Sweet 16 Hero and My Dad

It's with a heavy heart we repost Freddie Maggard's story on his dad, "Big Fred," as Freddie calls him. Big Fred passed away yesterday in Corbin with Freddie by his side. We did not know Big Fred personally, but there's not a better man than Freddie and the same has been said about Freddie Sr. Our thoughts go out to the Maggard family and all who knew him. -- Drew

In 1956, the Carr Creek Indians won the Kentucky state basketball championship. With a population of approximately 100, Carr Creek consisted of a post office and a high school with 250 students in eighth through twelfth grade. Today, another small mountain team will commence its historic journey towards destiny. Buckhorn High School has captured the minds and imaginations of the Commonwealth. Before stepping foot onto the hallowed Rupp Arena court, the Wildcats have become a folk legend. History is funny like that. It has a tendency of repeating itself. The 50’s were the golden era of mountain high school basketball. Some historians would argue that the era was the pinnacle for all of Kentucky high school basketball. From Inez High School in 1954 to Hazard and Carr Creek in sequential years, all of eastern Kentucky was considered title town. In the midst of heated community basketball feuds arose a regional kinship when one of its own was crowned. In the 1956 Sweet 16, the most prolific and flamboyant scorer in Kentucky history, King Kelly Coleman, traveled west to Lexington for his long awaited and highly publicized coronation. Decades before social media, an actual airplane flew over Lexington dropping leaflets that declared that the King was coming. Carr Creek and a skinny guard by the name of Freddie Maggard Sr. had a different plan. Yes, we are related. He’s my dad. My old man hit two last second, game-winning shots in the state tournament. Those two jumpers happened to be against two All Americans: Wayland’s aforementioned King Kelly Coleman and Central City’s Corky Winthrow. In both games, Carr Creek was down by one point with seconds remaining. Maggard was clutch. During the title game, my old man dropped 20 on Henderson. He was left off the all-tournament team. In Frankfort, a Legislative Special Assembly later voted to right that wrong. Carr Creek had netted the hearts of all Kentuckians. As some would later say, “Kelly Coleman was the King. But Carr Creek got the ring.” During March, Kentucky is the most special state in all of America. Regardless of size or classification, teams, communities, and schools make their trek to Lexington with hopes of bringing home the Commonwealth’s most coveted trophy. In addition, the Kentucky Wildcats begin their annual journey to bring home yet another national championship. But for me, March is always about me and my dad. The myth of Carr Creek is a legend that annually grows. Fred Maggard’s two game-winning shots have grown from 25 feet in actuality to mid-court or beyond. From today’s fairy-tale account, the team rode mules from their dirt court in Knott County to Memorial Coliseum. They also had to borrow uniforms to wear. All false. Another myth is that Carr Creek was a Cinderella story. In fact, the Creekers were at times ranked as the state’s number one team and was a pre-tourney favorite. Never call a Creeker an underdog. https://youtu.be/gl8mTOCyQm4 Tuesday was special. Yesterday morning, I got to spend time with my dad. On the way to his house, I imagined my favorite childhood picture of the two of us. The background was Cincinnati’s Riverfront Stadium. All pure hillbillies were Reds fans in those days. At the stadium, my old man was helping me learn to walk before watching batting practice. Another hillbilly trait is extreme early arrival for sporting events. Or at least that was what I was taught. I was a toddler. Yesterday morning, we changed roles as history repeated itself. I helped my dad walk from the car to the doctor’s office. While waiting we discussed Buckhorn and Carr Creek. He told me all about playing both the semifinal and title game on Saturday. He was exhausted but never got tired. He went on to talk about how King Kelly Coleman scored 12 points from the time his team walked from Memorial Coliseum doors to their pregame locker room. He discussed guarding Jerry West in an all-star game. The “Logo” dropped 44 on my pops. He said that West showed him how the game was supposed to be played. He said that on the court, Jerry West was pure. At that time, my Emmitt Smith story was irrelevant. After his doctor’s appointment, I walked him to the car and eventually back inside the house. As I left, I beat myself up all the way home. Why hadn’t we had these discussions before? Sure we’ve talked about it a thousand times, but not in that length or detail. Or maybe I just didn’t get it? March is a special time in the Bluegrass. March is my favorite month. From the 56 Carr Creek state championship team, four players signed division one college scholarships. Two to Kentucky, one to Cincinnati and as he’s known these days, Big Fred signed with Virginia Tech. During his freshman year his dad, my grandfather became ill. He left Blacksburg to never return. My dad left basketball. Coal mining became his life. He never complained. Sixty years later, decades of mining coal have taken their toll on the skinny guard from Carr Creek. As a youngster I was known as Big Fred’s boy. As I grew, that changed to him being my dad. Somewhere in between, I was too cool for Carr Creek stories. Not today. I can’t get enough. I’m going back next Tuesday. March is special. It’s been 60 years since the Creekers cut down the nets. Today, I will watch Buckhorn represent the 14^th region and the mountains. Most likely, no Wildcat players or coaches have heard of Carr Creek. Fast forward six decades, a son will be helping a member of this year’s Buckhorn state tournament team into the house. Stories will be told. Father-son bonding will take place. March is my favorite month. I don’t know how many more Marches I’ll have with my dad. None of us are guaranteed tomorrow. Today, I will call him as I’ve done for the past two decades. I’ll make a copy of the Sweet 16 brackets; we’ll then guess the winners. Most always, one of us, if not both, will take a mountain team to go all the way. My dad is my hero. Always has been, always will be. I told him that yesterday. I wish I would have told him that more often. We’ll make the most out of this month and subsequent Marches we have together. You see, time is the great equalizer. The older I get, the closer we become. Roles are reversing. I regret the years of being too cool for my dad. I love March. I love my dad. GO BUCKHORN