THE 1958-59 season was the best basketball experience by far of Alan Seiden’s life. To this day his voice levitates several octaves as he joyously recalls its solidarity and success.
Ranked number seven by both services, St. John’s won the Holiday Festival, and the NIT, when it really meant something, taking the final against a Bradley team (starring Bobby Joe Mason; Chet Walker played freshman ball) that twice had beaten Oscar Robertson’s Cincinnati Bearcats.
And the 5-10 back-talking backcourtman, drafted No. 9 by Marty Blake’s St. Louis Hawks (in an eight-team NBA), was the St. John’s scoring leader.
On each and every “ground” raid to the basket, Seiden would infuriate opponents by shouting, “And One!” regardless of whether he was actually fouled. Ask anybody who ever played against him, 30 years or so before an edgy sneaker company copyrighted that phrase, it was his sardonic signature saying.
“I had seven rebounds, eight assists and 22 points in the final, 13 down the stretch” Seiden recounts.
As fluently as those stats (and those below) rolled off Seiden’s lips I just know there’s no reason to fact check ’em. More times than not, they would’ve been sufficient to win the MVP award. Nonetheless, instead of giving it to the senior, the voting committee decided on a 6-4 sophomore whose two great tournament concerts outweighed Seiden’s four above-average performances.
Tony Jackson, inch-for-inch perhaps the game’s unsurpassed rebounder, also happened to be one of its purest long distance operators. Had there been a 3-point shot back in those days, he would’ve averaged over 30 points per game. That evening, he cashed in for 21 points and 27 boards. Afterward in the locker room, coach Joe Lapchick, a clever psychologist, presented Seiden with the game ball.
“Coming into that season everyone wondered how we were going to get along because we had four seniors and a superlative soph,” Seiden reminisces. “Well, the year before we got knocked out early in the Festival and the NIT. Then Tony arrives and we win ’em both.”
They enjoyed a perfect blend of skilled labor and compatible personalities. Seiden, Jackson and Gus Alfieri controlled the offensive coordinates. Lou Roethel and Dick Engert did the scut work and took care of the rough stuff.
Seiden effervesces at the memory. “Because of Tony we were able to band together. He’s the only player in St. John’s history to average 20 or more points in three seasons, but it never went to his head. He didn’t walk around with a swagger.
“You have no idea how modest and unselfish he was,” Seiden exclaims in wonder before making us very much aware.
Six weeks before the season began, Seiden broke his (non-shooting) left hand and it still wasn’t completely right by the opener against Providence. Jackson scored 18 in the first half. In the second half he hardly shot, reverent almost to a fault, giving Seiden the opportunity he needed to get going.
The freelancing Redmen (Lou Carnesecca had been hired that year to complement Lapchick with Xs and Os) were too much for Lenny Wilkens’ Friars (Johnny Egan was a soph) that night. The two teams met again in the NIT semis and St. John’s won by 20.
Seiden never played in the NBA. Cut by the Hawks, he spent his professional playing days in the ruggedly competitive Eastern League.
Apparently blackballed, Jackson never played in the NBA, either. Though never arrested, never indicted, never anything, he was implicated in the scandals of the ’60s, supposedly for not reporting a futile bribe. Jackson’s only option was the ABA, where he played two seasons. He spent 1968 with the New Jersey Americans, forerunners of the Nets. In 1969, he bounced from the Houston Mavericks to the Minnesota Pipers back to the now-New York Nets. While frequently a force (15.9 average in 138 games), he never reached fulfilled his pristine promise.
The five St. John’s starters have stayed in touch over the years and remain exceptionally tight. Not that long ago, Seiden hosted yet another reunion at his Queens home on 188th Street, just north of the Grand Central Parkway, where his mother, Dora, still resides.
Everybody was there. Jackson brought along a tape narrated by Marty Glickman in which he could do no wrong. Seiden, on the other hand, shot air balls, committed turnovers and got wasted by his opponent.
“Stop the tape!” Seiden screeched in mock indignation. “That’s great, Tony, you’re a guest in my house and this is how you repay me.”
Hopefully it wasn’t their last get-together. For the last few weeks Seiden, Alfieri, Roethel and Engert have tried to visit Jackson at his home in Brooklyn, but he’s too sick, suffering from cancer. Weakened by radiation and cobalt treatments, he doesn’t want to see anybody and doesn’t want to be seen.
“He’s the nicest guy I ever played with, the nicest guy I know,” Seiden says. “Everything about him is positive. No jealousy, no bitterness, nothing negative to say. Had I had a son I would’ve wanted him to be just like Tony. I loved him as a teammate and I love him to this day.”