the rest of the day. We practiced, goofed off, played pick-up games, talked on the wooden bleachers about girl, music, and life, took even longer showers, and walked to Mrs. Lofthus’ store for candy and soda. Could life get any better than this?

**Mrs. Lofthus’ little store was one block north of the Junior High on the corner of Porter Street and Wilson Ave.**

There was one slight problem with this perfect world – the actual basketball games. While practice was grand, real games were the worst. There I sat at the end of the bench patiently waiting through three and a half quarters while sneaking desperate glances in Coach’s direction. If games were close, my fate and butt were sealed to the bench. But, if the team were winning convincingly or losing badly, I’d be sent in for a couple minutes of ‘rat ball.’ It was pretty much a joke. But opposing coaches entertained the same drill by dispatching their lousiest players, meaning both you and your opponents competed for fumbled passes and tossed up awkward shots.

I particularly agonized whenever Mom showed up for a home game. I felt embarrassed to have her watched me not playing. But she always had kind words back home at dinner. As Monday faithfully rolled around, last week’s game was soon forgotten. We were back together doing things I loved – practice, inter-squad games, 25 free throws, and hot showers – the real stuff that builds bonds. Oh, how I loved practice!

I don’t recall how our season ended, but a surviving issue of The Chieftain newsletter told of our 5-2 win-loss record in early January. Our best players were top notch and we no doubt won more games than we lost.

**A short report on our basketball team from the Feb. 1968 Chieftain newsletter.**

Yet all good things must one day end. As February ended so did our season. Our last game was played on February 29, 1968, against cross-river rival, White River. It was our only night outing, a 7:30 tip-off in Buckley. That day’s school lunch menu read, “Meat in brown gravy on whipped potatoes, vegetable sticks, bread and butter, orange-coconut cookie, and milk.”

**Hot lunches were served in the cafeteria, adjacent to the locker rooms.**

The final seconds ticked off the clock and our season was done. Spring sports would soon begin. Baseball was another of my favorites, but I progressively lacked the required skills to compete at varsity level. Plus, our family was traveling to Europe for six weeks that spring. We’d leave in early May so I’d miss much of the season. I didn’t turn out for baseball and skipped summer league. My sporting career skidded to a fuzzy conclusion.

When Junior High ended, we left that old three-story brick building on Porter Street and moved to the modern high school built on the edge of town. It was my first experience of not walking to school. Though my buddies tried to convince me to turn out for sophomore basketball, I knew my gig was up. Short guys with no special skills were sure to be cut, an even greater humiliation than sitting on the bench.

In high school, I found a new team where I could compete and create bonds of camaraderie. But since you didn’t wear a jock strap, Chess wasn’t considered a sport. That is until a fellow player, Kris Galvin and I remade our Hornet school newspaper in the image of chess.

By its very nature, a team is a collection of comrades in pursuit of a common goal and the Chess Team took us all the way to State for two straight years. Still, no Letters Awards were presented to players on our highly successful squad.

Pleasant memories of 9th-grade basketball are as precious as the friendships cemented 55 years ago. More than half of these guys are my best friends. Only one of the eleven, Del Sonneson has passed away. Coach Thomas is still alive and just turned 90.

So, from the bottom of my heart I say thank you to Rick Barry, Jim Clem, Jim Ewalt, Lester Hall, Steve McCarty, Jim Partin, Wayne Podolak, Del Sonneson, Dale Troy, and Gary Varney.

And to Coach Thomas . . . thanks for being part of our greatest team ever.

9th Grade yearbook photos – clockwise from top left: Rick Barry, Jim Clem, Jim Ewalt, Lester Hall, Bill Kombol, Steve McCarty, Coach Jake Thomas, Gary Varney, Dale Troy, Del Sonneson, Wayne Podolak, and Jim Partin.

Post Script: In a final act of kindness and respect, Coach Jake Thomas awarded me the precious 9th-grade basketball Letter. It was signed by th principal, Fred Krueger and my greatest coach ever – Jake Thomas.

***Coach Jake Thomas from the 1968 Ka-Te-Kan yearbook.***

**My 9th grade letter award in our Enumclaw High School team colors – maroon and gold.**

AFTERWORD

On Saturday, March 8, 2025, four players from his 1968 basketball teams joined Coach Jake Thomas at his 90^th birthday party. Tears of joy were shared and stories told at The Claw event center by over 100 family and friends who joined the celebration.

Jake Thomas was raised in Elk Coal and Selleck before moving to Enumclaw. He earned teaching credentials at Western and returned to Enumclaw to teach, coach, administer, and become a friend and mentor to hundreds. After building a backyard swimming pool in 1968, Jake, his wife, June, and later their daughters, Jody and Jana taught swim lessons until 2024 to thousands of children spanning multiple generations at the Thomas Family Pool on Lorraine Street.

**Clockwise from lower left: Les Hall, Gary Varney, Jim Clem, and Bill Kombol join Jake Thomas on his 90th birthday.**

Abraham, Martin and PCC

In the fall of 1968, Dion released a song that touched my soul. About the same time, I started working Saturdays at a job that defined my life. I still work there until March 2022. This is the story of the song, that job, and a 15-year-old boy.

The Beatles’ single “Hey Jude” backed by “Revolution” dominated the airwaves. The Detroit Tigers, my favorite baseball team would soon play in the World Series. A presidential election heated up following a deadly political year culminating in riots at the Democratic convention in Chicago.

Kris Galvin and I were freshly minted sophomores. Each day after school we played a board game called Mr. President. Two players strategized their way to victory by assembling a majority of votes in the Electoral College. In the real election, Nixon did just that, defeating Hubert Humphrey while George Wallace carried five states.

In late September, I began a new job at Palmer Coking Coal as their Saturday boy. After a day of training, I was in charge of the Black Diamond office from 8 a.m. to 12 p.m., though typically worked longer. I didn’t yet drive so Dad dropped me off each morning, picking me up a little after noon.

**The mine office of Palmer Coking Coal on Highway 169, about the time I started working there.**

The work consisted of sacking coal, answering phones, and operating a scale—but mostly selling nut and stoker coal to old guys driving pickup trucks. It was quite a thrill to command an office, poke about in drawers, make change, and run the store. I earned $1.00 per hour, paid with money drawn from the cash drawer and replaced with a handwritten receipt.

Dad signed for my wages and I’d take a $5 bill out of the drawer. Three years later when I left this job, I was earning $2 per hour. (I found this old receipt 40 years later in a box in the attic at the same mine office where I first started).

It wasn’t always busy so after reading the P-I, I tuned the radio to KJR-95. My youth’s mind remembers where and what I was doing when certain songs played. That October, I heard Dion DiMucci sing a gentle folk tribute to the assassinated heroes, “Abraham, Martin and John.” The final lyrics delivered a stanza for Bobby Kennedy.

“Has anybody here seen my old friend Bobby

Can you tell me where he’s gone?

I thought I saw him walkin’ up over the hill

With Abraham, Martin and John.” – Dick Holler

**Dion’s single next to Bill Kombol on his first day of high school, Sept. 3, 1968.**

I was a fervent reader of newspapers and convinced Mom to buy a subscription to U.S. News & World Report. On the last day of March 1968, Lyndon Johnson announced he wouldn’t seek re-election to the presidency. Martin Luther King was shot dead in Memphis four days later.

On June 6^th, the Kombol family checked into the Hotel Austria on Fleischmarkt Street in Vienna. The tragic news of Robert Kennedy’s assassination splashed across the front pages of every paper on the newsstand. The photo of 17-year-old, Juan Romero cradling the head of a fallen senator in the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel has haunted me ever since. An old Austrian woman draped in a black shawl stood in the lobby hissing, practically spitting the words out, “Johnson, Johnson!”

**Kombol family in Austria, L-R: Jeanmarie, Pauline, Bill, Barry, Dana. June 1968.**

Dion’s song was poignant and melancholy. It tugged at my heart while coaxing a tear. Soon the three-minute radio broadcast was over. It might be hours until it played. I wanted to hear it time and again.

Work ended and I was home in the afternoon. I usually fixed tomato soup and cheese-toast for lunch then listened to the Huskies on the radio. Only the rarest of U.W. football games were broadcast on television. Later friends and I might play a game of touch football at the Kibler school playground. Time passes quickly in adolescence and evening came soon enough. Dinner was promptly at 6 p.m. Mom always made hamburgers on Saturday night.

While the song accompanied my introduction to the first months of high school, “Abraham, Martin and John,” made a cameo appearance shortly after graduation. A collage by Tom Clay joined “What the World Needs Now Is Love” to live broadcasts of the assassinations introduced by snippets from Dion’s hit. That summer of 1971, I worked long hours selling popsicles east of Kent and often drove home listening to the six-minute spoken word hymn.

I never really left Palmer Coking Coal. During college, I spent summers as a laborer. I worked the afternoon shift at the Rogers No. 3 my senior year. It closed a few months later, the last underground coal mine in Washington. After graduating, I joined Palmer for employment stints of two and three months when no other adventure called.

On of my stints working for Palmer involved relocating parts of the Stergion cement plant in Enumclaw to Black Diamond With money made from those three months, I traveled to Hawaii with my high school buddy, Wayne Podolak, Jan. 1976.

In August 1978, I began full-time employment at PCC, back on the picking table. A decade of college, loafing, banking, odd jobs, and traveling landed me back where I’d begun 10 years earlier. Four years later, I was appointed Manager of the company. The following summer we celebrated Palmer Coking Coal’s 50^th anniversary. I was 29-years-old.

In early 1979, I was brought into the office to learn how to run the business. I sat across my uncle Charlie Falk who snapped this picture. I continued to sit at the same desk for the next 44 years, Summer 1979.

It’s now 40 years down the road. I’ll soon be leaving full-time employment at PCC. It’s where I’ve spent all but two years of my working career. Of these things I’m certain––this job and that tune will forever remain in my heart, intertwined in a romantic ballad where the only constant is change.

I look back with nostalgia yet forward in anticipation. How these next adventures unfold will be the continuing story of my life.

* * * * * * *

Post Script: Here’s the short story of Dion’s life and the song that changed mine. Dion DiMucci was born in 1939 to Italian-American parents in the Bronx. Teaming with friends from Belmont Avenue, Dion and the Belmonts scored their first hit in 1958 with “I Wonder Why.”

While on the 1959 winter concert tour with Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and the Big Bopper; the bus’s heating system gave out so Holly charted a plane to their next venue. Dion balked at paying $36, his share for the flight because it was the rent amount his parents struggled to pay each month. The plane crashed, killing all on board.

Dion split from the Belmonts in 1960, pursuing a solo career with hits like “Run-Around Sue” and “Donna.” After continually humming Dion’s rendition of “When You Wish Upon a Star,” from the Disney movie Pinocchio, Brian Wilson composed the Beach Boy’s ballad, “Surfer Girl,” in 1963 It was his very first composition.

**Dion Now & Then is how I titled my Dion tribute CD compilation.**

Dion was one of only two rock artists to appear on the cover of the Beatles’ 1967 album, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Bob Dylan was the other. With changing tastes from the British Invasion and a growing heroin addiction, Dion started recording blues numbers in the mid-1960s. His records failed to sell so he lost his contract.

In April 1968, Dion experienced a powerful religious awakening. He gave up heroin and his label agreed to re-sign him if he’d record “Abraham, Martin and John.” The single was released that August, reaching #4 on the charts in October. It was written by Dick Holler, composer of the Royal Guardsman’s novelty hit, “Snoopy vs. the Red Baron.”

In the 1980s, Dion became a born-again Christian, releasing five albums highlighting his evangelical convictions. In June 2020 at age 81, Dion released his most recent album, “Blues with Friends” featuring a range of artists including Jeff Beck, John Hammond, Van Morrison, Paul Simon, and Bruce Springsteen.

* * * * * * *

Coda: On a warm summer evening in the early 1960s, Billy Kombol stood at the door of the open-air dance pavilion at Barrett’s Lake Retreat resort, mesmerized by the sight of teenagers dancing to the jukebox sounds of Dion and the Belmonts.

Share this:

Share this: