The Making of a Physician. Sheldon Cohen M.D. FACP

you so much right now? The answer is clearly no, so cool it…what happens, happens. I think this philosophical mind-set put me in good stead for other problems faced during the rest of my life.

      However, the worry was for naught as Coach Tortorelli picked me for the first team as a starting guard. The other guard was George Olyszewski, center was Joe Grabowski and the two forwards were Izzy Feldman and Kenneth Adalbert. As a starting guard, my job was to get defensive rebounds, disrupt fast breaks, help bring the ball down on offense, and guard the other team’s high scorers. In this role, I did not score many baskets, but my teammates did. We won West Section and played for the City title. In the semi-final game against South Shore, I learned a lesson I will never forget.

      South Shore had an All-State player named Jake Fendley. He would go on to be All- American at Northwestern University and play professional basketball. At six feet three, he was one of the taller players in the state with the agility and quickness of a cheetah. When Coach Tortorelli assigned me to guard him, telling me that we could win if I could stifle Jake, I had no idea what awaited me. It would be an awakening. In a basketball era when forty to thirty was a high scoring game, I held Fendley to…twenty-seven points in the first half whereupon Coach Tortorelli had enough of me, replacing me defensively with Joe Grabowski, six feet and seven inches, the tallest basketball player in the state, who fared no better guarding Jake and fouled out. Two examples of Fendley’s expertise served to quickly put me in my place and made me realize that there was another level of basketball greatness that very few could reach—and for sure, I was not one of those few. First, stationed on defense at the free throw line in my best defensive posture I waited as Fendley approached dribbling the basketball. While thinking that he’s not going to get by me, he suddenly disappeared from my field of vision. Where was he…I lost him, but I turned around and there he was scoring two points with a simple lay-up. I did not see him go past me on my left; I did not see him go past me on my right. The only conclusion I could think of is that he passed right through me—he had to be a ghost. I broke out in a cold sweat. The second time, I was in the same position on the free-throw line while Fendley again dribbled toward me. I crouched, bouncing on my toes, determined not to have a repeat of the first episode, only this time instead of faking me out, he leaped up in the air. What the hell is he doing, I thought, the basket is way back there. And I watched as he floated in the air toward the basket for another simple lay-up and two more points. Anti-gravity, I could only conclude. The man was superhuman. That was enough for Tortorelli and I spent the rest of the game on the bench.

      But for me, it was a humbling experience, for it instantly dawned upon me that there was another level of basketball expertise that I could not reach.

      Thus ended my high school career; a good four years with a fun-filled athletic experience, an inactive social life and an interesting academic experience except for English and math, two subjects I chose to deemphasize as unimportant, although I can say that geometry fascinated me. I was on my way to the University of Illinois.