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.
Great read Chris – I remember many of the same things – I seam to also recall people climbing up a light pole near the bar (Bally Who?) and the alarms going off at a jewerly store on Wabash after someone threw a rock through the window (?). When the cops arrived, I recall being next to a couple of drunks who thought they could get the crowd to take on the cops. I remember calmly walking past the line of cops and barking dogs and getting the h___ out of their. I do recall seeing one police officer being struck on the hand with a flying brick as I fled.
PS: We watched the game on 3rd floor BSB!
Hart,
You DID NOT watch the game on 3rd floor BSB! You watched it at one of the dorms in ISU!
Dr. Mack,
Please do a better job of screening the comments!
P.S. If you are so ‘smart’, why is there only one kid listed at the bottom of your Bio page? Let’s get this thing updated, shall we?
Ooops. I’ve added daughter #2 (Anna) to my bio – only 20 months after the fact. Thanks.
Thank you, Chris!
Chris, you are too modest. You worked much harder than the rest of us at RHIT. That said, I too, was pretty much consumed by class work that year (and every year) at Rose.
As an avid player, I was lucky to have gotten a taste of Indiana basketball culture, and, once convinced of their worth, I followed ISU’s march to the NCAA finals in 1978/79.
I was not, at first, convinced they were all that good, since they played in the pretty much unknown Missouri Valley conference.
"So what if they’re undefeated? Who do they play?"
But, I started to watch their games, and grew to admire their stifling defense and team-oriented offense which revolved around the greatest white player who has yet lived.
(Larry Bird was voted three consecutive MVP’s by players who were then, as now, 75% black)
Unlike you, I DID watch the final – with roomates and ISU girlfriends in our apartment on Kent Street.
The girls cried when ISU came up short.
I don’t remember what we did after the game, but I’m betting it involved beer. I do remember hearing about trouble downtown – for which you have kindly provided details.
Thanks for the reminiscence.
Jim Susky
Super Senior
BSEE ’82
PS
The year before (77/78) I was a 3rd floor BSB resident.
I survived well into the 3rd Quarter before getting laked. Our RA Tom Wiltrout ("Trout" for short) posted me and others on the Top Ten Laking List.
He also instigated another tradition one evening – the infamous "butt slide".
I returned to the 3rd floor one evening (after Basketball) and found the entire floor drinking cherry vodka cut with red punch.
Trout announced the butt slide. We flooded the tile hall with water.
One of us freshman got up some courage (or lost inhibition), stripped down, and started out. He made it nearly 2/3 of the way down the hall.
Well, leadership worked in this case. Damn near everyone got naked and were soon sliding down the hall on their glutes.
This continued until Hovda (one of my roomies the following year) got his feet cut out from under him and feek with a gash above one eye.
I still remember the worried look on his face, when Trout shut down the proceedings, and took Keith to get stitched up.
By the way, Trout claimed to have never been laked. He was a big tough 6-4, 225 wide receiver on the football team.
Some of my fellow hallmates took that as a challenge.
Ron Dale – also about 6-4, 225 – got behind Trout, pinned his arms to his sides in a bear hug, and the rest swooped in. In five minutes, Tom Wiltrout, Class of ’79, was swimming with the ducks.
(actually, BSB3 did not throw him in the Duck Pond – too, too nasty)
Follow up to Trout’s laking:
Tom Wiltrout was a real good guy. He said later that Ron Dale (who, started Varsity Basketball that year as a freshman) was the strongest man he had ever encountered.
Ron could easily have played Big Ten basketball, but knew that he was very unlikely to make a living at the game.
Larry Bird said much later as an NBA Pro something like:
"I can’t believe they’re paying me all this money for something I would do for nothing"