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Once in a while Garibaldi and Williams (who went to San Jose State and was on the all-WCAC team with Bill Russell) will feel young again and stay after practice to play one-on-one. No sweetie pies, they will shove each other around, lose their tempers like a couple of Ogdens and then go get even more sweaty in a steambath crowded with students and priests.
Garibaldi and Williams feel they are blessed with a vice-president-in-charge-of-inspirational-signs, Trainer Henry Schmidt, who has been taping ankles at Santa Clara and building up his museum of photographs for 42 years. The Broncos' 17 straight wins this season have inspired Schmitty to such heights—or depths—that the locker room is practically wallpapered with his timeworn slogans.
There are only about 2,900 students on the coeducational Santa Clara campus and the atmosphere is California casual: blue jeans, SC jackets (despite the fact that there happens to be another SC in the state) and even a few Berkeley beards. There are olive trees, palm trees and red-tiled roofs, and the buildings are a nice combination of modern comfort and Spanish flavor. Santa Clara claims to be the oldest university in California (founded 1851). Pacific—that place crops up again—makes the same claim. However, Pacific has no Spanish mission on its grounds. Santa Clara does, although its version is not an original, or even a replica. The first mission was built in 1777 and flooded twice in the first three years. A replacement was completed in 1784, another in 1822, still another in 1850 and yet another in the 1920s.
Garibaldi sometimes wishes the padres would get around instead to replacing the Broncos' home arena, San Jose Civic Auditorium, a WPA project that seats 2,500. The score there must be given over the public-address system every minute because the fans sitting on the stage cannot see the scoreboard. With the lighting in the place it is a wonder anybody can see the scoreboard.
A committee is now at work on plans for an arena-convention center to serve the entire booming county, full of towns you never heard of: Los Altos, Los Gatos, Milpitas. The arena would be a step up into the big time, or at least the big money, for Santa Clara, which has not seen too much spare cash since the football team beat Bear Bryant's Kentucky Wildcats in the Orange Bowl 19 years ago. It would be a big boost to Garibaldi's recruiting, too.
Santa Clara seldom attracts players from faraway basketball hotbeds—no human kangaroos from the playgrounds of Philadelphia, no ball-handling wizards from Pekin, Ill. A few years ago a coaches' convention was in Washington, D.C., and Garibaldi figured it was his big chance to go prospecting in New York City, one of the world's important exporters of unconditionally guaranteed All-America candidates. He set up an appointment with a metropolitan hotshot and anxiously left Washington for New York. The kid stood him up.
The Broncos do not do well even in Los Angeles. Their entire starting lineup is from San Francisco or San Jose and only one man on the squad is from out of state. The Ogden brothers can walk to the campus from their parents' home in about 10 minutes.
That modest house on Walnut Grove Avenue has a hoop and backboard nailed up over the garage door and a strip of wood set in the concrete for a free throw line. Here, Bud and Ralph, born 13 months apart, grew up playing a long series of lawless one-on-one games that usually ended with Bud chasing Ralph into the house or throwing him over a hedge. Occasionally their dad, Carlos Sr., would join in, and whenever one of the sons tried to take advantage of the other, Pop would bounce him off the garage door, which luckily had a little give. "There used to be blood on the driveway sometimes," says Carlos.
The elder Ogden was not an exceptional athlete in high school and college in Illinois. He made his competitive mark in World War II, going in as a private, coming out as a major and winning the Congressional Medal of Honor for heroism in action near Fort du Roule, France in 1944. His company was pinned down by fire from a German 88-mm. gun and two machine guns, and that was not too conducive to survival, much less taking the offensive.
"Arming himself with a M1 rifle, a grenade launcher, and a number of rifle and hand grenades," says the official citation, "he left his company in position and advanced alone, under fire, up the slope toward the enemy emplacements. Struck on the head and knocked down by a glancing machinegun bullet, Lieutenant Ogden, in spite of his painful wound and enemy fire from close range, continued up the hill. Reaching a vantage point, he silenced the 88-mm. gun with a well-placed rifle grenade and then, with hand grenades, knocked out the two machineguns, again being painfully wounded...."