1.
Five-seven, physically fit though unintimidating, fair skinned with thick curly black hair, Jay Siler grew up to become the “nice Jewish boy next door," or as Jewish mothers and grandmothers might say, an "adorable mensch."
Had Jay grown payes, long sideburns that mark Orthodox beliefs, pinned a yarmulka in his curly hair and dressed in white shirt and black slacks, he could have easily been mistaken for a seriously studious yeshiva student. Jay's mother worried that her only son spent too much time at serious study, when he could have taken breaks, and played too much basketball when he actually took them.
At five-seven, too small for a D-1 scholarship, Jay caught the attention of the coaches at Gettysburg College, a small D-3 school in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, the most famous small town in America, only an hour from Pikesville, Maryland, his hometown. His excellent grades made him an attractive candidate for an academic award where a basketball scholarship was not possible. Starting every game from the first time he stepped onto the college court, Jay led the Gettysburg Bullets to dramatic wins, but also tough, close losses. Jay never lit up big numbers like Caitlin Clark, leading scorer in college basketball history, but he could always be trusted to hit a timely three-pointer from similar spots where she dropped so many treys in her college career. While being the smallest, but fastest player on his team, Jay played like a coach on the court, immediately noticing when a teammate had a better shot, just like Caitlin.
Double majoring in Economics and Mathematics, Jay also posted strong numbers in the classroom and put his analytical skills to practice with his coaches. They listened patiently and politely, but they scratched their heads, perplexed by how their best player turned their beautiful game into a complex academic exercise.
With no hopes to make the pros as a player, his dream since he and his older sister, Dana, first learned the “small man’s game” from their Grandpa Norm, Jay wanted to put his degree to use. He hoped to join the pros as an executive and build a team through analytics. Jay sent hundreds of feelers to major college programs and NBA teams, willing to take chances on receiving even an unpaid internship. He received no responses as graduation drew near, but he was prepared to keep trying. Fortunately, his ball skills impressed Rolland Johnson, CEO of Baltimorebased First Colonial Bancorp, Gettysburg College Class of ’83, collector of all things Abraham Lincoln, wealthy beyond most anyone’s imagination, after he personally watched one of Jay’s best games on campus. Rolland passed the word down to human resources to save a spot for Jay in the bank’s industry-best executive training program. First Colonial’s data-driven human resource executives were also impressed; they quickly made Jay an offer he could’nt refuse.
First Colonial prospered under Rolland Johnson’s leadership because branches were the business. The bank built open, airy money stores designed to ease tensions between bankers and nervous borrowers unprepared to sign on the dotted line. First Colonial sold user-friendliness and convenience on weekdays and Saturdays, Sunday hours too, converting pennies to dollars for the kids, handing out more khazeray, useless plastic giveaways, than any other bank. This strategy worked better than paying an extra point of interest on checking or shaving a point on a mortgage loan.
Rolland monitored Jay’s progress time to time, sharing his observations through Garrett Avery, entrusted director of the training program. As Jay neared the end of his training at headquarters, Rolland set him up for a new challenge, assigning him to return to the site of his college basketball glory days, to rotate in as manager for the bank’s Gettysburg branch. He replaced Elana Erikson, another trainee, a bright, vivacious, slightly chubby Penn State finance grad with round chipmunk cheeks, Penn State alums love their alma mater and really know their football, Elana being no exception, and there are plenty of Penn State loyalists around Gettysburg. Her rapport and encyclopedic Penn State sports knowledge helped the branch grow the customer base and loan portfolio. The staff was sad to see her go after July Reenactment Weekend. While comfortable in their roles, they collectively hated the thought that upper management used their branch as a training ground where managers came and went. Jay’s arrival was initially considered a disappointment, but he showed himself to be respectful, too much of a mensch, for the staff to quit on him.
Jay’s assignment was watched more closely by top management than others in his training class. As a collector of all things Lincoln, Rolland Johnson liked doing business close to the spot where the 16th president made his most famous address. He also had a number in mind: two and a half million, the number of tourists who annually visited Gettysburg, one place that could be legitimately called America’s Town, given the historical significance of the oft-reenacted Civil War battle, Lincoln’s famous address, Eisenhower’s ranch, and presidential visits from Washington and Lincoln to Trump and Biden. Why, Rolland often asked direct reports, shouldn’t his bank, a familiar friendly face, help their customers buy the last authentic Civil War collectable, or satiate the ice cream screams of children too young to know why their parents brought them along? And, who better to represent his bank to the community than a Gettysburg College alumnus?
Being downtown, Jay lent an ear to any businessperson or community leader in this overwhelmingly Republican community who dropped by to blame misfortunes on anything from over-anxious historic preservationists and National Park Service bureaucrats to “lib” and “woke radical” college students. He also spoke with many who respected and prospered from the small town’s importance in American history. Jay got the “inside scoops” because he kept conversations confidential, knowing that a new branch manager would replace him in a year.
Jay never planned to return to Gettysburg after his college graduation, except for an occasional alumni weekend or get together with former coaches and teammates. He certainly never wanted to get caught up in the crossfires of community politics. Aside from late night trips to the Lincoln Diner and the occasional movie at the Majestic Theater, Jay rarely ventured outside campus. But he never complained about being posted to a familiar place, succeeding a manager who set a high bar to leap. A branch rotation was the last, and most important, part of First Colonial’s training program. How could bankers at corporate headquarters expect to know their customers, Rolland Johnson believed, if they never actually met them? Working in a less formal setting than corporate headquarters had its pluses. Jay often changed into basketball swag after the close of his workday. Either he’d go to the college gym or an outdoor middle school court close to his rented home where he could shoot by himself.
One unseasonably warm fall day, Jay opted to play outdoors. An errant basketball bounced in front of his car as he turned into the school parking lot near the tarmac court. He parked next to the only other car, an old white Chevy with faded spaces where some business had once placed ads. After he got out of his car, Jay picked up the ball and admired it—as if he recognized an old friend.
“Please, it’s ours,” a teenage girl said politely as she walked over to meet Jay. Black, sixfoot, her shiny black hair pulled back into a simple braid. Her red practice sweatshirt spelled GETTYSBURG in gold letters across her chest. She stuck her hands out, hoping to receive the ball.
But Jay bounced the ball against the pavement, not wanting to give it up so soon, even
though his own ball was in the back seat of his car.
Gritting her teeth on Jay’s every bounce, the Black Gettysburg girl walked to the court alongside Jay. Another girl, a couple of inches taller, White with blonde shoulder-length hair, dressed in similar ensemble, stood impatiently, hands on hips, like she had a score to settle.
Jay dribbled the ball to the half court line, gripped the seams, eyed the net and fired. He rarely made a half-court shot on a bet in a pick-up game, but these girls didn’t know. It was all in the attitude, just like in business. So, what if he missed, they’d get a laugh at his expense. They’d have their ball back, too. No harm, no foul. But Jay’s shot hit the sweet square on the backboard and swished through without touching the rim.
The Black girl's brown eyes popped wide in disbelief. “Nice! I’m Bonita, she’s Stefani.
You know H-O-R-S-E? You miss, you get an ‘h,’ an ‘o,’ until you’re the horse’s ass.”
Jay rolled his eyes in mock surprise. “I get it. You ready? By the way, I’m Jay.”
“Nice shot, Doctor J., gimme five.” She raised her palm, expecting him to slap it-~~ and he did.
“Doctor J.?” Jay asked. “Do you know who ‘Doctor J.’ really was?” Julius Erving, the pro star who earned the title, stopped playing basketball before Jay was born, an all-time great seen only in dated film footage. He tossed the ball lightly underhand to Bonita to give her the first shot.
“Oh yeah, Julius Erving. My dad talks about him all the time.” Bonita dribbled to the left corner and hit a difficult shot. Jay and Stefani matched. Determined not to be first to ‘e,’ Jay picked an easier spot to warm up for the more difficult challenges ahead.
“C’mon, ‘Doctor J.’. Little kids hit those. Try a real shot. Like this.” Bonita dribbled to the top of the key, the circle around the foul line. She set her feet and jumped. The ball left her right hand and dropped through the net as smoothly as it would have fallen from the heavens.
Jay hit one from the same distance, though his motion was less elegant, so did Stefani. He as first to fold after missing five difficult shots
“Oooooh, Doc, looks like you're the horse’s ass.” The words rolled cheerfully off Bonita’s tongue. “C’mon Stef,” she said, “Show me what you got today.”
" Plenty of time to beat you before dinner. Again.”
“You wish.” She looked at Jay as she pointed a long finger at Stefani. “She’s beaten me twice in her life--and shethinks she’s the superstar?”
Jay straightened up, folding his arms, saying nothing as he watched Stefani pop a jumper
from 15 feet.
“That’s all you got? I can make that on one leg.” Bonita bent her left leg back just enough to stay balanced. She fired the ball from between half-court and the free-throw line, too far to try for three in a game, except a “Hail Mary” at the buzzer. The ball swished through the net.
Stefani stepped to the imaginary line and matched Bonita’s shot, also on one leg.
Jay’s jaw dropped as the ball sailed through the rim. He rarely saw a shooting exhibition like this in college or summer leagues.
Stefani bounced the ball between Bonita’s legs. Catching her own pass, she raced to the basket and scored.
“Now that’s a new trick! Way to go, Stef!” Bonita offered her a high-five. Stefani quickly accepted. She smiled and got into position to keep Bonita from making a similar play. Bonita dribbled, favoring her right hand, and bounced the ball through Stefani’s stretched legs. Before Stefani could turn after the ball touched the ground, Bonita reached the ball, dribbled it twice and dropped it in for two. She and Stefani slapped palms again.
Bonita heard her cell phone buzz. She took it from her sweats pocket, checked the time and the message. “Oh, you got lucky. Saved by the dinner bell.” Stefani smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
“Oh Stef, don’t get all happy on me. You know I’ll beat you next time, and the next time after that.” Bonita looked at Jay. “And you, Doc, I hope that I’ll see you around. You showed some game for an old man.”
Jay laughed. “I’m not that much older than you. But I rarely played against anyone who could shoot like you two.”
“You played in high school, college?”
“Yep, right here, Gettysburg, graduated three years ago.”
“Oh, D-3. Cool. Stef and I are going D-1 next season. At least I know I am” Stefani gritted her teeth and squeezed her hands into fists.
“I believe it. Do you have offers?”
Bonita beamed. “Oh yeah, a whole bunch. ACC, Big East, Big Ten. Stef’s still waiting for her first.”
“C’mon Bo,” Stefani replied angrily. “That’s none of his business.”
Jay shook his head. “I don’t know. Stef’s shooting form looks really good to me.”
“Yeah, it is. But she’s got to do more.”
“I thought both of you were starters, the way you two shoot. Who wouldn’t want both of you on the court at the same time?”
“I know I do,” Bonita answered. “Stef can hit it from anywhere. But our coach, Coach
Hughes, says she doesn’t pass or rebound enough to start.”
“Well, ‘Captain Bo’, if you’d say something, maybe he would,” Stefani replied.
Jay stepped between them. “Look, I didn’t mean to get in the middle of something.”
“Doc, it’s all good,” Bonita said, rolling the basketball against her hip. “She’s got to put in the work.”
Stefani tried to push Jay aside, but he held his ground. “Oh, and I don’t? I went toe-to-toe with you just now.”
“No, you got lucky. It was only H-O-R-S-E. You can’t touch me one-on-one, and you know it. I bet old Doc here would beat you up and down this court.”
Stefani’s strength was well concealed under Gettysburg swag. But if she balled every day, she was likely stronger, and faster, too. “Please Bonita, it’s been a while since I played every day, and I wasn’t the best basketball player in my family.”
“No kidding, Doc,” said Bonita. “Who was?”
“My older sister. She was recruited to play D-1 after her junior year. Maybe not the schools you’re thinking of, but good mid-majors like Bucknell, Colgate and Lehigh.”
Bonita grinned. “Ahh, they’ll be the easy non-conference games on my schedule next season.”
Stefani rolled her eyes. “There she goes again. Where’d your sister play?”
“She had a new coach senior year. He didn’t like her and cut off the recruiters. But she got an academic scholarship and played D-3.”
“At least she kept playing,” said Bonita. Stefani nodded in agreement.
Jay looked down at the tarmac court, then back up, before he answered. “Yes, but she gave up too soon.”
Bonita’s phone buzzed again. Her mother calling again. “Look, Doc, we gotta go. Hope you’ll come by and play ball with us again.”
“Thanks. I might just do that.”
Bonita turned towards her car, but Stefani didn’t follow
“Stef, c’mon. Time to go home.” “I’ll walk,” she answered curtly.
“Stef, it’s two miles to your house. Please, let’s go.”
Jay pointed towards Bonita’s car. “Please Stef, she’s right. It’s a long walk.”
“Nice to meet you, Doc. Hope you’ll shoot with us again sometime,” Bonita said as she gently ushered Stefani to her car.