What’s remarkable about all this is that I called, made an appointment, even if just to talk about old times, and sat down and quickly realized how wrong Fitzgerald was. There is definitely a second act in American life, and the CCNY Beavers proved that to nearly everyone in full.
“Of course, it’s a shame that because of the scandal, nobody talks about what a good basketball team we were. But let me tell you something, son: We were the best basketball team anybody ever saw. Those who saw us knew. Those who played against us knew. People talk about us fixing matches. Okay, that’s fair. But we could play.”
That was Al Ross, the centerpiece of the 1950 Beavers team that did something no team had done before or since — they won the NCAA Tournament and NIT in the same year, and they wowed the city with a seven-game streak at Madison Square Garden, filling a smoky gym on 50th Street.
This was the year 2000. Ross was speaking at the Mahwah, N.J., offices of Air-Zee Supply, the building-supplies company that had made him a wealthy man. He was living proof that you don’t have to be defined by the worst moment of your life, especially if it happened when you were 19, 20, 21.
Floyd Layne proved that more than anyone. And now that Layne died Monday at age 94, it’s good to remember he was the last of the two-time championship-winning Beavers to die. On the eve of his induction into the New York Basketball Hall of Fame in 2003, Layne was the one to bring up the notorious parts of his rich life. He never shyed away from them.
“This experience gave me a reality check at 22 years old and made me realize that I have to take responsibility for my mistakes, but they don’t have to cripple me,” Layne said.
Floyd was one of six CCNY players and dozens from more than 90 schools who were implicated in the 1951 point-shaving scandal. He received $2,500 from a gambler. He used some of the money to buy his mother a new refrigerator and hid the rest in a flower pot. He was so scared and guilty that he couldn’t touch it until the police came to take him away.
The scandal broke the heart of New York and nearly destroyed the city’s basketball community, but it never broke the players themselves: While most of the players avoided prison time, most were summarily banned for life from the NBA, where they would have had 10- or 12-year careers.
Ed Roman became one of the most respected school psychologists in the New York City school system. Irwin Dambrot became a dentist and invented mouthguards for athletes. Herb Cohen, Ross, and Norm Mager: They all became wealthy businessmen.
Layne spent the next seven decades on a different path: He was a former Eastern League star who earned a master’s degree in education, became a public school teacher and a community force in Harlem, where in the ’60s he met a talented boy named Nate Archibald, then still known as “Tiny,” and helped keep him focused on basketball and away from the sordid temptations of the city.
“Floyd had a huge impact on my life,” Archibald said several years ago, “He kept me off the streets. He ran a great basketball program and encouraged me to work hard and succeed in high school and go on to college.”
Layne’s story came full circle in 1974, when CCNY had long since given up its status as a basketball powerhouse and was struggling playing in Division III. Layne had coached at Queensboro Community College for a few years. When the job came up, he was interested. He was hired, and it created a sensation, and not all of it was good.
“We knew his name because he was a great player and he was known on campus for scandals,” says Mike Flynn, a junior on CCNY’s first team, “but he never told us any of that. He just wanted to teach us basketball. He wanted to share what he knew. He was a calm, easy-going guy, and that rubbed off on us.”
He also abandoned former coach Jack Kaminer’s old “walk up” philosophy and encouraged his players to run, and they quickly adapted to his methods. On January 28, 1976, the Beavers walked into Rose Hill Gym and defeated DI Fordham, 61-52, the school’s largest win in 26 years.
“I learned so much from him,” said Flynn, who didn’t play basketball at Van Buren but made a name for himself at Beaver High School. “He had a unique vibe about him. He was just a really good guy.”
Across the city on Monday, similar testimonials came from thousands of children whom Floyd Lane helped grow into adults.
“When that time comes, I want to be remembered for the rest of my life, not as a small part of my life or something I should regret,” he said in 2003.
He did that, and the sport and the city would be worth less without him.
