We had gone to different Junior High Schools in our working class neighborhoods of West Philadelphia but Dippy and I played basketball in the same Police Athletic League we affectionately called PAL-29. Neither of us were the best player in our league at the time, but Dippy was close to the top while I was dragging at the rear.
By the time we reached high school my after-school athletic activity was limited to the cross country team. Dippy on the other hand was encouraged to put aside his passion for track and field events and concentrate instead on basketball. As a freshman at Overbrook High School he had grown into a strong but gentle giant of 6'-11'' and, experiencing good coaching for the first time, was becoming one of the best young players in the country.
Even though Overbrook was only a four minute walk from my West Philadelphia neighborhood, I opted to ride three trolley cars across town to attend Dobbins Vocational Technical school. Those were the days when a good technical school education was considered a privilege, not an apology.
Each fall, Dippy and I competed head to head during our high school cross country duel meets between Overbrook and Dobbins. For me, cross country had become a passionate, but masochistic war against the stopwatch. However, for Dippy cross country was only a training exercise to prepare for the basketball season just around the corner. Still, it was a special feeling of accomplishment to finish ahead of Dippy on the 2.4 mile course around the city reservoir at 33rd and Dauphin Street. My satisfaction was always reined in by the fact that at least six other Overbrook runners always finished ahead of me. Basketball wasn't Overbrook's only strong team sport.
During our high school years, the press bestowed two new nick names on Dippy: “ The Big Dipper” and “ Wilt the Stilt”. The first he endorsed and the latter he hated. Dippy wasn't comfortable with the sudden fame and adoration thrust upon him by the press and the Overbrook student body---- but he quietly (and politely) endured the fanfare.
My Oxford Street buddies were predominantly St. Thomas Moore students but we frequently invited ourselves to the Overbrook dances held in the gym, a four minute walk up to 59th and Lancaster Avenue. We were already in attendance when Dippy arrived at an evening Spring dance in 1952. The music stopped and the student body broke out in a spontaneous round of applause. Dippy put in a token appearance but then, without fanfare, went next door to an auxiliary gym to practice high jumping. My buddies and I drifted next door to watch Dippy practice. It suddenly made sense why he arrived at the dance in his Overbrook sweat suit. We watched in amazement as he consistently cleared the bar at heights we could only dream of jumping.
After graduating in 1954 Dippy and I went our separate ways down the circuitous road of life. Dippy played basketball at the University of Kansas for three years and then tread water with the Harlem Globetrotters until he was eligible to play in the National Basketball Association. All the rest is sports history. Wilt Chamberlain, - aka- Dippy, - aka - The Big Dipper, completed a long professional NBA career setting records, many of which may never be broken. He played for the Philadelphia Warriors, the San Francisco Warriors, the Philadelphia 76er's, and the Los Angeles Lakers. His name is always listed among the top 25 basketball players of all time and many name him as the Center for the Eternal Dream Team.
Despite his Herculean athletic feats, Dippy was only given a human heart. It gave out in 1999 relegating him to the Hall of Great Sport Legends.
Preparing the mail last week, as I affixed a Wilt Chamberlain stamp to each envelope, I didn't see a legendary Goliath. I saw The Big Dipper, a gifted athlete who was a nice young man and a credit to the old neighborhood.
Stratton Schaeffer is a retired consulting engineer and farmer who lives on Joe Hill.