Wade legend begins in the locker room

Editor’s Note: This is the first of two stories about the late Red Wade, for whom a group of Prattans are seeking to raise enough money to name the basketball courts at Blythe Family Fitness Center.

There it was in black and white. There was no way around it and nowhere to hide. It was my first day of Seventh Grade. I had been dreading this day all summer.

See, in seventh grade there was no recess. Instead, there was Physical Education class, which wouldn’t have been so bad except that you had to “dress out.” We had gotten a whole list of things to purchase for seventh grade and on that list were PE supplies including shorts, t-shirt, tube socks, tennis shoes, and a jock strap. I had never even seen a jock strap, much less used one. And now I’d have to “dress out” in front of 30 other guys. Just that was enough to make you sweat.

But that wasn’t even the worst part. The locker room and gym were the domain of the Scariest Man on the Planet – Red Wade. At least that’s what the eighth graders told us.

Red Wade was the largest man I had ever seen. Legend had it that he had been an All America football and basketball player in college and had played for the original Chicago Bears in the National Football League. In the NFL of the 1930s they wore leather helmets with no face masks and Red’s nose proved it. It had been broken so many times that it had no cartilage left. He showed us once on a good day in Health class.

Red Wade was massive. He had to be at least 6’6” and weighed nearly 300 pounds without any fat. His huge head sported short and thinning red hair, which is how he got his nickname. He had huge, gnarled hands, a barrel chest and middle, and long legs with humongous feet at the floor. He walked with a slight limp from old football injuries.

At the end of second period I trudged to my new locker and fished the combination out of my pocket. I finally got it open and put my math book away. I looked down again at my schedule which was taped to my notebook so I wouldn’t lose it. “Third period: PE. Mr. Wade. Gym.” Time to face the music. I grabbed my gym bag out of the locker.

“Are you ready for PE?” asked my friend, Clay Manes.

“I guess so,” I said lacking enthusiasm.

“Coach Wade’s supposed to be a real “*&^%#@buster,” he said with a weird smile. He had an older brother who was in high school and seemed to be looking forward to the challenge.

“That’s what I hear,” I said. “Do you think he really threw a shoe at a kid last year?”

“Yep. That’s what the eighth graders told us.”

I wondered if I would survive the year.

We walked down the stairs to the locker room. As we entered a gruff, deep voice shouted, “Hurry up and find a seat on a bench along the wall!” There was nobody I could see, just the voice.

Our school, Liberty Middle School, was ancient. The locker room had been a swimming pool at one time. Now it was boarded over with the pool’s concrete edges serving as a border to the whole room. The hollow area under the boards gave the whole room an eerie echo. Legend had it that Red had drowned a kid for talking back so the school decided to board it up to cover the evidence. I didn’t believe that one.

I found a seat in the corner farthest from the door under the window on the outside wall. A chain link fence ran from ceiling to floor the width of the room to the opposite wall. My corner was where the outside wall and the chain link came together. Behind the chain link was the “Equipment Room” and Red’s “office.” A long board with coat hooks had been hung so that we’d have a place to hang our clothes when we changed.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” hollered the Voice to the stragglers coming in. I decided to always be on my best behavior in PE. The bell rang.

I looked into the “office” and Red was seated at his huge, heavy oak desk about three feet from the chain link.

“Ok, boys, time to get started!” he hollered. “Get dressed!”

I reached into my gym bag and pulled out the jock strap.

“Do you know how to put this thing on?” I asked Clay in a whisper.

“Yeah, my brother showed me. Your legs go through here and everything else fits here,” he said pointing.

“Uh, huh,” I said.

“Hurry up ladies! We’re burning daylight!” hollered Red.

With that he shoved the desk into the chain link, which shook violently, and knocked a kid off his bench on the other side. Then he stood up. (I never saw him move his chair once that year. Instead, it was always the desk that moved and usually at a high rate of speed. )

I was so nervous and intimidated that I forgot all about the other guys and put on my strap over my underwear.

Red lumbered out of the office through the chain link door at the end of the fence opposite me. He wore a short-sleeved collared dress shirt and nice jeans. In his back pocket was a tennis shoe that looked to be about a size 11. He was scanning the room sizing up this year’s new crop.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he asked pointing to a kid by the door on the opposite side of the room from me.

“Mike Fellows.”

“Well, Mr. Fellows, spit out that gum.”

Every eye in the room went to Fellows. No movement. No one really liked Fellows because he could never do what he was supposed to do and many times the rest of us paid for it. He had a unique talent for irritating most adults, but especially teachers.

“I said spit out the gum, Fellows!” Red repeated.

No spitting. No real movement. Fellows just stared at him blankly.

“Spit it out, man,” Clay whispered.

“Yeah, come on, just get rid of it,” said another kid.

The blank stare continued. Now Red was working up a lather.

He lumbered toward the door. In a corner by the door was a large metal trash can with a liner. We had all passed it as we walked in. Red picked it up by the handle on one side and moved the 10 feet to Fellows. He held the trash can in front of him. By this time we were all dressed and seated on the edge of the bench to see what would happen next.

“Spit out the gum!” Red boomed. It had become a battle of wills.

Nothing. Just that stupid look.

“Spit it out, man!” Clay whispered again.

“Spit it out!” we all implored silently.

Fellows, you’re going to die! I thought. Spit out the gum.

Red’s face flushed. He picked up the trash can and held it in front of Fellows’ face.

“Spit it out!”

Nothing.

We’re going to witness a murder, I thought. Red’s going to kill him.

Red was about to blow.

“Spit it out!”

Nothing.

Then it happened. In one lightening motion Red reached down, grabbed Fellows by the ankle, and jerked him upside down in the air over the trash can. It was very impressive. I didn’t think he could still move that fast. Obviously, Fellows didn’t either. Red dangled him over the can by the ankle, eyeing him like a newly discovered species.

Nobody liked Fellows but we were awed by his audacity. Every kid in that locker room was silently mouthing, “Spit it out!” to Fellows, hoping he would save his own life.

“Spit it out!” Red thundered as he shook Fellows over the trash can. He head had turned red and he had a white V on his forehead with veins popping out.

“You’re going to die!” we pleaded.

Still nothing.

 With that Red stuffed Fellows headfirst into the trash can!

“Everyone to the gym!” he hollered.

We bolted out of there like a stampede of cattle. And the Legend grew.

Jon is an entrepreneur, teacher, coach and free lance writer. He currently teaches physical education at Tarrant County College and other area colleges in Fort Worth, runs some fitness boot camps for those who want to get into shape, and helps all types of teams improve their performance.  He also writes for many publications. He lives with his wife, Shelby, and two and a half above average kids, in Arlington, Texas.