Once every comet or so a larger-than-life figure with a
somehow even larger persona will fall amongst us mere mortals.
Long before a guy from Carolina named Michael ever dreamt of
taking flight, Elroy (Jawman) Becquette was regularly denying Newtonian physics. Renowned
for his leaping abilities, in the mid to late 1970s he ruled the area’s outdoor
basketball courts. And he did it with style.
Becquette passed away on May 7, 2013 in Pevely, MO at the
age of 55.
Elroy never played one minute of varsity basketball for
Crystal City, MO High School. That is a story within itself. He and I were both
members of the school’s Class of 1975. He had Moxy. In PE class Jawman would call
out ‘Layup’ when he pulled up for a jumper from the top of the key. If it was
the potential winning shot in a game of two goal elimination, when the ball
left his hands, he announced, “NEXT.”
He never graduated from high school. He was not even close.
The residential area of Crystal City that grew in the
shadows of the factory smokestacks of the Pittsburg Plate Glass Company was
collectively known as Old Town. Originally home to late 19th century
factory working Italian immigrants, by the 1970’s Old Town had transitioned to the de
facto home of the town’s black population.
Remarkably, in the mid-to late 1970s a non-descript ramshackle
playground on the south edge of Old Town hosted some of the best summer pickup
basketball in the St. Louis Metro area. I don’t remember the court even having
an official name. Years later it was named by the City Council Daryl Hickey
White Park. That was about the only contribution the city made to its upkeep.
We provided the nets.
Talent from a wide-ranging radius would descend nightly to the
uneven asphalt surface featuring two bent rims. The pickup summer games were open to
everyone: black or white; locals or outsiders; high school stars or high school
dropouts. Many established college players would wait their turn. Even a few
future NBAers, Sonny Parker for one. There could be hours of long wait if your
team lost.
I recently visited the now deserted site. What makes today the
empty overgrown lot so surreal to me is in
my mind a juxtaposition of past grandeur and current silence.
The local legend of Jawman Becquette is today almost mythical,
even amongst those too young to have witnessed his hoops exploits in person.
Ask any local who is the best street baller ever from the area and the answer
is immediate and unanimous – Jawman. He was our version of the “High Priest of
Hop.”
Most of Becquette’s Old Town playground feats went
unchronicled, but have lived on through word of mouth, the lore sometimes perhaps
flavored with embellishment. Rumored brilliance occurs when you have a stylist—with
a nickname like Jawman - whose game may be more suited for playground freelance
than a coach’s chalkboard.
In organized high school, college or professional
basketball, success is measured by long term team accomplishments, like a state
championship. But on the playground legend is measured by a move or moment, a
play that grabs the spotlight for an instant.
Jawman’s signature move was the dunk. On a Sunday afternoon in
Old Town I passed the ball to him on the wing on a fastbreak, and he threw down
the nastiest dunk I’ve ever seen. He went up and with two hands, tapped the
ball on the backboard, then slammed it home backwards. Play stopped. Collective
silent astoundment.
Jawman’s game was multi-dimensional. He was not only a
prolific scorer and dunk artist, but also a great passer. His peripheral vision
was freaky good. Once we were playing indoors at the old Douglass High gym in
Festus, MO. Jaw Man was dribbling in the
right corner, and two opponents double teamed him. Elroy passed to me, and I
hit a wide-open layup. And as the ball
goes through the net, I glance over my shoulder at the corner the pass just came
from and the defenders think Elroy still has the ball - arms waiving, still trapping him. His open
court game was a clinic on cross-over dribbles and sleight-of-hand passes.
At the time, Crystal City was hemorrhaging well-paying union
factory jobs. A decade later, in 1988, the Pittsburgh Plate Glass Company, the
town’s meal ticket for over 100 years, closed. But this proud union factory
town still had its Hornets. High school sports in my hometown were a big deal. I
have never felt more noticed than I did playing high school sports. But the
best act of the era will remain forever Off Broadway, his stage a trash
littered neglected park.
School books were never his thing. Pretty girls, playing
ball and wide brimmed hats were. Jawman also liked to smoke weed. But back in
the 70s, who of us didn’t? It was always 4:20 somewhere.
Between 1975 and 1978 there were some brushes with the
law. One was serious and it stuck. With no high school diploma, Elroy’s options
were limited. Even the military was out of bounds. He was drifting. But the
seeds of change are planted in the soil of desire, and Elroy Becquette’s desire
was to play college basketball. So, he changed.
In the summer of 1978 Becquette was competing in an outdoor area
summer league. Greg Lett had just completed an All-American career at Mineral
Area Community College (MAC) in nearby Park Hills, MO and was headed to play
that fall on the NCAA Division 1 level. When the two met that summer, Jawman
hung 52 points on Lett’s team. Lett’s coach at MAC, Bob Seacrest, saw a diamond
in a rough. He took a chance. Now 21 years of age and with a recently earned
high school GED, Becquette was given a scholarship and that fall began a
successful two-year run with the JUCO team.
Elroy Becquette was born to play basketball. Says longtime
friend, summer teammate and fellow MAC alum, Tony Lawrence, “all that man ever
wanted to do was be on the court. He was a viciously intense competitor.”
Lawrence, retired from a long career in law enforcement,
says the 6’2 Jawman was a thin and athletic wing who possessed big time skills.
In the pre-three point shot days of the early 80s, when a mid-range game was a
necessity in any scorers’ arsenal, Jawman’s was lethal. “He was virtually ungradable one-on-one,” says
Lawrence. “His game was 12 to 15 feet.” When Becquette passed to a teammate you
would pass it right back because Jawman’s J was better.
“He commanded respect,” says Lawrence. “He was older but he
had that special way about him that drew teammates to him. I still consider him
a role model. He never allowed me to make excuses. ‘Just do more,’ he would
say. A lot guys with talent get by on just talent. What set Jawman apart was he
was a student of the game. Coach Sechrist at MAC told me he was one of his all-time
favorite players, and the man coached there over 30 years. He had tried to get
him to come back as a coach. With his charisma and personality, he would have
been a natural fit. But, I guess, it just never worked out.”
Lawrence today sees the paradox he couldn’t see 40 years
ago. “Jawman was as independent as they come, and I respected that. He was his
own man; he didn’t follow the crowd. But he was also a great teammate. He did
his thing, but the team with him came first. Even on the playground, where most
guys are more concerned with style, Jawman played to win. What a great lesson
to teach young people. Don’t follow the crowd, lead the crowd. If you didn’t
like Jawman, that was your problem.”
The talent flow from Crystal City in the summer of 1980 was
off the charts. “That summer,” Lawrence recalls, “Coach (Rolla) Herbert ran a
college summer league indoors at Crystal City High School (where he was the
head coach). All the best college players from St. Louis to the bootheel were
there and our Crystal City team dominated. I was playing at St. Louis University;
Alan DeGeare and Tony Kinder were at UMSL (University of Missouri-St. Louis) and
Maurice Mosby and Jawman were going down to Central Arkansas. It was a great core, but we all knew Jawman
was the star.”
After completing his career at MAC, Becquette followed up
with two years playing for Central Arkansas University. On the team roster the previous season at the NCAA Division1 school was future Chicago Bulls superstar and
Michael Jordan wing mate, Scotty Pipen. Jawman was a two-year starter and a solid
contributor. His senior year he averaged five offensive rebounds per game, one
of the top marks in the nation.
But, at 25 years of age, Jawman’s organized competitive
basketball career was now over. For the next twenty years he was a respected OG
regular in pickup games at Old Town’s now designated Hickey White Park.
Tee Marshall is the second oldest of Elroy’s nine kids. “My
mom, Kim Marshal and my dad never had a
relationship as a couple that I can ever remember,” Marshall recalls. “But what
they did do is they got along very well and always made me the number one
priority. I knew they were friends. I was very fortunate in that sense.”
Her immediate family may not have been the Walton’s, but
Marshall says she never experienced anything growing up but parental love and
support. “Dad always said (his love life) was complicated,” Marshall said with
a laugh.
Marshall stays connected to her eight half siblings
spread over four states. “My daddy had a
way with the ladies,” she says. But she is adamant that Elroy Bequette was no Rolling
Stone. “No, no, no. Being a father and a grandfather is what he lived for. I
could not have asked for better parents. He had a magic touch with kids. His
oldest daughter Amy is two years older than I am and we are close. His
personality was to pull people together.”
As Simba once told us: It's the circle of life. If you hang
around long enough in a small town you see how things come full circle. “My
son, Donnivan Tullock was a senior in 2021,” Marshall says. “Crystal City hired
Phil Tessereau to come back and coach. Phil and my dad grew up together. Dad
even played on Phil’s dad’s (Bob) Little League baseball team that he coached.
His dad later helped my dad when he was trying to get into college. Forty years
later, his son was able to coach my son, and it was wonderful. We won the
district championship. I would have given anything if daddy could have been
there to see it. He would have been so proud.”
Back in the 70’s we knew him as Alroy. His dad was Alroy
Becquette, SR. In both of his online college bios he is listed as Alroy. I ask
Marshall when and why did her dad change his name to Elroy?” I have no idea,”
she shrugged. “He has always been Elroy to me.” And, the origins of the nickname Jawman? Simple,
that was his dad’s nickname. Many local old-timers still refer to Big Jawman
and Little Jawman. Why was Senior nicknamed Jawman? Once again, no one still
around seems to know.
Marshall shares that her dad was sick for a long time but
hid it well. “He had liver problems going back into his 20s. Eventually it
turned into cancer. He was the kind of guy that never wanted anybody to fuss
over him, so until he started losing weight, we didn’t realize how sick he was.
The man still played basketball at Hickey White Park on a regular basis until
he was almost 50 years old. One of my fondest memories was taking my young son
to watch his grandfather play.”
Still, Marshall says that her dad’s death was a shock. “We
went to check on him one morning and he was just gone. Maybe I was in denial, he
was so physical, so strong and always in control; he was my hero and your hero
is never supposed to die. His funeral was standing room only, which I would’ve
expected. Everybody loved my dad. When he was buried, he was buried in purple
and gold, which were his fraternity colors from Central Arkansas University. I
think he was so proud of the fraternity because it represented that he had
overcome so much - that now he belonged. There was a time in his life, he could have
fallen on the wrong side, but he willed himself, because he loved basketball,
to get his high school GED and to successfully go to college. To straighten out
his behavior and his life.”
How do you honor and say goodbye to a man who never met
a stranger? I asked Marshall what she remembered about her dad’s visitation. To
paraphrase: It was poignant. Nostalgic. Amusing. And though understandably twinged
with momentary sadness, entertaining. Just the type of farewell Jawman
would have wanted.
“He was the kind of person that loved to see people succeed,”
Marshall says. “And his reputation, even when he got too old and too sick to
play was still one of immense respect within the basketball community. People
were just attracted to him. He was a natural mentor. I’ve spoken with numerous
young men over the years that say he inspired them to not only exceed in basketball
but also at fife. That is my daddy’s legacy.”
“He
had a great life in ways some might not get,” Marshall shares. “He was so
upbeat, he had that smile and you never got away from him without a hug. To the
end, he said he liked waking up each new day. I think he expected some type of miracle
that never came. And darn, he had some stories.”
Charles Barkley said just because I can dunk a basketball
does not mean I should raise your kids. However, our culture has given the
athlete a huge leadership position — an opportunity to be a role model. Jawman
became a role model, and over time, an impacting one. He chose the mantle of
leadership that had been offered to him.
Dewhitt Bingham is a Probation Officer-Retired at McLean
County, IL Court Services. He was also a long-time college professor of criminal
justice. He grew up in Crystal City and graduated from Festus High School. Bingham
is five years Elroy’s junior.
“Jawman was one of the nicest men you would ever meet,” says
Bingham from his Bloomington, Illinois home.
As a professional probation officer, a big part of Bingham’s
job was to rehabilitate wayward youth. He appreciates and recognizes, Barkley’s
thoughts notwithstanding, small-town
athletes as role models.
“I like stories about young people who fight adversity, often
because of poor (youthful) decisions, and then make something out of
themselves,” says Bingham. “That was Jawman. He showed great perseverance by
not giving up. He was a non-traditional student. He was 21 when he started
college." He was a role model for kids who were not on the right path.
Bingham appreciates Elroy Bequette’s bloodline. “His mom Shirley
was a Kinder. She was the sister of Mr.
John Wayne Kinder who was an outstanding athlete for Herculaneum and Mr. Donald
Gene Kinder who was the father of Tony Kinder who was on the 1979 31-1 CCHS
basketball team.
"Elroy was just a really close friend of my family who
literally would do anything within his power to help us.”
Bingham points out Becquette has not played ball for years
and he passed from this earth over a decade ago, but his reputation just keeps
growing and growing. “That says a lot about him. I just loved the man.”
No blood, no foul - a game was played to 12 by ones. The
winner stayed, losers took a seat. Playground basketball was the distinctive
sound of slip-slide worn canvas sneakers on asphalt. The sound matched the
weather—hot, humid, relentless. Basketball’s creative origins go back to the
outdoor playgrounds- hot asphalt in community parks where legends were
created.
By contrast the indoor winter game has a more YMCA feel -
the sound of squeak when Nike’s meet wood - more organized, less frenetic, less
intense.
Just as countries have their social and political systems, so
too did 1970s outdoor summer basketball. It was the unwritten rules of a sport
where you call your own fouls that mattered. And it holds true whether the game
was one-on-one, three-on-three, or five-on-five. It was as equal opportunity
and as democratic as a game of H-O-R-S-E. At its zenith, summer playground basketball
was more than a simple game; it was an art form with its own language.
With the onslaught of organized AAU options, summer basketball in
Crystal City - like the rest of the country - has moved steadily indoors. So, retire
the crown. There will never be another local playground G.O.A.T. like Elroy
“Jawman” Becquette.
Maurice Mosby has spent most of his adult life chasing a bouncing
basketball throughout South America. Inquisitive by nature, an athlete by instinct, an expatriate by choice.
Mosby was a 1979 graduate of Crystal City High School and a dominant
6’8 post player on a team that finished his senior season at 31-1. He spent his
collegiate freshman and sophomore years at Mineral Area Community College in
Park Hills, MO, and then transferred to the University of Central Arkansas (UCA),
in Conway, AR.
For three years, he and Jawman were inseparable teammates -
two years at MAC and one year at UCA. While
Becquette stayed for a final year in Arkansas, Mosby finished his collegiate
career at Missouri Baptist University in St. Louis, MO.
Mosby played professionally for eight years in Argentina,
reportedly making “a boatload of money.” He has been teaching Physical Education in an international
school in Paraguay now for over 30 years. The school caters to wealthy students
from all over the globe. He has been married for 38 years to a local woman.
I asked Mosby if Becquette as a court mentor, challenged him
to improve? His response was as rhetorical as ‘does the musher suddenly pull
the sled and let the husky ride?’ Like the forward scout for the wagon train, Mosby
says Bequette was out front, willing to fall off a cliff so the rest would know
when to turn back. Mosby calls Becquette a standup guy. “We knew the coaches respected him, so he was
the one who was the spokesman from the team to (the) coach."
At 6’1” Mosby was a gangly lowly thought of high school junior
who seldom played. Over a six month span he shot up 7 inches to 6’8. That is
when Becquette stepped in.
“Jawman took me under his wing between my junior and senior
year of high school,” Mosby relates in an interview from his South American
home. “Because I grew so fast, I was pretty clumsy. Jawman was 20 years old at
the time and was just kind of hanging around Crystal City, but everyone
respected him as a player. It was his life. We went to the park every day. He
drilled and drilled me, made me work as hard at my game as he did his. He
taught me basketball. He pushed me hard.”
The two became inseparable. “We played together so long we
just knew each other‘s moves. It was instinctive. We had two very good teams at
MAC. Believe it or not when UCA recruited me they didn’t want to take Jawman. I
said you guys are nuts. He don’t go I don’t go. He was like my brother, and we
were going together or we’re not going. They gave Jawman a scholarship. He
played there for two years and led the team in scoring both years. I led the
team in rebounding the year I played. They got a pretty good two for one deal,
I would say,” Mosby shares with a laugh.
“When I first got to Central Arkansas,” Mosby continues, “I
partied too much and they were going to put me on academic probation after the
first semester. I don’t know if the coach put him up to him or not, but Jawman was
all over me about my grades. He made me go to study hall and my grades second semester
went from a 1.8 to almost a 4.0. Whoever thought Jawman would be such a great
academic advisor, a guy who had to get his GED coming out of high school? But by this time he was mature and he had
goals and he wasn’t going to let me fail. I can honestly say, he made me the
man I became. I can never pay him back for all he did for me. I think about him
everyday.”
The 64-year-old Mosby speaks of his basketball life with
pride and of his future with confidence.
“I wish I could get back home more, but its hard. I don’t see myself
ever leaving here. My wife and I have no kids together. I do have a couple of
kids back in the States; one in Farmington and one in Festus from a
relationship I had when I was young. I do get back to see them periodically,
but my life is here.”
Mosby says Elroy Becquette taught him more than basketball.
“I looked up to him. Heck, we all did.” Mosby says his teammate modeled purpose,
resilience and lasting strength. “I don’t know where I would be today if it
hadn’t been for Jawman.”.
It has been said one should die proudly when it is no longer
possible to live proudly. According to his daughter Tee Marshall, that is what
her dad did. “He found this little out of the way one bedroom bachelor pad apartment
in Pevely. He lived there by himself. It was tucked so far back if you didn’t
have good directions, you would not find it. It was all he needed and I think
he knew it was his last stop. He decorated it himself and I was impressed,” she
says with a laugh. It was a perfect fit for how he lived his life: functional,
low maintenance, warm, welcoming and comfortable. “I know he died at peace with
his life,” his beloved daughter concluded.
When you look at it, life often has a mysterious way of unfurling.
What if he had not had that 52 point summer league game?
He didn’t walk through life just playing basketball. Vertical
leap will fade. Character will not. In his 55 years Jawman made a difference - put
a dent in his little part of the universe. That's the ultimate goal. That is
what goes on your tombstone.
Elroy Becquette’s early years were marked by self-imposed
roadblocks. But as he grew out of his feisty youthful rebellion and his infectious
personality slowly nudged him to within the parameters of accepted social norms,
the once high-flying baller transitioned into the OG of the local hardwoods, a
respected legend.
In the humbling way that impending mortality brings to us all,
at the end, I have no doubt Jawman quietly embraced all the fuss.
·
David Adamini is 61 years old. His mother Judy is 82. Both claim the label of political independent “I am an American
first. I vote for the best candidate,” states
David, a veteran of the first Gulf War and a retired state of Michigan Park
Ranger. He is also a licensed firearms instructor. 
