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| Besiktas Teammates, 2009 |
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| Besiktas, 1975 |
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| Turkish Champions, 1975 |
Four months later, I found myself debarking from a 747 with my family, at what appeared to be a used warehouse, old, run down Yesilkoy Airport in 1970. We were met by a fellow teacher, dumped our bags into a 1950 American car, probably a Chevrolet, and set out for our home for the next seven years, the Robert College Campus in Arnavutkoy. Though teaching brought me to Turkey, and I loved my students and teaching experience at RC, the opportunity to play basketball for Besiktas and represent Turkey in a number of European Cups changed me more than I ever could have imagined.
Before I talk about Besiktas in the 1970’s, let me fast forward for a moment, to the fall of 2009, when I returned to Istanbul for five weeks, for the first time since 1977 when I left Turkey. Istanbul of the 1970’s was like something out of a Charles Dickens’ novel, crowded streets, decrepit buildings, aged yalis, masses of villagers, freshly come to the ‘city’ from the East. Shacks of gecicondu filled the hillsides along the Bosporus, as Istanbul was beginning to change, from a city of two million when I arrived, to one of almost 20 million today. It was a city that I grew to love, mostly for what it lacked: television, suburbs, supermarkets, shopping malls, Bosporus bridges, name brand products, family cars, modern transit (mostly buses and dolmus), and tourists. I loved it for its people, their hospitality, it’s outdoor markets (I would shop at the Besiktas market every Saturday), the bakkal (Mehmet, in our village, who would save us Sana when there was a shortage), the bread, the Bazaar (with its rugs, kilims, copper, and jewelry), the still green, undeveloped Asian side and of course, the magnificence of the city of Istanbul, what I considered the best kept secret in the world, a city without skyscrapers, of slender, pencil-like minarets, framing the evening sky. This was the city I knew and loved. Imagine my shock when I returned in the fall of 2009…the city was unrecognizable. Suddenly the city of Dickens had become something out of a futuristic novel, as seemingly endless cities of high-rise apartments, office buildings, and superhighways filled the once green hills along the Bosporus, the city streets packed with traffic to rival that of any great city in the world. No more dolmus’s, but trams, no more bakkals but chain stores, no more densely packed streets with small shops, but malls, like Istinye, which rival any in the West. Now cruise ships filled the ports, tourists roamed the city, new hotels dotted the landscape, and restaurants were filled till all hours, and Beyoglu, lived once again, with Turks and tourists alike, eating and drinking, listening to music. Turkey had joined the 21st century and Istanbul had become one of the great modern cities, for better or worst and now faces the daunting problems of any developed nation: environmental concerns, population growth, and the modern politics of polarity.
The beauty of playing basketball in Istanbul in the 1970’s was that most of us played because we loved the game. For a few, perhaps a Zeki Tosun and later an Erman, basketball was their only job. But for the majority of the players on Besiktas, for Ates, Hursit, Battal, Fehmi, and me, we all had day jobs. And the beauty of basketball at that time was that it was not ‘big time’ like today’s sports, where every hour of the day is spent planning, practicing or playing the next match. For us, we had an hour and a half practice three times a week, perhaps four if we had a big game on Saturday. It was manageable and fun, a respite from our workday. No one practiced twice a day, every day of the week, like many college and pro teams do in the States and Europe today. I consider myself fortunate to have played at this time because basketball was fun, and I played for the joy of it, not the money. I assume an Allen Iverson plays for both: his love of the game, his reluctance to give it up and, of course, the money. I envy him the cash but feel sorry because he will have missed the days when basketball was not as serious, where it was still a ‘kind of play,’ unlike today where it often means big money, for both players and teams. How he fares in Istanbul is problematic. If he has grown up, if he no longer needs his posse, he will do well. In other words, if he has grown up, he might thrive with Besiktas. Certainly, he will be the hub of the team, the celebrity, and a place in which he thrives. But whether he adjusts to life in Istanbul, so different from the life he’s been used to, one has to wonder. There’s no doubt he’s at the end of his career; whether he can keep it alive for another few years is the question that will be answered in the next few months. I wish him well
Like any new experience, the first year is the most memorable. I remember playing basketball one afternoon my first month in the RC college gym, when a Turkish player, Ates Cubukcu, asked if I would be interested in playing for Besiktas. I really had no thought about playing; in fact, I didn’t even know there was a basketball league in Turkey. Eventually, because of him, I met with other players, team managers, and obviously, other teams had heard about ‘the American basketball player,’ so I talked with a couple of other teams as well. But I liked Besiktas, especially the players, all who seemed friendly and really wanted me to play for Besiktas We celebrated my decision to play for Besiktas by going to the Cicek Pasaj, indulging in the traditional Turkish fare: raki, garides, arnavut ciger, and kororci, all new to me but the Cicek Pasaj became one of my favorite eating spots in the city.
For the first eight months in Istanbul, I had no car so each evening, around 5:00, after a day of teaching, I would walk down the hill from our apartment on the RC campus in Arnavutkoy, wait for a dolmus, and take it to Taksim at dusk, with the sounds of the muezzin in the air. I would then walk to the Spor ve Sergi Sarayi change in the chilly locker room, and practice with our team. Then, around 8:00, we would take a quick shower and head home. I still recall the walks back to Taksim with teammates, stopping to buy chestnuts from the vendor, or a tost and ayran or boza from the kiosk. Then, waiting in line for the next dolmus, I headed home to the village and a 15-minute walk up the RC campus hill. It still remains what of my favorite memories of Turkey. This all changed when I got my Volkswagen Van, but I still miss those days of dolmuses, walks to Taksim, the smell of chestnuts on a fall evening.
Most of our practices, to my surprise, were much more training than playing. We did lots of endurance drills, sprints, exercise without the ball, which to me seemed like a waste of time but that was the coaching philosophy when I arrived, not that the coaches were not good. Cavit, Aydan, and Battur were certainly successful, the equal of coaches in the States. I can remember a friend, in his 30’s, who played for Kurtulus telling me that they did duck walks at the end of every practice! Anyways, as the years changed, practices changed, too, and by the time I took over as player/coach, strategies were beginning to change. My major contribution, I believe, was to bring what I called the motion offense or the passing game to Turkey. Up to that time, most teams had set plays, which they worked on and tried to run in the game. I became a passionate devotee of the motion offense through Bobby Knight. When I brought it to Besiktas, I was met with some resistance, but eventually, as time went on, the players became more comfortable with moving without the ball, trying to help your teammate get open, and reacting depending on what your teammates did. Today, teams seem to have both set plays as well as a motion offense, but back then, it was a revelation.
My first game for Besiktas was unforgettable, to put it mildly. As I mentioned earlier, I was a fairly naïve, apolitical American, knew little about Turkey, and just wanted to teach and play basketball for Besiktas, a team and fan base I knew little about. Thus, I was really excited to play my first game. As we ran on to the floor, to a packed Saturday night crowd of mostly male fans, I was met by chants of ‘Yankee Go Home! Yankee Go Home.” Needless to say, I was flabbergasted and had no idea why they were chanting, why they considered me a Yankee. I just wanted to play basketball. After the game started, the fans got into the game and stopped harassing me. I did just ‘ok’, and we lost that first game. After that night, the chanting rarely happened, but I will never forget this rude initiation to playing in Turkey. And I might add, by the end of my tenure, the fans were calling me Mustafa, cheered my every move, and had clearly taken me to their hearts as one of their own. Perhaps my proudest moment occurred during a European Cup match when the Greek team came to Istanbul. As the Greek team was introduced, they were booed loudly. And, of course, when Besiktas was introduced, we were cheered but the loudest and longest cheer was saved for when I was introduced. That remains a great moment, the knowledge that I had become Tom Amca”, an adopted Turk.
As for Americans playing in Turkey, I was not the first but I was the only player who played more than one year for the same team, Besiktas (I played for seven). Each year either a Fenerbahce or Galatasaray would recruit another new American player, usually a fringe player or renegade because they would have been playing in the ABA if they were really good or Italy, where the real money was. I remember the first year when the American player for Galatasaray supposedly had a problem with the law in the states, though it may not have been true. Usually, the Americans were black, from intercity backgrounds, with not much interest in Turkey, Istanbul, other than playing basketball. I had little contact with them, perhaps because I had a wife and three children, and they were single and hung out mostly in discos or clubs. I do remember Willie Williams because he played for Galatasaray the year we beat them in our final game for the Turkish Championship in 1975. He was actually a good guy, easy going and fun to be with. The previous year he had sat on the bench with the Boston Celtics, so everyone was talking about this great NBA player who was coming to Galatasaray. I had heard this story before and I considered myself the best American playing in Turkey, so his coming really motivated me, to not only outplay him but also win the championship. We played each other early in the season, and our duel was a stalemate and to be honest, I don’t even know who won. But our final meeting was going to be for the championship, and I wanted this game more than any I had played in, for the fans, for the team, but also for my pride. For the three weeks prior to the game, with Williams and Dogan, Galatasaray’s great guard in my mind, I would go out on the plateau behind our school after basketball practice, and run laps around the track, in the dark, mentally and physically preparing for the match. When we eventually met, I can only say that I was so ready that I can hardly remember the game, especially the first half where I played in a zone, the only way I can explain it. I felt as if I couldn’t miss, everything seemed effortless, time slowed, and I ended up with 19 points at halftime as we had a huge lead. I eventually ended up with 24 points and we won the first and only Turkish League title for Besiktas. It was a great win for the team, for our fans. And although I don’t remember it, I still have a copy of the newspaper, with a picture of my teammates carrying me on their shoulders around the Spor ve Sergi Sarayi, a memorable night.
Some may wonder why I coached for a year and a half, eventually relinquishing the coaching reins to Battur. For me, the dilemma seemed to be this: if I played really well, my coaching and the team strategy suffered. If I worried about coaching and team, my playing suffered. This went on until I realized that the team needed me more as a player, and having someone else coach would better for the team and me. It proved to be a good move because I enjoyed playing for Battur.
At various times during my seven years, the Besiktas team ended up having a camp outside of Istanbul to get ready for a big game, the season or the European Cup. We trained once in Manisa, once in Bolu, and once in Plovdov, Bulgaria. Our first camp, in Manisa, was the most memorable, perhaps because it was my first year. I had never really been in a small Turkish town before, so for me, it was a window into a culture in Turkey. Most afternoons we would practice, but in the mornings and evenings, we were free to roam the town, see if there was anything to do (no), and spend time in tea houses sipping chai and playing tavla or konken. For many of the men in this town, it seemed that’s all they did. We were not really recognized by the townspeople except for the few fanatical fans, who would come to all our practices. The highlight of the day was to attend an outdoor movie, in the center of town, watch films in Turkish and eat pumpkin seeds, a true art form as I discovered. For me, it was an interesting sojourn and look at Turkish life, for my teammates, it was an exile from the big city. Bolu was much the same, though there was no town nearby, we hardly saw the lake, and all we did is practice and sleep in our motel. I do remember one thing about our stay, the fact that Bolu was known for its cooks and it was the first time I tasted kaymak (a thick (cream from a water buffalo). Because I was so enamored with, I was served it with every meal, whether breakfast, lunch or dinner.
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| Istanbul, 1974 |
My most disappointing loss was in the European Cup, to Romania, by one basket. If we had won this match, we would have ended up playing in a four-team tournament with Italy and Russia, which would have meant two things, a chance to eat and shop in Italy (leaving Turkey was like one big shopping trip for the team since Western goods were hard to come by at that time in Turkey). In fact, whenever we flew out of Yesilkoy, the entire team would give me their dollars to hold, as the limit was 200 dollars per Turkish citizen. I still have Czech crystal that I bought in Bucharest. The other reason for wanting to win was to visit Russia, while it was still the Soviet Union. Anyways, we had gone to Romania, played pretty well, but fell apart in the last few minutes allowing them to beat us by at least 15 points, meaning we would have to win by 16 points in Istanbul to move to the next round. Unfortunately, despite the home stadium, the rabid fans, the referees (who were wined, dined, shopped for by the team managers), we won by only 15 points, on a last-second shot, failing to advance by one basket, a terrible loss for our team and fans. Turks are nothing if not fanatics about their national teams and we let them down.
As a good but not great basketball player in the States, I grew and matured as a player in Turkey. Most of my career, I was unselfish, considered myself a team player, enjoyed passing as much a scoring. But in Turkey, it was clear I was expected to score and a lot, as I soon found out. And I could, I discovered, as I led the league in scoring the year before our championship season and set the single-game scoring record of 69 points, which I held until Erman broke it about ten years later. One of the unexpected benefits of playing, I discovered, was that this ‘unknown’ basketball player from the US became a celebrity in Turkey, recognized as BJK’s Tom, from Istanbul to Trabzon to Adana. This I never expected though I have to admit I enjoyed being recognized. I attribute my celebrity to two things: one, television had just been introduced to Turkey in 71’ or 72’ and everyone watched it, even if there was only one channel, even if it was a Besiktas basketball game. Thus, I became a familiar face and, of course, I played for seven years. Secondly, I was easily recognizable, a tall, exotic, wild looking b-baller, with an Afro, beard, and slightly turned up nose. Clearly, I was not a Turk and I stood out where ever I went.
My teaching also benefited from my playing for BJK. My students were always asking me about our team, came to our games, and followed the team avidly. Some played for the BJK genc team, and I was lucky enough to coach many as well. What I remember most, however, was during my first year, when Robert Academy was still an all-boys’ school. On Tuesday afternoons, the entire Lise II class would meet in the lecture hall for testing. Whenever it was an English exam, I would head towards the lecture hall and as I entered, I was serenaded by 100 Lise II students singing, Boom Ba Lachey, Boom Ba Lachey, Boom Boom Boom. Siyah, Beyaz, Champion. What a way for a hodja to be welcomed to an exam! I still keep in contact with a number of those students, all who played basketball at RC and in Istanbul: Sami Basaran, Muharrem Kayhan, Hasan Teoman, Refik Soyer, and Serdar Aral, now all successful businessmen and professors.
My only major regret is never having learned Turkish. I made excuses that I was too busy that first year, with both teaching and playing but I could have found the time. I just did not realize how important it was until too late. This lack made it more difficult for me to fit into Turkish society. And my teammates were mostly that, teammates, and we did not socialize much off of the court. For one thing, all of them were single, and I was married, with three children, thus our interests did not intersect. We would occasionally go out to dinner with their girlfriends, or would we would have the team over to our house for dinner, for a barbecue, or even one time, for New Year’s Eve when, to our surprise, one of my teammates brought a TV. Because television had just arrived, no one wanted to be without a television on New Year’s Eve. But because of the language and cultural barriers, it was difficult to become fast friends.
I do vividly remember my friendship with Ismet Badem during my first year. He was very interested in getting to know me, and we always hung out together on trips, though he could only speak Turkish and me, English. He invited us to his tiny apartment for dinner, a couple months after the birth of his first son, Bircin. Despite the small apartment, modest appliances, his wife had prepared a wonderful guvech for us, and their hospitality was unmatched. Both were excited to entertain us, and we had a great time. We reciprocated, of course, but felt a bit like the ugly American because their apartment could have easily fit into one of the thirteen rooms in our apartment. Clearly, as an American at that time, we were fortunate, living on a hill overlooking the Bosporus, in a huge apartment, with a maid, a car, and a lovely campus for my children to grow up on.
When my wife and I returned to Istanbul in the fall of 2009, we had no expectations, no plans, just hoped we might see some of my teammates, some friends, and generally reacquaint ourselves with a city we had not seen in 35 years. How wrong we were. Within 24 hours, Besiktas teammates Ates, Fehmi Sadikoglu, Ahmet Kurt, and Faruk Cagan had all called, having somehow gotten the number of the apartment we were staying. And that more or less set the tone for our stay. We got together numerous times as a team, and with individual players and their wives, most memorably the entire team met at Ahmet Kurt’s restaurant in Gokturk, our second night in the city. Though we had not seen each other in 35 years, it was as it had been a week. We immediately were great friends once again and spent the night laughing, telling stories, catching up on our lives, our children, and for us, grandchildren. Captain Ates took over our lives and would call almost every day to see what our ‘program’ was. If we had nothing planned, he planned something for us, taking us to shopping malls, to restaurants, shopping, to visit other sights in modern Istanbul. It was great to see Battal again, the heart of our Besiktas team and Fehmi, still coaching and passionate about basketball, just like he was when he was a younger, chasing officials off the floor for making a bad call. Few in my life have matched Fehmi in their love of the game, of coaching, especially young players. I was able to attend one of his matches, where, fittingly, he was playing Hursit’s Besiktas genc team, another teammate from that championship year. Faruk was the playboy of the team, so it was fun to see him settled, married, with a son but just as much fun as ever. And, finally, I got to see Zeki Tosun, who managed to come to a dinner in Sariyer, only because I was going to be there. It meant a lot to me to see him again because he was such a great player and person. Our five-week sojourn in Istanbul ended with my being honored at halftime of a Besiktas game, for my ‘contributions to Turkish basketball.’ All my teammates were in attendance as were many older basketball fans, writers, and officials. It was another memorable day, one I will never forget.
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| With Hasan In Gocek |
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| Dinner With My Former Robert College Students |
