Remembering Steve Morris

It was Fall Semester 1970 at Assumption College in Worcester, Massachusetts. I had been thrown out of a Philosophy class because I was neither a major, minor, senior or junior. As I was departing that classroom, I encountered Professor Jim Barbato, from whom I had taken an environmental science class the previous semester. He had seats remaining in his current Oceanography class, so I quickly signed up and joined the first meeting of a class that would change my life in so many ways.

While I was familiar with Prof. Barbato, I do not remember knowing anyone else in the class that first day. Somehow I ended up sitting and becoming friends with Lou Boyatzi and Steve Morris. That led to friendships with several other folks, including Brendan Bierch, Ed (Chick) Chalmers, and a host of others.

A little over 40 years later, I am saddened to learn of Steve’s recent death in an email message from Brendan. I had not seen Steve in several years, but had remained somewhat connected via email and the Assumption College website. Most recently, I had emailed him complaining that the Phillies had stolen my birthday present by signing Cliff Lee. His reply: “Heh, heh!” I could hear his voice.

So many “Steve” stories. Most people addressed him as “Merc,” and the Worcester Telegram & Gazette, in its recent article on Steve’s death, remarked that the late Assumption College basketball coach Joe O’Brien nicknamed Steve “Merc” during a gym class. True, but the whole story of the naming reveals much about Steve and his character. I remember that day well.

It was a Monday morning, a Monday that followed a Sunday wherein the flamboyant, speedy and talented flanker/running back/kick returner Mercury Morris of the Miami Dolphins had ignominiously fumbled at least two kickoff returns. In the open gym class, we were engaged in a touch football game in which Coach O’Brien served as the designated quarterback for both squads. Somehow, Steve managed to sneak into the open several times and Coach hit him square on the numbers on each occasion. Somehow, Steve managed to drop each of Coach’s perfect tosses. “Just like Mercury Morris,” chortled Coach O’Brien. Of course, Steve was slightly less fleet of foot than the professional Mercury Morris, but the name stuck. Steve became Merc. Sure, Coach O’Brien had teased Steve by calling him Merc, but Steve saw all of the irony and humor and adopted his new name. “Merc72” was on his auto registration plates and "Merc" in his email address.

In the process of getting to know each other, Steve quickly found out that I was not only a fan of the hated New York Yankees, but that I rooted for the Chicago Black Hawks as well. Bobby Hull was my favorite player. One morning, upon my arrival at Zip’s (then the day-hop or commuter’s hangout) Steve solemnly informed me that Hull had been traded to the Bruins for chump change and a case of stale Narragansett beer. “I just heard it on WBZ,” he informed me. All day long I moped around campus, finding it hard to believe. As I was cutting through the gym on my way to a class, Coach O’Brien paused to speak with me, saying “Sorry to hear about Hull going to the Bruins, Mike. You must be heartbroken.” Later that day, Assumption’s All-American basketball payer Jake Jones stopped me to say the same thing. Of course, it was all a great practical joke set up magnificently by Steve. Steve’s comment the following day when I sheepishly acknowledged his yanking of my chain and pulling of both my legs: “Heh, heh!”

Steve got me a small position as a statistician with the athletic department. Mostly, I kept track of steals, rebounds and the like during JV and varsity basketball teams. I got to travel with the team on many trips, including Washington DC to take on Catholic University and Georgetown University and most games throughout New England and New York. It was great fun and I owe it all to Steve. One of the most exciting tasks I performed was to help compile and then deliver the halftime and final stats to the radio and television broadcasters. During the heyday of Assumption basketball in the 70’s, that meant hobnobbing with Tom Heinsohn and Bob Cousy.

When I was in graduate school at Western Kentucky University, I made it a point to meet Steve and his good pal Fr. Ed Chalmers at the old NCAA Division II tournament in Evansville, IN. Steve got me press credentials for the games.

So many memories of Steve: sports trivia contests, meatball grinders at his uncle’s pizza shop in Shrewsbury, word games, bad jokes, cold-cut grinders and root beer at Zip’s, driving Bentley College’s basketball coach to Robert’s Arena in Evansville, insulting Bobby Goldsboro in Evansville at the Executive Inn, Queen burgers at some god-forsaken diner in Reynoldsburg, OH (“Ya gotta go to the restroom and see for yourself…”).

Yesterday, Wednesday January 26, I spoke about Steve with Fr. Ed – Ed was in Worcester at St. Stephen’s parish and I was in Larkspur CA visiting my father-in-law. Our conversation started sadly, but ended in laughter as we reminded each other of the joy that we shared over these 40 years (more for Ed) of friendship with Mercury Morris. Ed and I made plans to visit the next time I am in Worcester. I am sure that we will talk about Merc.