Episode - 072 - Titanic Walks

Stop Making Yourself Miserable

As I mentioned in the previous episode, we’re going to look at four different excerpts from my memoir, “Wilt, Ike & Me,” and were going to examine some of the subtext in each. The following is the text from the portion of the first excerpt. By way of background, my father had recently moved basketball superstar Wilt Chamberlain into our home for the remainder of the 1965 NBA season.

* * *

We had fallen into a fairly regular daily routine and Wilt would generally be sleeping when I left for school in the morning. When I got home, he’d be either up in his room or out walking around the neighborhood. He took a lot of walks.

We lived in a community called Elkins Park, which is in Cheltenham Township, just north of Philadelphia. It’s an upper-middle-class American suburb and has a lot of stretches where you can take some great long walks.

Our house was just a few hundred yards away from a large religious institution called Faith Theological Seminary, which was a training facility for future clergymen. But it didn’t start out that way. When it was first built at the turn of the century, it was called Lynnewood Hall and was a 110-room Georgian-style palace from the Gilded Age. Finished in 1900, it quickly became known as the American Versailles and was considered the most magnificent estate outside of France.

It had luxurious gardens complete with huge fountains and ponds. The home was filled with over two thousand artistic masterpieces, and it was the center of a social network of the wealthiest and most powerful people in the land. There were legendary parties that went on all night, routinely ending with sumptuous sunrise breakfasts.

The mansion itself stands in the middle of a thirty-five-acre circle of land, enclosed by a black wrought iron fence. It was about a two-mile stretch from our house, around the estate, and back. Wilt would usually make the trip every day, sometimes going around twice.

Now, this was 1965 and in our neck of the woods, black people and white people generally didn’t live in the same neighborhood. Things were basically segregated. Cheltenham has changed a lot over the years and is now a model of multicultural living. But back then, things were different, and in our area, all the residents were white.

Soon the local grapevine was buzzing with news that a huge black man was regularly seen walking around the neighborhood near the seminary. A short time later, it became common knowledge that this mysterious giant was, in fact, Wilt Chamberlain and that he was living in Ike Richman’s house.

Before you knew it, nearly everyone claimed they had seen him out on one of his famous walks and had gotten a wink, a wave, or a nod. One day, a school bus slowed down to a crawl, so all the kids could come over to one side and wave at him through the windows.

For most people, seeing Wilt up close was an experience they would never forget. Not only was he much bigger than they’d thought, he was also strikingly handsome and extremely charismatic, with an engaging personality. Along with a great sense of humor, he always had a slightly comical expression on his face, like he was in on some kind of inside, private joke. He was just unbelievably cool.

And memories of him never seem to fade. Although he walked that neighborhood over fifty years ago, people still tell me stories about seeing him. And they’re all still smiling.

Lynnewood Hall always held something special for Wilt. He was fascinated with its architecture and loved to take it in from all the different angles he would see as he walked around its perimeter. As a world traveler, he had developed quite a discerning eye for art, architecture, and design. And this palace was a real masterpiece.

It was built by Peter Widener, who was the embodiment of the American dream. Born in 1834 and starting out as a butcher, he made his first real money selling beef to the Union army during the Civil War. Then, he parlayed his holdings into a huge transportation company that he formed with his partner, William Elkins, the namesake of Elkins Park. He also helped start US Steel and American Tobacco, and ultimately became one of the wealthiest men in American history.

Unfortunately, his interests extended into the steamship business as well, and he owned a piece of the White Star Line. The RMS Titanic was one of his investments. He sent the elder of his two sons, George, over to England to celebrate the maiden voyage of the “unsinkable vessel.” George, his wife, and their son occupied one of the premier luxury suites in first class.

The night of the iceberg tragedy, the Wideners were hosting a formal dinner party for the ship’s captain, who was summoned from it when the collision occurred. Mrs. Widener survived the horrible ordeal, but father and son both went down with the ship.

Peter Widener was devastated. He withdrew from the world, retreated into Lynnewood Hall, and never really re-emerged from it. Within a few years, still mourning the loss of his son and grandson, the old man died of a broken heart.

But the grand old mansion still stands. Its religious conversion didn’t take place until 1952 and it remained a monastery for about twenty-five years until the brotherhood finally closed-up shop. It’s been abandoned for decades.

Now, after an age of neglect, with its insides gutted and its once-white limestone faded to a dull brown, it still holds its magnificent place in the sun, perhaps waiting for some dreamer to come along, with inspired visions of restoration and redemption.

Wilt knew all about Widener’s Titanic connection and the place always got to him. I don’t know if it was just plain spooky, or if it spoke to him on some profound level, maybe about our ultimate mortality. Whatever it was, I could always tell when he’d been there from his distant gaze as he walked back onto our street.

I had recently gotten my driver’s license and one day Wilt decided that we should drive over to a commercial part of North Broad Street, where he could give me some pointers on how to squeeze into a parking space. He said it wasn’t all that hard.

“I think you’re good enough to listen to the radio now,” he commented as we drove along. I turned it on, and soon, the deejay said it was time for the daily double, which was two songs in a row by the same artist. Then Sam Cooke came on singing “Another Saturday Night.”

“Oh my God! My theme song,” Wilt exclaimed. “Turn it up! Turn it up!”

I made it louder, but it wasn’t loud enough for him. “Come on!” he said. I blasted it, and he started singing as we drove along. He actually had a fine singing voice and had made a record once. He kept snapping his fingers along with the music, right next to my ear. His hand was probably three times the normal size, and every snap was like a firecracker exploding in my skull.

I did my best to concentrate, but this was crazy. I wasn’t even a novice, and he was totally distracting. I started getting perturbed, but that was just one part of me. Another part felt like it was the coolest thing in the world.

Wilt had a happy smile when the song ended. But then the slow, haunting introduction of “A Change is Gonna Come” came on, and everything changed.

It was the final song of Sam Cooke’s young life and the mood got somber as Cooke began to sing: “I was born by the river, in a little tent. And just like the river, I’ve been running ever since. It’s been a long, long time coming, but I know, a change is gonna come. Oh yes, it will.”

“I knew him,” Wilt said over the music. “He came up to Paradise right before he died and sang a couple of numbers.” The nightclub he owned was called Big Wilt’s Smalls Paradise, but whenever he talked to me about it, he just called it Paradise.

“They released this right after he got killed,” he said.

We fell silent and listened to the rest of the song. When the last verse came on, Wilt closed his eyes and sang along, his soul coming out of his mouth.

“It’s been too hard living, but I’m afraid to die. ’Cause I don’t know what’s up there, beyond the sky. It’s been a long, long time coming, but I know, a change is gonna come…Oh yes, it will.”

When the song ended, I looked at him in the rearview mirror. His eyes were closed, and he was clearly in another world.

* * *

So, that’s the end of the text from this excerpt. Now let’s briefly go into some of the subtext. Again, subtext refers to the deeper meanings behind the words, and of course, it’s purely subjective, meaning that everyone will have their own interpretations.

To me, the overall concept behind the text is impermanence. Nothing in our life on earth lasts, including all the people, places and things that make up the realm for us. It’s all temporary, and this applies to everyone, no matter who we are or what we do.

This idea is symbolically represented by the grand estate, Lynnewood Hall, that was built by the great industrialist Peter Widener, as he was achieving his greatest successes. But his son and grandson were tragically killed in the Titanic disaster and he retreated into seclusion and died soon after.

The once world-famous palace of opulence still stands to this day, but it has degenerated into a deserted and dilapidated ruin.

Again, it is only about 350 yards away from the home we lived in when Wilt stayed with us. And there is something haunting about the image of him, taking long walks around the huge perimeter of the estate.

Here he was, this 7-foot-tall NBA giant, who at the time was the most recognized celebrity in the entire world, with vast aspirations of his own, circling the former home of one of the greatest business titans in American history.

They were both in the same location, separated by a mere 65 years. Each at the peak of their powers and each dominating their worlds. And as different as they may seem, they were in the same basic situation. They both played out their roles, filled with all of their triumphs and tragedies, and eventually they vanished and were no more. It goes without saying that we’re all in the same boat on this one.

Finally, to drive the point home, the excerpt ends with Sam Cooke singing “A Change is Gonna Come” on the radio. At age 33, the megastar of popular music was also at the peak of his power. But he had recently been shot to death, and watching Wilt sing along to the lyric about being afraid to die was quite a powerful moment for me.

So, what’s the subtextual takeaway from all this? Again, it’s a completely subjective matter and will vary from individual to individual. For me, the somewhat metaphysical experiences I had surrounding the sudden death of my father forced me to take a deeper look into the mysteries of life and I eventually came into contact with some profound understandings from humanity’s Ancient Wisdom Traditions.

From that perspective, there is nothing more important in life than true inner growth and nurturing our consciousness is critically important for us to be able to fulfill our highest human potential and genuinely enjoy the gift of life.

And in that regard, understanding the factor of impermanence can become a great ally for us. For once we begin to accept the truth of it, humility, gratitude and appreciation naturally begin to take hold within our intelligence. And that noble trio never fails to illuminate the path to our higher inner ground.

Well that’s quite a bit of subtext, so this seems like a good place to end this episode. As always, keep your eyes, mind and heart open, and let’s get together in the next one.