KENLON MEETS HIS MATCH A Servite Tale by Bruce Emard

 KENLON MEETS HIS MATCH

Near the beginning of Servite time, adolescent boys came to Servite High School’s rudimentary Anaheim campus to challenge themselves in academia and athletics under the auspices of an order of Catholic priests and brothers who served the Virgin Mary.  These men of Mary reached into the Orange County community, still young and growing, where they found strong minded and passionate men and women to help them with their mission to prepare lads for college and adult life.  Among the coaches came Bill Miller, a former United States Marine drill sergeant, and George Dena, already a legend of a young man whose heroics on the football gridiron as quarterback for Anaheim High School were widely known in Orange County newspapers and around the tables and bars of Orange County’s watering holes.  Under the tutelage of these two giants, Servite’s first varsity football team won the State of California’s Southern Section championship for small schools.  Having established its reputation for physical and mental toughness, hut drill discipline, and winning, Servite’s football program flourished under the leadership of Head Coach George Dena.  

  Into this high testosterone and predominantly male environment entered Stephen Kenlon.   In 1970, on a hot September day reaching into the hundreds, Coach Dena brought Kenlon to the inside door of the Servite weight room to watch the team straining under Olympic bars, tossing medicine balls, chinning, jumping rope, and dripping sweat to the rubber tiled floor and benches in the heat, double doors open to the outside to let in a hint of a breeze and ease the stench of stale sweat.  Some team members stopped in mid repetition to wonder at the bear of a young man standing in the doorway. Six feet tall, weighing two hundred or so pounds, muscles bulging from under his tee shirt and gym shorts, a square jaw jutting confidence, thick neck, shadow of a recently shaved beard, and a mop of long brown hair, he appeared ready to start at one of the varsity linebacker positions.  After the weight training session, Coach Dena introduced Kenlon to the starting quarterback, starting middle linebacker, Bill Zimmerman, and starting center, Rick Bezanson.  “I’d like you to meet Steve Kenlon.  He’ll be joining the freshman football team next week.”  As the quarterback shook hands with Kenlon and said, “Welcome to Servite football,” he couldn’t hide his amazement at Kenlon’s strong grip and imposing body.  

Zimmerman, on the other hand, either feeling threatened, or just testing the lad’s mettle, glared at Kenlon and asked, “What do you bench, frosh?”  “Around two hundred,” came the confident response.  “Let’s see about that,” Zimmerman said gruffly.  He walked Kenlon over to a bench where a twenty-five-pound iron Olympic bar rested on its stand.  From the weight rack, he took a twenty-five-pound iron disk in each hand, then slid the disks on to each side of the bar one handed like it was child’s play.  After repeating the feat three times, he said, “There you go frosh.”  Kenlon slid his back on to the bench under the bending bar, then spaced his hands evenly on the bar above his pectoral muscles.  Zimmerman stood behind the bar, expecting Kenlon to need some help.  “Need a lift, frosh?”  “No thanks,” came the reply.  Kenlon began taking long, deep breaths.  On the third inhale, he pushed the bar off the rack and lowered it to his chest.  Then, exhaling powerfully, he began pushing the bar up.  Close to full extension, the bar stopped moving and quavered a bit.  Smiling, Zimmerman reached his hands under the bar to provide an assist but at that moment the bar continued up and then settled in the rack.  “Gotcha Zim.  That was two twenty-five,” Kenlon said with a boyish grin.  “Not bad frosh,” Zimmerman said with a sneer.  He walked over to the weight rack, grabbed a twenty-five-pound disk in each hand, then slid them on to the bar.  Motioning for Kenlon to move aside, Zimmerman slid under the bar, inhaled deeply, and lifted the bar off the rack.  Then, in one long exhale, he pumped the bar quickly in three full repetitions, then dropped it on to a shaking and straining rack.  “You’ve got some work to do,” he said breathing heavily and pointing to the wall of the weight room where, among black and white banners honoring championship teams and All CIF (California Interscholastic Federation) players, Blaine Nye, Pat Rooney, Brad Wekall, Blaise Evers, Steve Fate, and others, a sign board hung.  At the top it read, “Bench Press Records.”  Below the title, a list of names and numbers appeared in descending order.  “Bill Zimmerman – 365 - 1970,” led the list.

Four Servite years passed quickly for Kenlon.  With All American honors, a full ride scholarship to play football on John McKay’s USC championship team, and a bench press record of 390 in his pocket, Kenlon coasted into the remainder of his final year at Servite, enjoying his well-earned fame and looking ahead to an exciting future.  As the month of April wore on, the Servite senior class grew restless, knowing its time at Servite was short and anxious to move on to the next phases of their lives.  These can be dangerous days for young men with nothing left to prove and too much time on their hands.  During this time, a flyer began circulating around the Servite quad.  A travelling circus with a wrestling bear was coming to the Anaheim Convention Center Friday night.  Whispers in the Servite halls and in the quad grew loud, but not loud enough for the administration to hear.  Plans formed.  Excitement grew.  Members of the senior class and many underclassmen convinced their parents that a night at the circus would be good wholesome entertainment.  And so, the plans solidified.  The lads of Servite would have an unauthorized Night at the Circus.

All day Friday, a mysterious aura buzzed around the Servite campus.  The teachers and administrators felt it, but they couldn’t identify it.  Something was up, but what?  Larry Toner, the freshman football head coach and leader of a large group of student rooters self-proclaimed “The Asylum,” persuaded a freshman to come clean.   Upon learning the source of the buzz, Coach Toner convinced Principal, Father Motsko, that the event was harmless but should have an adult presence. He gained permission to attend the event in an unofficial capacity to watch over the boys.  Sensing an epic event about to occur, Coach Toner told every freshman football player and every member of the Asylum that their presence at the Anaheim Convention Center was required.  The lads left the Servite campus that afternoon more quickly than usual.  There was no lingering. Souped-up cars seemed louder and faster as they left the parking lot.  A little rubber was burnt into the Servite asphalt that afternoon in defiance of a well-known rule.

At the Convention Center that night, the ushers noticed something unusual in the seats around the main arena.  The color black predominated. The lads of Servite were there in their school color and the seats were nearly full.  Of course, Kenlon was there with some of his friends to watch the anticipated spectacle.  At 7:00 p.m. sharp, the lights in the main arena flickered, then went out, and a spotlight shone from the ceiling to one of the entry gates.  Into this light walked a hulk of a middle-aged man, a bit pudgy around the middle, wearing only a tight-fitting red spandex singlet and white laced red boots.  A thick silver chain extended horizontally behind him.  When the man was six feet into the arena, a six-foot four brown bear weighing 350 pounds or more, leather gloves strapped tightly to its paws, a leather and iron grated muzzle secured to its snout, iron ring around its neck with chain attached thereto, appeared in the light walking on its hind legs.  An announcer’s voice rumbled through the arena.  “Welcome to tonight’s main event.  Tonight, Gorgeous George will wrestle Bosco the Bear.  The establishment must warn you, Bosco is only partially trained.  Please do not do anything to antagonize him!”  Immediately, an antagonizing jeer went up from the crowd.  Bosco’s demeanor changed to one of slight agitation as he followed Gorgeous George through the door of a padded circular metal cage, twenty feet in diameter, a wrestling mat on the floor.  The lights in the arena illuminated.  Gorgeous George unlocked the iron ring, removed it from Bosco’s neck, then walked it and the chain to the door where he handed them to the announcer standing outside.  The announcer quickly secured the door with a thick iron bar, then grabbed a microphone hanging from the ceiling.  “Ladies and gentlemen. The only rules for tonight’s bout are the following:  Gorgeous George must pin Bosco the Bear on his back for ten seconds.  He has three two-minute rounds in which to do so.  If he fails, Bosco will be proclaimed the winner.”  A roar went up from the crowd, this time exuberant. 

Gorgeous George led Bosco the Bear to the center of the cage where they stood facing one another.  A bell clanged.  Gorgeous George began circling Bosco, hands extended.  Bosco turned with Gorgeous George keeping him in his sight, paws extended.  Gorgeous George swiped at the bear striking him on the side of the head.  Bosco swiped back catching Gorgeous George on the shoulder and sending him tumbling into the side of the padded cage.  Gorgeous George lay stunned, but then stood and stumbled toward the bear.  The bell clanged.  Gorgeous George stopped and turned, then swayed to the side of the cage where someone squirted water from a plastic bottle through the cage into his mouth.  Bosco remained awkwardly in the center of the cage seemingly uncertain what to do next.   Two minutes elapsed.  The bell clanged.  Gorgeous George approached Bosco and began circling him with his hands extended.  Bosco followed him with paws extended.  Gorgeous George grabbed Bosco by the shoulders and began grappling with him.  Bosco placed his paws over Gorgeous George’s shoulders and danced with him.  Suddenly, Gorgeous George raised a foot to Bosco’s chest, threw all of his weight backwards, and while tumbling backwards pushed Bosco over him with his powerful leg.  Bosco landed on its back.  A collective gasp went up from the audience.  Gorgeous George immediately jumped up and pounced Bosco, pressing him against the mat.  Bosco used his powerful limbs to raise Gorgeous George above him, but he remained on his back.  The bell clanged three times.  The announcer’s voice resounded throughout the arena.  “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a winner.  Gorgeous George pinned Bosco the Bear one minute, thirty-seven seconds into the second round of the bout.  A clamor rose from the audience.  Some were cheering, some were jeering, some were simply confused.  Father Motsko sat quietly in the crowd, uncollared and in civilian clothing. “Is this the way a civilized society treats a wild animal,” he asked himself.  “I’ll need to address the boys on Monday.”  As the clamor died, Gorgeous George approached Bosco the Bear, then, standing next to him, raised his right paw into the illuminated night.  Lowering his paw and still holding it, Gorgeous George and Bosco the Bear bowed together.  Cheers and applause filled the arena. 

The arena lights flickered.  Some rose from their chairs to leave.  Gorgeous George stepped outside the cage to the microphone.  He said, “Thank you all for coming tonight.  We appreciate your attendance, but I heard some jeering.  Are any of you naysayers man enough to step into the ring with this wild animal?  If so, I’ll give you a chance to wrestle him.” A murmur spread throughout the arena.  Servite students were asking one another, “Will you do it?  The typical responses came back, “Hell no, do you think I’m crazy.”  As the murmur began to die, another sound began in the Asylum and spread throughout the arena. “Kenlon, Kenlon, Kenlon.”  No one knows what entered Kenlon’s mind as that chant grew louder.  Some believe he was simply a brute who didn’t think about his actions.  Others believe he was so over-confident he would take on any reckless challenge, even if it meant jeopardizing his USC scholarship.  Still others believe he became filled with Servite pride and was willing to defend its honor.  Whatever he was thinking, Kenlon stood from his seat and raised his fists into the air.  A thunderous roar rose from the audience and grew louder as Kenlon worked his way through the crowd toward the cage, lads slapping him on the back.  

When Kenlon reached the cage door, the audience drew deathly quiet.  Gorgeous George approached Kenlon, shook his hand, and whispered something in his ear.  Kenlon stepped through the cage door leaving Gorgeous George outside the unbarred door, watching intently.  Inside the cage, Kenlon stripped off his black SERVITE FOOTBALL tee shirt and, turning in a circle to the audience, raised his fists and flexed his pecs simultaneously.  The audience erupted in laughter and applause.  Then, Kenlon turned to face Bosco the Bear.  Bosco stood on four paws near the center of the cage watching Kenlon disinterestedly.  As Kenlon approached, Bosco raised up on his hind legs to his full height, towering above Kenlon.  From the Asylum another chant began.  “Beat Bosco, Beat Bosco.”   Kenlon began circling the bear as he had seen Gorgeous George behave.  Bosco moved in half circles, watching Kenlon from the corner of one eye.  Kenlon lunged at the bear as if to attack him.  Bosco didn’t flinch.   Kenlon swiped at the bear missing purposely.  Bosco didn’t respond.  The Assylum took up another chant, now led by Coach Toner whose red hair flamed, face colored to fire engine red, and neck veins bulged.  “Take him down.  Take him down.”  Kenlon began circling faster.  Seeing an opening, he rushed in, struck Bosco on the back of the head with his fist, and jumped back.  Bosco bellowed through the muzzle, spewing bear saliva through the grate.  Now Kenlon had Bosco’s full attention.  His demeanor became aggressive.  Bosco took after Kenlon on four legs.  Kenlon sprinted away, sometimes running up the sides of the padded cage to stay away from Bosco’s reach.  Bosco began to flag and Kenlon reduced his pace to a trot.  Then, Bosco suddenly stopped in the middle of the cage, panting.  Seeing his opportunity, Kenlon circled in from behind and jumped on Bosco’s back, reaching his arm around his neck and placing him in a tight headlock.  Bosco bellowed again, bear spit flying.  Then, to everyone’s surprise, Bosco reached over his head, grabbed Kenlon below the armpits, and tossed him across the cage like a doll.  Kenlon hit the padded cage wall four feet above the mat, then fell silently.  He immediately sprang up glaring at the bear.  Gorgeous George rushed into the cage, calmed Bosco the Bear, placed the iron collar around his neck, and attached the chain to a post in the cage wall.  A group of linemen from the Servite football team marched into the cage, raised Kenlon on their shoulders and carried him out of the arena to the sound of the Asylum singing Queen’s song, “We Are The Champions of the World.” When asked later what Gorgeous George whispered in his ear on that glorious night many years ago, Kenlon whispered, “He said, Please don’t hurt my bear.”  

Kenlon no longer resides on planet Earth, but his courageous spirit walks the quad and halls of Servite, at least I like to think so.    While the story I have recounted above may not be accurate in all details, I imagine it that way.  And when I sit in the bleachers on a crisp October evening for a Servite football game watching and listening to the hut drill before the opening kick-off, I imagine Kenlon’s voice calling out the huts as team captain while the team’s pads pop and arms, legs, and bodies move with military precision. So, the story ends, but it remains alive in the memory of the quarterback who welcomed Kenlon to the Servite weight room those many years ago.