In memory of Morris Minuskin, 1955-2024

---

The Day Spike-it-Up came to Town

In the early 90’s I was running summer volleyball leagues at Oak Street Beach. It was a great venue, but small; just 4 courts. And my customer base was equally tiny. I wanted to break into North  Avenue; which at the time, before beach erosion, boasted around 50 courts on the south end, 40 up north. But I was reluctant to pay for the permits (minimum 10 courts/day) without a significant customer base.

An opportunity arose when Spike-it-Up, an upstart organization from California, bought a commercial permit (10 grand) from the park district to run an amateur weekend tournament at N Ave. Outside of the professional AVP tour, that kind of money for a tourney was unheard of. Local promoters like me paid the park district $10/team for our events; and on a nice Saturday we’d be lucky to get around 60 teams (mostly men’s 2’s). MVP held the record at 88.

SIU was negotiating with the Chicago Social Club to promote their event. In the early 90’s CSC pretty much owned N Ave. They ran leagues on both sides of the beach throughout the week. For SIU, it was the perfect tie-in.

I contacted SIU and offered my services. They were considering paying CSC 5 grand. I told them I’d promote their tourney for free. All I wanted was the player contact information from the teams that registered. I figured that info would allow me to break into N Ave the following summer. When asked about my marketing plan, I told them I’d submit a detailed proposal the next day. I discussed this with Morris and developed a plan. I faxed them our proposal and got the job. My fax read:

I will pass out flyers promoting the SIU tourney to all the players in the CSC leagues every night for three weeks preceding the event. 

As the tourney drew near, myself and a couple of my teammates flooded the CSC leagues with flyers.  Morris and another teammate worked the suburbs. They knew Rick, a former coach at Northwestern who had recently developed a juniors program in West  Chicago; and used that contact to reach high school kids.

Editorial Note 1. I received a harsh cease and desist letter from CSC head honcho Sandy demanding me and my gang stay away from their leagues. Not only had I “stole” a CSC opportunity, I was “stealing” its players. (All true.) Morris wrote a formal legal reply, which in layman’s terms translated to, “Ha ha.”

Editorial Note 2. My antagonism towards the Social Club went back a ways. In the late 80’s I was playing in Peter’s Whale of a Spike league at N Ave. It was a small, fun league stacked with skilled, serious players. And then suddenly we were relocated to Montrose. Turned out the park district gave N Ave to the Social Club and all their noisy, clownish recreational players (Cicadas). That was the dawn of the Social Club and the rise of the (what I believed to be a corrupt) beach “permit process.” 

(Thought question: Why would the Chicago Park District turn over beach space to a For-Profit company to run leagues when it could easily run its own leagues?)

Anyhow, our approach worked. The SIU tourney was a sellout at 400 teams. I formed The North Avenue Beach Club and the following year was running leagues at N Ave Mon – Th, over a dozen courts per night.

Which brings me to what many (mostly Morris and I) would refer to as the Miracle on North Avenue Beach.

Tourney Check in time for the SIU event was 7:30. When I got there, the scene was amazing. The crowd was massive and buzzing with excitement. And the setup was fantastic. There was signage everywhere, colorful vendor tents lined the walkway and Gatorade stands peppered the beach.  

My marketing group was there; 8 of us were playing in the tourney, Morris came to watch. I saw a bunch of guys by the check-in tent wearing SIU shirts. I sought out my SIU contact. He was holding a cell phone (back then cell phones were rare and were the size of a brick). And he looked distressed. I introduced myself. He said, “We have a problem.” 

It was a big problem. The tournament director was missing. He was the guy who had all the team information and was responsible for filling out the pool sheets. The pool sheets were the key; it had the registered teams assigned to courts based on their category and division. Without that info, we couldn’t run the tournament. Without the director, we were screwed.

So we waited. Morris and I stood at the check-in tent explaining the situation to the participants. At first, people were patient.

As time passed, the mood of the crowd began to sour. Phrases like “This is bullshit,” punctuated the air. 

And Morris and I quickly became the face of this impending disaster. We were the ones that did the most marketing; we were the ones standing at the check-in tent; and we were the ones answering the questions. 

At around 8:15 cell phone guy informed us he spoke to his boss, turned out the tournament director quit. They decided to cancel the event. Morris said, “We’ll run it.” I said, “Who’s we?”

Morris quickly brought me around. We had blank pool sheets and clipboards. We just had to fill them out. And the fact was, at that point I had nothing to lose. Also, I wanted to play.

So we devised a plan. First we’d split the group up into two; adults on the south courts, juniors up north, about 4 blocks away. Then we’d process the teams by category and division as we filled out the pool sheets. I sent Morris north with the juniors, and kept our 7 cohorts with me to process the adults. Once done, I told Morris we’d join him to process the juniors. “Just stall,” I said. “Maybe hold a real long rules meeting.”

And that’s what we did. At first we were in the middle of a maelstrom. I started with a quick and meaningless rules meeting as my group organized the paperwork and stations at the check-in tent in order to facility the task of court assignment. The players were angry and frustrated. But we had a good plan. We opened up two check-in tents; one for the women, one for the men. And we called in teams based on their groupings, starting with the open division and working our way down. Once we began the process of filling out the pool sheets and getting players out to the courts, the people settled down. As the crowd at the check-in tent dissipated, the excited buzz of anticipation re-emerged. 

By 9:00, our job was done. We congratulated each other, high-fives all around. I was getting ready to head to my court to warm up when one of my crew said those fateful words; words that struck me with terror. 

She said, “Hey, where’s Morris?”

Hoolee shhhit! My blood froze with fear. I had completely forgotten about Morris and the juniors. A few of us grabbed boxes of clipboards and pool sheets and raced up north.

To understand my fear, you have to know the difference between adults and juniors events. With adults, you hold a rules meeting. No one listens. The guys are beating up on one another to impress the women. The women are tossing the ball around to warm up. Adults think they know everything. Then the tourney starts, and so do the problems. Example.

Guy: “Our opponents aren’t calling their lifts.”

Me: “That’s a legal sand dig. I discussed it at the rules meeting.”

Guy: “No you didn’t”

Me: “And it’s explained on the rules sheet on the clipboard.”

Guy: “What clipboard?”

I swear at him, he swears at me. The tourney continues.

With juniors it’s a whole different animal. At the rules meeting, the kids sit in front of you and politely listen. Some have questions. The parents take notes. Then the tourney starts. And there are no problems.

Unless you make an administrative mistake. 

And if that mistake is inimical to a child, be prepared for the wrath of Mama (and Papa) Bear. Parents get really mad, really fast.

So, to have kids sitting around doing nothing but baking in the hot summer sun for nearly two hours because the tourney directors couldn’t get their administrative shit together; well that, my friends, borders on child abuse. 

As I headed up north, I imagined the worst. I feared that after the parents were done with Morris, there’d be nothing left but a head and some spinal fluid. My one hope, Morris had that magnetic personality. He possessed an incredibly friendly and uplifting spirit. If anyone could mollify raging parents, it would be him.

As we got closer, I saw something strange. Kids were on the courts; balls were in the air. That sight was hard to process. I thought maybe Morris was running drills or something. I suspected he had figured out some way to pass the time - to keep the kids engaged; to keep everyone happy. But as we got closer, it became apparent the tournament had started. Teams were on the courts playing matches with kids on the side keeping score. It had started without me, without my crew, without our pool sheets, without our clipboards.

And there, sitting on a nearby bench just off the bike path, was Morris.

Editorial note 3. In those days, Morris piled on the not-so-user-friendly sunscreen. He looked like a Geisha.

I sat down next to him. He said, “Bill, I hope you don’t mind, but I decided to start up the tournament.” 

I was looking at the courts in wonder. Morris had done with the juniors exactly what I had done with the adults.  I did it with 7 others. Morris did it by himself. I did it with clipboards and pool sheets. Morris did it with a pen and lots of paper.

“I know you told me to stall,” he continued. “But I figured I’d get started organizing the pools. It went pretty quick.” 

“So you didn’t need me at all.”

“Well, I could use those clipboards.”

That day, that event, that juniors division; that was the Miracle on North Avenue Beach. It was an incredible administrative feat. 

And that, in a nutshell, was Morris.  A truly remarkable guy.   And a good friend.  I'm really going to miss him.

May his memory be a blessing.

Bill Yedor