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Page 12 THE SAUGUS ADVOCATE – Friday, March 20, 2020 The Walls Came Tumbling Down By Tom Sheehan H is name was Alex Destino, and he played for Gloucester High School when I was a pup. It was in the days we lived at Manning Bowl for weekends at a time, and he pulled off the greatest defensive move I can remember on that field. Every time I think of The Bowl coming down, brought to its end, the dust of generations spreading, I think of Alex and, as usual, my old teammates and the relentless foes we ran against. Time has its way of taking its measure, of course, for I lost another one last week when my old co-captain and center of the ’46 Saugus Sachems, Andy Forti, passed on. But we were there, my teammates or classmates and I, on fall days, Friday nights, Saturday matinees, on Saturday nights and again on Sundays when games were eventually scheduled to fully utilize that grand concourse. We played or we watched others play. There was no place else to be in the Thirties and Forties. It seemed we were there forever. It still seems that way. It was a Gloucester-Lynn Classical or Lynn English game; the runner broke loose, and with an escort came down the press box sidelines heading for glory at the Maple Street end. The only one in the way was Alex Destino, one of Gloucester’s finest (and they’ve had a few), coming over from his defensive spot, eyeing the progress of the runner and the huge blocker out front. Instead of being coy about his maneuver, Alex raced at the tandem, threw himself at the feet of the blocker, bowled him over, came up on his knees and embraced the surprised runner. It’s as sharp in my mind as it was then. Of course, when it comes to Manning Bowl, I am totally immersed in great scenes, great adventures and great games. In rugged participation there were some we won, some we lost, but that venue was, for all the latter Thirties, all the Forties and Fifties, the haven and home and bright spot for a few generations of football fans. I was one of them. As were all members of my family and untold thousands from Saugus and elsewhere on the North Shore. My father was a great fan, too, but during the war years his job as a security guard at General Electric was a full-time job. Many days or nights, when we played at The Bowl, my faSaugus vs Peabody, Manning Bowl, 1946, with referee Henry Hormel, Tom Sheehan running the ball and Hercules Haristopolous, of Peabody, in pursuit. We called him Herky Harris. (Photos courtesy of Tom Sheehan) ther had to work and had to listen to the game on radio or to my replay late that night when he came home from work. But there was the night in 1945 when we had a game at The Bowl against Harry Agganis and Don Miosky and Stanley Brittan and George Pike and the rest of the Classical squad on the run for a great year. On the last play of the first half, I threw my only pass of the game, a desperation completion to Jim Blundell or George Winters. During halftime, Coach Dave Lucey gave one of his famous talks, screaming at us, crying, patting some on the back, spittle coming at the corners of his lips. It was notorious. It was infamous. We burst from the locker room and in the process nearly trampled Coach’s cohorts in the tunnel; Fire Chief George Drew, the Gibbs brothers Paul and Edward, Butch Batchelder, George McCarrier and other sundries in our path. Erupting from the locker room, we swept them aside in our anxiety and spirit. We were on fire, but for those in our way of escape, it was tidal. We brought that fire onto the field. We were losing 12-7, late in the third period, when our Georgie Miles, a pepper pot if there ever was one and later a lieutenant on the Lynn Fire Department, forced a Classical fumble on our two-yard line or thereabouts, as memory will have it. But we started a long and torturous drive of some 19 plays and about 98 yards against that Classical juggernaut. Meanwhile, up in the press box, Tom Lester of WESX was broadcasting the game. Somewhere along the line, when we had fought our way past midfield on that fateful drive, old Tom got caught up in the excitement. “Saugus is going wild!” he said, and, in appreciation of a few sly moves, he added, “and Sheehan’s going crazy!” We ran the Charlie Sampson Special a couple of times, the 42 Reverse a few times, the 46 Trap, the Halfback Spin around End, the fullback buck. We didn’t pass, we ran. We ran and ran and ran. My father, at his post at the main gate of the GE, was listening to the game. The chief told me the story some days later. “Tom, I heard all this screaming and noise coming from the radio on the desk at the Western Avenue gate. The next thing I know is the damn GE ambulance is going out the gate with the siren screaming and it speeds off down Western Avenue in the direction of McDonough Square. The old redhead is at the wheel.” To this day I can hear the siren screaming, see the ambulance pulling into the gate end of The Bowl and my father stepping out of the door in his guard’s uniform, much like a policeman’s. We had the ball on the nine-yard line. I ran it. Cushie Harris ran it. I ran it. Cushie Harris ran it. Then I called Cushie again and he pushed it over for the eventual winning touchdown. We won 14-12. I did not see the ambulance leave, but I know my father went back to work. Duty had called, for sure, at both ends of the scale. When he got home from work, I was sound asleep. The Saugus High team, 1945: pictured in the back row, from left to right: Tom Sheehan, Bruce Waybright, George Winters, Soupie Campbell, Andy Forti, George Miles and John Quinlan. Pictured in the front row, same order: coach Dave Lucey, Dick Evans, Jim Blundell, Cushie Harris and Charlie Sampson. In 1946 all Saugus home games were played at Manning Bowl; English, Classical, Beverly, Swampscott, Peabody, but it was all old hat to us then. I knew the tilt of the field, where the ball bounced best, where the ghosts were hidden or lurking or waiting to break loose in our favor. Stackpole Field that year was unplayable, so we went to our second home, a home away from home. Manning Bowl had all the creature comforts for us who longed for that sweet competition, who found respect in and among a host of great friends over the years, for we spent our summers together at Fisherman’s Beach in Swampscott, the adolescents on parade, graduation coming, Korea just around the corner for the unsuspecting. But The Bowl was not past for me. In 1947, while at Marianapolis Prep in Thompson, Conn., in an undefeated season, we played Admiral Bullis Academy of Silver Spring, Md., in the first Shoe Bowl Game ever at The Bowl. Late in the game I tossed a pass to Walter Bellardineli, my tailback from Bethel, Conn. Walter, the best I ever played with, picked off the ball at about the 40-yard line, some two yards beyond the safety. When he crossed the goal line, salvaging a tie game, he was 10 yards ahead of the safety. The game was December 7, 1947. The field was frozen from the 30-yard line into each end zone. Straw was piled on the sidelines. It was my last call at The Bowl. The Bowl memories keep leaping, and the names and faces and accomplishments keep coming back in a litany of images. Their names beget actions: Rocco Cerrone and Tony Andreotolla from Revere; Clayton Sheehan, Ernie Savory, Joe Penney, Rick Ricciadelli, Ruby Jules, Marty Smith, Jack Hennessey and Charlie Long (who later worked in my crew at Raytheon) from Lynn English; George Comiskey, Billy Ransom, Bob Debner and Al Ghouzi from Beverly; Pat Arena, Joe Palazolla and another Destino from Gloucester; the intrepid phalanx from Peabody of Herky Harris, Buddy Roche, Dick Keone, Pete Kravchuk, Luke McHugh, Art Adamopolous and tackle tandems Berger and Pelletier; and Harry Agganis, Don Miosky, Ray McClorey, TUMBLING DOWN | SEE PAGE 13

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