SWENSDAY STUFF

Seeing Greatness
Swen Nater

I love to play harmonica but I’m not that good. I can bend notes, get a train going from stop to fast, and make a fast car go by. I can play Old Man River, Oh Shenandoah, and some other songs. I can play some blues. But that’s about all.

When I hear a great harmonica player, I stop to marvel at how he can make that little thing talk, cry, whine, or shout. Highly skilled players can make a harmonica sound happy, sad, excited, anxious, and even apprehensive. They can even make it sound like it’s clearing its throat.

The thing is; I don’t know how they make harmonicas human or sound like other things. I try to mimic what I hear but it doesn’t work. I need someone to show me, one-on-one. I need someone here, next to me, so I can mimic and ask questions. Then, perhaps, I’ll be able to move up to a higher level.

When I was at UCLA, in the off season, Wilt Chamberlain (the great Lakers’ center) heard about me and came to Pauley Pavilion to give me some pointers. He arrived in his red Cadillac convertible with a completely white interior and chrome all over the place. That thing was longer than the gym and yet Wilt’s knees were still as high as the shiny rearview mirror.

As he pulled up, he called me over and introduced himself; as if I didn’t know who he was. He told me he had just come from the Santa Monica beach, playing volleyball, and forgot his basketball shoes. “Hop in.” He said. “We’ll just to go over to my place and get some shoes.”

His huge house was just ten minutes away in Brentwood. We went inside and Wilt showed me around. Wow! That’s another blog posting for another day. He gave me a pair of shoes and four pair of socks, grabbed some shoes and socks for himself, and we were on our way back to Pauley.

We found two other pretty good players and played two-on-two. Wilt and I were on opposite teams. He said, “Let’s see what you’ve got.” Well, what I “got” was a whole bunch of shots Wilt could block. Swat, swat, swat, swat. My head went back and forth so much it looked like I was watching a tennis match.

On one block, Wilt’s hand was right about at the level of the top of the backboard. He “cupped” my hook shot (that means he just grabbed it instead of blocking it, the most embarrassing way to get your shot blocked) two times.

Wilt was 7’2” and weighed over 300 pounds and he was all muscle. His upper arm was as big around as my thigh, and I had big thighs. One time, my teammate shot the ball and I made a move to get around Wilt for the offensive rebound. He stuck his arm (tree trunk) out and I ran into it. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground. 

Throughout the workout, Wilt talked to me, coaching me on how to move, when to move, what to look for, and much more. I did everything he said and improved a little.

We played for about two hours and said good bye. I thanked Wilt (I called him Mr. Chamberlain after that workout/thrashing) for the time and he told me to keep working because I had talent. So Wilt drove off in his Cadillac and I walked to my dorm room.

That day was a great day for me because I saw I was not that good and I witnessed, first hand, greatness. I wonder how good a harmonica player I’d become if a great player would come over and just show me some things.