Jimmy McEachran
In an earlier story I mentioned that, while I was a disappointment to my father in baseball, I was better at track. Here’s a picture from my high school year book of me running the high hurdles (I lost).
IIn my senior year, I attended a track meet at Wellesley High School — a well-to-do suburb of Boston. I wandered into the gym where there was a gymnastics meet going on. There was a tumbler who did an amazingly high backflip at the end of three back handsprings. I was hooked. By the way, this high school gymnast was named Ben Mills — my number 1 son’s namesake.
So at age 17, despite being too old to get really good, I decided to learn gymnastics. I tried teaching myself but this ended in disaster (recall the tongue biting incident from an earlier story). After this horrible incident, I thought I better find someone in the Boston area who could teach me some of the basics. After poking around various gyms, I was told to check out he Boston Young Men’s Christian Union — not YMCA.
The YMCU (built in 1851) is located in the heart of what was called Boston’s “Combat Zone” — an infamous couple of square blocks in down town Boston populated with strip joints, hookers, druggies, gays and street people. The YMCU was also down the street from the Boston State House and was a popular meeting place for Boston Pols. Many deals affecting the city took place in the steam room at the YMCU and many arguments were settled on the handball court.
In addition to politicians, the YMCU was the base for a small group of budding gymnasts (12 to 14 years) from mostly downscale neighborhood of South Boston. The YMCU also featured retired acrobats and old time vaudevillians. Heading up this small group of gymnasts was Jimmy McEchechrean. Jimmy was what they used to call “Black Irish” — jet black hair and blue eyes. He was in his mid-twenties. He had a mischievous grin and devilish eyebrows.
Jimmy oozed charisma and was himself a gifted gymnast and teacher. Within a couple of two hour sessions he taught me the right way to do a handstand (bone-on-bone — see picture below) as well as a back handspring (something I’d been trying to learn from photos in a book and almost broke my neck). The secret to the back handspring Jimmy said was to pretend you are sitting down in a chair but keeping your back strait, then swing your arms and head back. Magic.
I could say a lot more about how important gymnastics became in my life, not only in terms of training and the mix of aesthetics, strength and flexibility (also I got to wear white tights and slippers for special events), but also in terms of the friendships. In fact, I reconnected with one of these friends a few years ago having lost touch for 40 years. Pictured below is Kenn Henderson who was probably the best gymnast in New England when I got to know him back in the mid 60’s. I reconnected with Kenn via Youtube when I stumbled on him playing folk guitar. Turns out he had been in San Francisco since the mid 70’s. We’ve stayed in touch since.
Being able to do a credible handstand was not the most important lesson I learned from Jimmy McEchrean. It was another kind of lesson altogether. In fact, I doubt whether Jimmy was even aware that he was imparting this lesson to us gym rats. What was this lesson? It can be best conveyed by a little anecdote.
I had been training at the YMCU for about six months. Jimmy was teaching us some technique or other when this guy entered the gym who I’d never seen before. He was skinny as a rail with a stubble beard, dirty cap and a wild look in his eye. He looked like a typical bum (we never said “homeless” back then). He wore a dirty overcoat, shuffled his feet and was the kind of guy you would avoid if you saw him on the street — at least I would have. Jimmy stopped the lesson and gave this fellow a warm greeting something like: “Hey Freddie, really great to see you. How you gettin’ on? Can I get you a coffee?” Freddie smiled back at Jimmy and in that instant I saw Freddy, not as a bum, but as a real human being. Turned out that Freddie was an old vaudeville acrobat who was down on his luck and had mental issues. Over the next few months Freddie would appear from time-to-time and was always treated with respect and dignity by Jimmy and the rest of us.
Freddie was not the only one who was accorded this kind of welcome from Jimmy. Everyone who came through the gym door was given not only the benefit of the doubt but was treated as an individual who deserved respect and dignity. It didn’t matter if they were a hotshot politician or down-on-his=luck acrobat. Jimmy treated them the same. Of course, there were some nasty folks who took advantage of this. But Jimmy’s example had a big impact on me. Not that I was a mean person. But I certainly never went out of my way to try and see the humanity in everyone.
Looking back, I know that I have not always lived up to Jimmy’s example of giving folks the benefit of the doubt and treating everyone with kindness and respect (although I do have a penchant for blue collar folks). I do know that Jimmy’s example rubbed off on me. I’m less good at this now in my seventies. I admit to having grown more cynical over the years but I still have vestiges of Jimmy’s legacy — try not to judge people based on first appearances. I’m sure if I met him today, Jimmy he would kindly encourage me to work on my attitude.