Red Robbins conjures up pleasant images of youth

Growing up in the New Orleans area, my earliest memories were of playing on the “neutral ground,” across from our home at 204 South Jefferson Davis Parkway. There is the ingrained image of throwing snowballs at my brother when it snowed one winter.

Most notably, my early thrills all surrounded sports. I attended exhibition major league baseball games at Tad Gormley Stadium, hardly a venue for big league baseball. The left field fence was about 240 feet from home plate while center field simply kept going into the trees, toward the City Park Amusement park and rides. I wondered if powerful Harmon Killebrew of the Minnesota Twins could reach the Carousel or Ferris Wheel with a prodigious blast.

I remember sitting in Tulane Stadium in the South End zone, watching John Gilliam run away from us, toward the north end zone with a 94-yard kickoff return for a score on the first official play in New Orleans Saints history on September 17, 1967, hearing my dad scream out loud while watching through big binoculars, “he’s going to score!”

Another vivid, inspiring memory was my first trek to Loyola Field House, in December of 1967, to watch the New Orleans Buccaneers of the ABA perform.

It was a strange deal. The court was above some seats. Later, there would be a net installed to surround the court to prevent players from falling off the edge into the seats below. A guy named Ronnie Kole was playing piano throughout. The players were using a cool red, white and blue ball. The red, white, and blue team logo was neat. I was given a Buccaneers sticker, which I placed on my bedroom wall, ruining the wallpaper my mother had picked out, much to her chagrin. My older brother didn’t seem to mind, since we already had a few other stickers on that awful looking stuff covering our wall.

They would eventually play at both Municipal Auditorium and the Tulane Gym but neither had the mystique of the Loyola Field House for me.

The players names were unforgettable. Jackie Moreland, Doug Moe, Larry Brown, Ron Widby, Gerald “Go-Go” Govan, Jimmy Jones, Steve Jones, Ron Franz, Marlbert Pradd, Mike Butler, Ron Perry, Lee Davis, Leland Mitchell, Harley Swift. The coach was a guy named Babe McCarthy. Turns out he was pretty good and had already enjoyed a storied coaching career, most notably at Mississippi State. I asked someone if his name had anything to do with Babe Ruth.

The team lasted three years in New Orleans. They actually played for the ABA championship in their first year, losing in the title series in game seven to Connie Hawkins and the Pittsburgh Pipers, 122-113. Hawkins was amazing. He could hold the ball in the palm of one hand. He could jump higher than anyone I had ever seen. I attended a game in the championship series.

My favorite players were Jones (Jimmy), Moe, Brown and a guy named Red. I never knew that his real name was Austin. I remember that my first encounter with hearing his name led me to a song—“when the Red, Red Robin comes Bob-Bob-bobbin’ along.” I wondered if that’s where his nickname was derived from. Songs and sports have always converged, merging in my finite though wandering brainwaves. Oh, for the creative mind of youth again!

Austin “Red” Robbins was a thin guy. Though he went 6’8, he weighed less than 200 pounds. Though he was a pivot man, he often played away from the basket. Though he was tall, he had a good outside shot which gave opposing centers fits. He was perfect for the wide open game of the American Basketball Association.

He was perfect for a wide-eyed kid to watch. His name was intriguing. His shooting ability was stellar. He seemed like a pleasant guy, having met him at one point. I was too nervous to ask for an autograph.

Years later, I had the pleasure of encountering Robbins at our Saints Hall of Fame Celebrity Golf Classic. He still had red hair. He was still a nice guy. He was still thin. Seeing him brought back the excitement of youth which is often forgotten in the midst of a huge workload and life’s daily challenges.

Austin Robbins passed away at his Metairie home Wednesday, leaving this earth at the age of 65. He had battled cancer for the past three-and-a-half years. It was a sobering reminder of our mortality, given the circumstances of having a father battling cancer today and having lost a mother to cancer six years ago.

Inevitably, youth gives way to adulthood. Dreams dissipate and reality arrives. Fortunately, I can count my blessings in that several dreams of youth have come to pass.

We should all take comfort with what we have been given, giving thanks in this Thanksgiving season for what we have, as opposed to grumbling about what we do not have.

As an adolescent, I had those baseball games, the New Orleans Saints and the New Orleans Buccaneers to provide dreams and memories for a young man who would pursue a career in sports.

Red Robbins was a part of that. He is gone but not forgotten. He had a sweet jump shot that frequently found nothing but net. “When the Red, Red Robin comes Bob-Bob bobbin’ along. There’ll be no more sobbin’ when he starts throbbin’ his old sweet song.

Wake up, wake up you sleepy head. Get up, get out of your bed. Cheer up, cheer up, the sun is red. Live, love, laugh and be happy. What if I were blue, now I’m walking through, walking through the fields of flowers. Rain may glisten but I still listen for hours and hours. I’m just a kid again doing what I did again, singing a song. When the Red, Red Robin comes Bob-Bob bobbin’ along.”

In the dreams of youth, the Saints and Bucs always won. Robbins never missed a shot. Neither did Moe or Jones. When I could not attend the games, I would listen on the radio for hours at a time, be it the Saints, Bucs, St. Louis Cardinals or Houston Astros.

The name Red Robbins takes me back to being a kid again, doing what I did again, singing a song, happy-go-lucky, bobbin’ along daily. As Bob Hope once sang, thanks for the memories. Thank you, Mr. Robbins! You gave this young man hope and pleasant dreams at a youthful stage and memories that have withstood the test of time. As this is penned, an older man’s eyes begin to well up, turning red. How appropriate!