For any serious basketball fan, the NCAA tournament of 1979 has to stand out as possibly the best one ever, with the final match arguably the best college basketball game ever played. Indiana State University and Larry Bird went undefeated that season until they were finally bested by Michigan State and Magic Johnson, 75-64. Being that game’s 30 year anniversary, and with Michigan State once again making it to the National Championship, there has been much talk lately of that great contest of March 26, 1979. I’d like to share my recollections, not of the game, but of its aftermath.
Indiana State University (ISU) is located in Terre Haute, a town that is most impressive in being completely unimpressive. So when its equally unimpressive state university began winning basketball games, the town took notice. I was a freshman that year at a small college on the other side of town, Rose-Hulman Institute of Technology. Basketball was the last thing on my mind – surviving my first year of chemistry, physics and calculus consumed all of my mental energy (and most of my sleep). Still, it was hard to escape the basketball excitement that was engulfing the town that spring. When ISU made it to the National Championship game, Terre Haute knew it would be an historic event for the city. A victory parade down Wabash Avenue was planned for the evening after the big game, and my roommates and I decided that studying could wait that night.
We drove into town soon after the ISU loss (I didn’t even watch the game), hearing on the radio that the “victory” parade would go on as planned. The parade went on, but it was anything but “as planned”. We parked a few blocks off the main drag and lined up along Wabash Ave. to watch. Within minutes of the start of the parade, things went completely crazy. The lone police car in the parade was soon covered with people and the cop inside wisely fled the scene as his car bobbed up and down under the feet of a dozen people jumping in unison. Street signs and traffic lights started toppling and windows started breaking. A bonfire was lit in the middle of the road as a van from the local radio station blared rock music to the crowd. I was witnessing a full-fledged riot.
My friends and I were in complete disbelief (none of us were serious basketball fans, so we didn’t get what all the fuss was about). As at the scene of an accident, however, we couldn’t turn away. I noticed people breaking into a bar on the corner. Like an especially virulent virus, word of free liquor spread quickly and a huge crowd began to form at the bar. I then witnessed a truly amazing scene. Self-appointed bouncers soon appeared at the entrances, deciding who would be allowed to enter and who would not. When turned away, the less fortunate revealers meekly accepted their status as not being part of the “in” crowd and moved on. I watched this for more than half an hour as impromptu class divisions and a “first-come-first-stolen” hierarchy spontaneously developed. Even in the middle of a riot, society must have its rules.
It seemed like I watched my first riot for at least two hours, though it is quite possible that my sense of time was completely distorted by the strangeness of the events. I then watched how a riot ends, at least in small-town Indiana. I didn’t see them drive up, park, or get out of their cars and vans. I didn’t notice them getting into formation. I just saw as they finally approached the riotous crowd on Wabash Avenue: a neat row of 15 or 20 state police officers, each holding a snarling German Sheppard on a tight leash. They moved slowly up the street like a wall of fleshy teeth, and the crowd simply melted away. As fast as the riot started, it was over. I guess when the purpose of your mass destruction is the loss of a basketball dream, it doesn’t seem worth tangling with a vicious animal over.
So there you have it – my first riot. I too quickly left the scene when the dogs arrived. Is this how most towns deal with the loss of a major sporting event? I don’t think so. I guess Terre Haute is a special place after all.