Bernard Axelrad Scholarship Fund

Where, or where, are the Jewish sports heroes who enlivened my youth?

At the risk of dating myself, I nostalgically think of the prize fighters who fought in every division and whose fortunes I avidly followed, such names of the past such as Al Singer, Ruby Goldstein, Benny Leonard, Barney Ross, Jackie "Kid" Berg, Slapsie Maxie Rosenbloom and even the mad-cap half Jewish Max Baer (who nevertheless insisted on wearing a Jewish star on his boxing trunks).

I well remember the Saturday afternoons I listened on the radio to the thrilling runs of Marshall Goldberg on the gridiron as he scored touchdown after touchdown for the Pittsburgh Panthers.

How avidly I followed the ex­ploits via box scores of Hank Greenberg, the Bronx slugger of the Detroit Tigers, as he approached Babe Ruth's phenomenal' record of 60 home runs. I had such mixed feelings as Greenberg refused to play on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and yet had 58 home runs one year! I was proud of his observance of the Jewish High Holy Days, and was always convinced that had he played on those for­bidden days, he would have shattered the immortal Babe's record long before Roger Maris asterisked it.

Many decades ago the great C.C.N.Y. and N.Y.U. college basketball teams were rostered with such Jewish names as Maidman, Rubenstein, Fliegel, Holtzman (yes, the Knick's coach) and provided an outlet for youthful rooting enthusiasm. Of course, those were also the days of the center jump and the two-handed set shot and basket­ball then was a far cry from today's race horse style with giants at all positions.

But for a kid growing up in the ghetto there were Jewish sports heroes galore, and watching them was a welcome relief from the constant emphasis and prevailing atmosphere of learning, school and scholarly achievements that dominated the home.

I often wonder what the youth of today has to substitute for my vicarious excitement and exuberance in following the for­tunes of my Jewish sports figures. I suppose today it's cars and video games and rock con­certs. A poor substitute.

Give me the good old days.