In 1974, Steve Nash, the two-time N.B.A. M.V.P. of the Phoenix Suns and the former head coach of the Brooklyn Nets, was born. Also “born” that year was an outdoor basketball court on a newly purchased estate on Long Island’s East End. And while the property’s owner, Derek Schuster, is not a Hall of Famer like Nash, he did create — and continue for 49 consecutive years ending this summer — one of the most iconic pickup basketball destinations on the South Fork.
In its long run, Derek’s Sunday morning sport soiree attracted an eclectic mix of hoopsters. In addition to power forwards, “power players” populated the game, such as the real estate titans Bill Rudin and his son, Michael, Lloyd Goldman, and Don Peebles, all as formidable under the boards as in the board room. From the art world came Vito Schnabel, whose hard, left-handed drives to the basket were as fluid and as fruitful as the brushstrokes of his father, Julian.
Sharpshooter Ira Taub’s family, the first owners of the Nets, set up that franchise in New Jersey, and high-profile lawyers like Bruce Bronster were always on hand to negotiate the making of teams (i.e., ensure they were paired with the best players) and the validity of fouls called or uncalled.
But, despite this influx of the influential, once the ball was in play the only thing that counted was the score. It didn’t matter if you inherited your wealth and brought your personal physical therapist to stretch you out between games, or if you survived on tips as a bartender. What mattered was competing and having fun, working up a good sweat (and wringing out the previous night’s debauchery), and, of course, winning. Because when you won you kept playing and didn’t have to wait for “next.” And, to no one’s surprise, when Steve Nash showed up at Derek’s he never waited.
One year after Derek bought his home and had the court installed, the Sunday game “officially” started. The summer of 1975: The Vietnam War had just ended, leisure suits were the male fashion rage, “Saturday Night Live” debuted with George Carlin as its first host, and the Golden State Warriors, starring Rick Barry and his underhand free throws, won their first N.B.A. championship.
If video of those early players at Derek’s existed, I imagine many looked like Will Ferrell’s Jackie Moon character in “Semi-Pro,” the hoops comedy set in the 1970s. I see men in tight shorts too high and loose tank tops too long, sporting knee-high athletic socks and low-cut Converse All-Stars, thick wristbands to keep shooting hands dry, and funky headbands to hold back ponytails and prop up wild perms. I bet they even used an A.B.A.-style red, white, and blue ball.
I would have liked to see that first season at Derek’s. But I was about 20 years removed from joining the game. I learned about the run from Derek himself, when he chanced upon me one afternoon shooting baskets outside a local schoolhouse. After hoisting jumpers together, he challenged me to a game of one-on-one. I accepted, we played, and then he extended an invite. It felt like I had passed a test, that I had been discovered by a talent scout.
Maybe that’s an apt analogy, as others from the game later told me Derek also personally recruited them to play. It made me feel special to be so chosen. And after playing once I tried never to miss a game during the summer. Except once . . . the time Steve Nash was there. TO BE CONTINUED.
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John McCaffrey, a regular Star contributor, lives in Wainscott.
