Grand prize, writing: A truly tall tale

Honorable mention, Photography “Manhattan Beach Roundhouse,” by Joel Gitelson

The 3-year-old boy told the 6-foot-5 Realtor he was going to be taller than him some day. “Sure kid. Look me up when you get there,” the Realtor said

Honorable mention, Photography
“Lemon sage,” by Melissa Chong

Grand Prize, writing
by Dave Siemienski

I always wanted to be tall. At least since I was three years old. That was 1950, when my family moved from Connecticut to California. 

Finding a new home was the first priority. So my parents began looking for a real estate agent, and found a good one.

I will never forget meeting that agent for the first time. He was extremely tall, and handsome. He wore dark, pinstriped suits. I became fixated on this awesome Sequoia-tree. I would walk right up to this man and pull on his pants.

He stared down, annoyed. “Yeah kid, what is it?” 

My head was bent way backwards, because I was so close to his leg, and he was so tall.

“What’s your name?”

“Hanline, kid. Tru Hanline. Now lemme speak with your folks.” 

He turned back to my dad and mom.

I grabbed his leg again. Now he looked angry. “What else, kid?”

“How tall are you?”

The giant replied, “6-foot-5, kid.”

I came back with, “I am going to be taller than you some day.”

“Sure kid. Look me up when you get there.”

Finding the right house when our family had come 3,000 miles from a totally different part of the country was no easy task. As a result I saw Mr. Hanline quite a few times when he was showing us homes. It was hard for me to believe that a human could be as tall as he was. 

Eventually the right home was found. We moved in, and Mr. Hanline moved on. I did not. I could never get him off my mind. I wanted to be that tall. I wanted to be even taller.

My dad was 5-foot-11, and mom was about 5-foot-5. There was no “height” in our family tree. Somebody seems to recall an “old Uncle Joe” being somewhat tall, but nobody knew anything else about him. 

As I progressed through grade school, I was the tallest kid, but nothing unusual early on. I was keenly aware of anybody in my grade being as tall as me. Then, in the seventh grade it happened. Joyce Terway was taller than me. A girl. 

By eighth grade, I stood proudly at the back of our school picture, once again the tallest in our class. I had whizzed by Joyce, and was now setting my goal at six feet. I remember reaching that coveted milestone, and finally standing next to dad, a mere inch taller. 

When I went to St. Bernard High School in Playa del Rey I was still tracking my height, and I remember getting to 6-foot-1. Because St. Bernard did not have a gym, and I had to carpool from Inglewood, I did not play basketball as a freshman.

In my sophomore year, I decided to attend Inglewood High School. Even though I was trying to closely measure my growth spurts, I don’t remember being 6-foot-2, or 6-foot-3, or 6-foot-4. I shot up to 6-foot-5 so fast, you could have watched me grow.

It was time to seriously consider playing basketball. But basketball coach Buck Smith insisted his players have crew-cuts. I hated cutting my hair short, so I refused to play.

By this time, my obsession over height had subsided somewhat, and my preoccupation with Tru Hanline was growing dimmer. Even though I knew I had not stopped growing, I was satisfied. But I had not yet grasped the advantage it was to give me in the game of basketball. 

With the departure of Mr. Smith in my senior year, I decided to try out for the varsity basketball team. The new basketball coach had never seen me play.

In tryouts, my ability to shoot and jump high above the rim quickly secured me a spot on the team. When Coach Vern Chick realized I was not only the tallest kid on his team, but that I was the third-tallest player in the Sky League, he quickly began starting me. I ended that senior season on the All-Centinela Valley basketball All-Star team, and led the league in free throw percentages.

Although 6-foot-5 and 1/2, my stature was challenged big time when we played the powerhouse North Torrance team in our gym, that season of 1965. North had a center by the name of Ron Taylor. 

Taylor was 7-feet-tall, and weighed about 280 pounds. He would go on to star at USC, and was drafted by the Seattle SuperSonics in the second round of the 1969 NBA draft. (He subsequently went on to an acting career. As Al, the very tall police detective in “Police Squad,” his face was always out of frame.)

I was assigned to guard him. I weighed about 165, and had to muscle up to Big Ron to keep him away from our basket. If you were at that game, you might have thought the Inglewood Sentinels were playing with only four players. Nobody could see me pushing up behind Taylor.

The shocker was we beat North Torrance that night in our gym. But the Saxons would go on to play in the CIF Championship game later that year against Long Beach Poly. 

By the time I attended El Camino College, I had grown to exact 78 inches. I played basketball there for the legendary coach, George Stanich. He was John Wooden’s first All-American at UCLA. I was the tallest on that El Camino team, too. 

I truly believe my desire to be tall was ignited by Tru Hanline.

In 1970 I moved into an apartment in Manhattan Beach on 20th Street, a few blocks up from the beach. My place was just a few hundred feet up from Live Oak Park, where some of the best pickup basketball players of the era played. My growth had transformed a little kid from Inglewood into a beach ballplayer enjoying bachelor life to its fullest in the finest Southern California lifestyle for young men of the times. 

Several years later I noticed a familiar name appear on the mailbox in my building. The name read “Hanline.” I knocked on the door matching the number on the mailbox. A young man answered. He told me his name was Ron.

“I used to know a man by the name of Hanline when I was a little kid. Any relation?” I asked.

“My uncle is Tru Hanline,” he answered.

I replied gesturing with my hand upward, “A big guy, right?” 

“Oh yeah, Uncle Tru is really tall,” he said.

The next day I went to the bank where Ron Hanline told me his uncle was the president. I told his secretary my story, and requested a surprise appointment with the president. 

I was admitted to Mr. Hanline’s office without introduction. When I approached his desk, the big man rose from his chair to offer a handshake. After I introduced myself, I could see him searching his brain for recognition. 

“Oh yeah. The Siemienskis. I do remember.”

We stood almost eye-to-eye. I was an inch taller.

“It was 25 years ago. I told you that I would be taller than you some day. That day has come,” I said. 

Tru smiled broadly. 

“Yeah kid, you got me.” ER

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