Me and Ernie D

The popular filmmaker on his -- and his home state's -- love of Providence hoops

By Peter Farrelly

Let me tell you about Rhode Island. As you may know, it's the smallest state, but those of us who grew up there don't think of it that way. If push came to shove, we know we could kick Delaware's ass. How small are we? You could fit 220 Rhode Islands into Texas, or, to put it another way, if the U.S. were made up of states the size of ours, there'd be almost 3,000 women in the Miss America pageant. ¦ Rhode Islanders are, in general, a happy people. Despite our state's abundance of magnificent golf courses, fewer than 20% of our marriages end in divorce. Sportswise, we're rich. We're host to the top farm teams of the Boston Bruins and Red Sox, as well as the Tennis Hall of Fame, and we have the best beaches anywhere. The world's greatest putter is from Rhody -- that would be Brad Faxon -- as is fellow pro Billy Andrade. American League Rookie of the Year candidate Rocco Baldelli is from my hometown of Cumberland.

To fully understand Rhode Islanders, however, you must know this: We're Boston sports fans. Providence is 45 minutes from Beantown, 20 minutes from Foxboro. If thousands of Rhode Islanders didn't make the trek to Boston each night, the Bruins, Celtics and Red Sox would have joined the Braves' convoy when they skipped town back in the '50s. The Patriots would be playing in Hartford right now if not for us.

Nevertheless, when a windblown pop-up ekes over the wall behind Yaz, or the ball dribbles between Gimpy's legs, the Bay State gets all the condolences, the sympathetic pats on the back. Rhode Island's pain slides under the radar, like the mistress sitting in the last pew -- the one who did all the hard work but gets no mention in the eulogy.

Did you know that Rhode Island was the first colony to declare independence from the British? Well, we were, but when you think of the start of the American Revolution, you think of Massachusetts, don't you? See what I'm saying? That state needs us more than it will ever admit. And the irony is that Roger Williams founded Rhode Island to escape those crackpots. The Puritans were driving him crazy -- it was like living with the Taliban. So down 95 he came, and Rhode Island was established, and it became the first state to walk the talk of religious and artistic freedom.

There's a reason you've probably never heard any of this Rhode Island-Massachusetts rivalry stuff. It's because we don't make a big deal about it. We're thick-skinned. As Roger Williams hoped when he started this place, we're all about live and let live. Recently, Providence became the largest city in the country to elect an openly gay mayor. His name is David Cicilline, and guess how much of the vote he got? Eighty-four percent.

And do you know why the gay mayor won by such a landslide? Providence College basketball. Because that's the one good thing that's always been ours, all ours, and it's given us a positive self-image and, in turn, the ability to not worry about what other states are doing. The Friars and Roger Williams gave us this.

The great Rhode Island humorist Rudy Cheeks once observed that old songs have a way of transporting us back to a specific place and time in our lives, but old television shows don't. For instance, you'll never be watching a rerun of Barnaby Jones and get to wondering what happened to Mary Ellen from high school. It's true, old music can dredge up great memories, but it can also dirty the water, just as certain sports figures can with just the mention of their names. Like Ernie D.

Ooof! It's 1973, and I'm sitting on the floor of our family room bawling my eyes out. I'm way too old to be blubbering like this, but my Friars, the team led by my hero, point guard Ernie DiGregorio, have just lost to Memphis State 98-85 in the Final Four. My brother, Bobby, kicks the footrest across the room toward where my mother is sucking air in gulps. I hear something that sounds like a grunt on the verge of a laugh and turn to see my friend Bradley sitting oddly -- upright and forward-leaning -- in his easy chair. The cackle isn't at us but at his own sniffly condition. I've never seen him this way, and it confirms for me the depth of the tragedy we've just witnessed on TV.

Today Providence hoops means a lot to our state, but when I was growing up, it meant everything. For the decade of the '60s the Friars had the nation's third-best record, behind UCLA and Kentucky. The school had stars like future Hall of Famer Lenny Wilkens and No. 1 draft pick Jimmy Walker, and my parents would tell us stories about the legendary Vinnie Ernst, Johnny Egan and Jimmy Hadnot. On game nights Bobby and I would sneak out of bed and sit at the top of the stairs listening to Chris Clark on the radio down in the kitchen. With each victory a honking sound would break the suburban stillness outside as our excitable neighbor Buzzy Dunn ran down Thomas Leighton Boulevard in his pajamas.

In the '70s the Friars meant even more to our state. Because we needed them more. Do you remember the '70s? They weren't good years -- not just in Rhode Island but everywhere. There was tons of progress in the '60s, '80s and '90s, but what did the '70s bring us? Touch-Tone dialing. It was a dark, strange period with bad music, ugly cars and H.R. Haldeman.

Despite everything, Rhode Island was on a roll. Why? It's like this: If my wife left me tomorrow, I'd be devastated. She's a great woman and I love her and I'd miss the occasional sex. But it wouldn't change the fact that the Pats won the Super Bowl two years ago. That's what the Friars gave Rhode Island in the '70s. No matter how dark that decade got, we had a happy ticket in our back pocket, and it lifted the state because even if you weren't a Friars fan -- and who wasn't? -- you were surrounded by 900,000 people who had excitement in their lives. It made Watergate and gas lines and even Disco Duck bearable.

The '72-73 team was guided by Dave Gavitt, the greatest coach who ever passed our way, and that's saying something. Rick Pitino and Joe Mullaney coached at Providence, and Wilkens and John Thompson went there as undergrads. But Gavitt was the best. He knew the game and kept his cool and somehow made us feel, I don't know, classy.

Something else made that team special. Its two biggest stars were from here. Ernie D was from North Providence, and center Marvin Barnes was from South Providence. They had our accents -- Ernie sounding a bit like Frankie Avalon, Marvin turning his r's to v's. ("Me and Chevyl are going to a fund-vaising chavity in Flovida -- we're gonna stay at the Shevaton.") The Friars were the greatest team in the country that year. They were never ranked No. 1, but at season's end they were the best and would have proved it, except they never got the chance.

Providence was 27-2 before facing Memphis State in the national semifinals. The only defeats had been an early-season loss to Santa Clara and an annihilation at the hands of Bill Walton on UCLA's home court. But that was before my Friars had jelled. Since Pauley they'd won 17 in a row, including six victories over ranked teams. Ernie was throwing passes no one had ever thought of before, shooting guard Kevin Stacom's sweet outside stroke was gold, and Marvin was simply the smoothest player anyone had ever seen.

In the NCAA tournament they beat everyone in their path by double figures, including a Maryland squad led by Tom McMillen, John Lucas and Len Elmore. Now here they were, eight minutes into the Memphis State game, and the rout was on. Marvin was sweeping the boards and dishing off to Ernie, who was winging behind-the-back passes to Stacom for layups. Renowned CCNY coach Nat Holman would call it the greatest eight minutes of team basketball he'd ever seen, and with the Friars up 24-16 all of Rhode Island was already looking ahead to the finals and our rematch with UCLA. But of course that would never happen.

When Marvin's right knee gave out after a collision with a Tigers player, everything changed. We were a running team, and to run, you first have to rebound. Marvin had averaged 19 boards a game, and suddenly that was gone. Our team didn't lose, it was struck down, like Roy Hobbs in The Natural, except Hobbs got another chance. We wouldn't. Ernie was a senior; he was done. Marvin and Stacom were coming back, but we knew the team wouldn't be the same without Ernie, and it wasn't.

Today, providence has a new downtown, a low crime rate and a thriving community of writers and artists. Its restaurants rank up there with those of Charleston and New Orleans. At night, along the reclaimed Providence River, you can stroll on a torchlit walkway past the new outdoor skating rink and a row of upscale bars and clubs.

But Providence College basketball is still the city's lifeblood. The '87 team, coached by Pitino and quarterbacked by Billy Donovan, made it back to the Final Four, and in '97 the Friars fought their way to the Elite Eight before losing in overtime to eventual national champ Arizona. The current team is coached by Tim Welsh, a good man, and as we look ahead to next winter, he makes us all hopeful.

Someone once told me that when a person close to you dies, you have a choice: You can get either strength from their memory, or pain. I try to look on the bright side and say it was enough just watching Providence play in '73, seeing the surprise and awe in the other, more heralded teams' faces. Sometimes I get weak and imagine that Marvin hadn't hurt his knee and that we'd beaten Memphis State by 30 and gone on to shock UCLA, and then I stop myself because it feels a little pathetic, like imagining the world if JFK had lived. But it's O.K. that it didn't happen, because we didn't blow it, we didn't play beneath our abilities, we didn't let the ball go through our legs. We lost because, well, it was in God's hands, that's what I tell myself. And 99% of the time I really do believe this, because I'm a Rhode Islander and Rhode Islanders have thick skin. But sometimes ... man, it hurts.

Peter Farrelly is half of the Farrelly Brohters, whose films include There's Something About Mary and Kingpin

Issue date: July 14, 2003