It was Christmas of 1964 when I truly realized that I was a Gator forever. Just a couple of months earlier my family had been uprooted from Gainesville, exiled to Mississippi by the Altamil Corporation which had bought out my dad’s company and its two small plants that manufactured wirebound vegetable crates. We drove all night to get home to Florida for Christmas, arriving at my grandparents’ red brick home at 313 NW 11th Street in Gainesville sometime around dawn.
My grandparents were already awake and waiting for us when our car pulled to a stop in front of their house. My sister was the first one out the door. She was a freshman at the University of Florida and she was living with my grandparents. After all the hugs and kisses, I went to sleep but only for what seemed like 15 minutes. I woke to the smell of bacon and eggs. My grandmother was in the kitchen getting breakfast ready. To this day, nobody has ever done bacon like my grandmother. I can still remember the taste and the smell, which permeated the entire house.
We ate breakfast and then it was time to open presents. As was our family tradition, everybody found a place to sit while my sister and I distributed the packages under the tree. Once they were all handed out, we started opening them. I got lots of clothes, which was fine with me. I was in a growth spurt so I would get a new pair of pants and two months later look like I was preparing for the next flood. There was a pair of white Levi’s jeans, my sister’s gift to me and I was already thinking wait until I wear these to school when we get back to McComb, Mississippi. Nobody had white Levi’s and I had a pair. Very, very cool.
I had opened all my presents when my grandfather came over and handed me one more. He told me that he found this one over behind the tree and I must have somehow missed it. I opened it up and before me was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It was a white University of Florida football jersey with the orange and blue UCLA stripes on the shoulders and a big blue number 11 sewn on the front and the back that he had bought at Jimmy Hughes Sporting Goods on University Avenue. That was Steve Spurrier’s number. Just 20 days earlier in Baton Rouge, Spurrier had led the Gators to a 20-6 win over LSU in a game that was originally supposed to be played on October 3. Hurricane Carla had postponed the game, which turned out to be a good thing for the Gators. By the end of the season, this was Steve Spurrier’s team and he was already becoming a legend.
I had been there for Spurrier’s official debut as a Gator on September 19. I sold Cokes that day at Florida Field where I had a thriving business going. The year before a group of businessmen and lawyers from Jacksonville had become my “clients” and I had handled all their carbonated beverage needs every home game. They would arrive at Florida Field 90 minutes before the game and break out the Bourbon. My job was to make sure they never ran out of Cokes until game time. Once the game began, they were done with their drinking and I had made enough money that I didn’t have to sell Cokes so I could watch the games. A couple of them always had me drink half their Coke so they could mix in a good healthy dose of Bourbon. In those days a tray of 12 Cokes sold for $3 and the seller made 60 cents. I made an average of $6 every home game off my clients, a very healthy sum in those days.
When we moved to Mississippi, not only was I living among a bunch of heathens whose loyalties were Ole Miss, Mississippi State and LSU, but I was cut off from my beloved Gators. Fortunately there was a 50,000-watt radio station in Pensacola that was part of the Florida radio network so I could listen to the Gators on the radio but it wasn’t the same as being there.
That Christmas morning in 1964 I immediately put that #11 jersey on. Nothing ever felt so good. I can remember it like it was yesterday. I was indescribably happy because I had the greatest gift ever.
Since we had been away for almost two months, I wanted to walk over to the Florida campus, a place so familiar to me. I had roamed the campus when we lived in Gainesville but my favorite places were Florida Field, Florida Gym and Perry Field, where the baseball team played. Now that I had that Spurrier jersey, I felt a compelling need to walk over to the campus.
I headed west on Third Avenue and turned left at Louie’s Seafood. The Piggy Park was where McDonald’s on 13th stands. There was a fresh coat of paint on the SAE lion when I crossed University Avenue. When I was a seventh grader at Westwood, there was a story that Coleman Stipanovich had once poured a can of paint on that lion. Coleman was one of my heroes after that. Pouring a can of paint on the SAE lion was a really big deal for someone in junior high school in 1964.
I started running as soon as I got to the campus and didn’t stop until I got to the handball courts that were in front of the north end zone at Florida Field. The gates were locked in the north end zone but I knew the gate at the southeast corner was rarely locked so I ran down there and sure enough it was open.
I ran out on the field wearing my Steve Spurrier jersey and for the next 20 or so minutes, I WAS Steve Spurrier. I threw passes. I ran for touchdowns. The Gators won their first national championship, all right there on Christmas morning, 1964. Of course, it was all in my fantasy but at that moment, nothing had ever seemed so real.
My imaginary game was over and I stood on the field wearing #11, looking all around at the imaginary fans that were cheering for me. In my head I heard the band play. I heard the whistle Mr. Two Bits used to get everybody’s attention so he could lead another cheer. I heard Gator fans roaring and felt my heart pounding as I yelled at the top of my lungs with them.
At that moment I knew in my heart that I would always be a Gator and that no other team would ever matter as long as I could draw a breath. I walked back to my grandparents’ home and said hi to Dirty Dan the Bicycle Man, whose old shop is where The Swamp Restaurant stands today. Dirty Dan always had a greasy handshake and a soft heart. For 40 years students with a sad story could buy a used bike or get theirs fixed so it would ride again by the guy that had a soft heart for college students. Years later when he died there were stories about how he had helped hundreds of students make it through college.
When I got home, I hugged my grandfather and thanked him for the best Christmas gift ever. I wore that #11 jersey until it literally fell apart but its memory has never departed. It’s as vivid today as it was 44 years ago.
So here I am, 57 years old and I count myself fortunate that my love affair with the Florida Gators has never ended. Ray Hines gives me the wonderful privilege of working for Gator Country where it is my job to go to Florida football and basketball games and write about the only team that still matters. I am a Gator for life and nothing will ever change that just as nothing will ever change the memory of that first moment when I realized just how much I loved the Florida Gators.
I’ve had some great Christmas presents in my 57 years but none that I will remember more than that one.
So thanks Gator Country for allowing me to share one special Gator moment with you and from all of us at Gator Country, Merry Christmas and best wishes for a happy and truly blessed New Year.