Ace Holleran Digs Into Meat Loaf, UB, Manute And Karla DeVito

From Mr. Ace Man, Timothy Holleran

The Sport magazine lay on the table’s oilcloth. A kid gazed intently at the basketball star, rebounding, his Cons seemingly miles off the floor, hand above the rim. That hoopster was Tony Jackson of the St. John’s Redmen (yes, eons before they took their name off the reservation).

The kid was me, rapt.

After dinner that same evening, Dad piled me into the Bel Air, destination unknown. As we neared Seaside Park, I could sense Coppertone memories of sandy excursions with Mom. But this was December.

Dad parked and led me into a brightly lit gymnasium. Few spectators filled the seats. Dad knew exactly where we should sit, second row. Wow. Two teams were warming up. One group had some of the tallest humans I had ever seen. On the back of the crimson warmups stood the proud school name.

St. John’s.

As players doffed their outer garments, I searched for #24. There he was. Tony Jackson, in person! Gradually, the team came over to their bench. And my hero sat right in front of me! Dad handed me a pen. Boldness swept over me. Program furled in hand, I tapped his sweaty back: “Mr. Jackson, can I have your autograph?”

“Thank you. Yes, I will.”

Way lost in that holy childhood reverie, I forgot about the actual game (a Redmen rout). And the University of Bridgeport Purple Knights, who happened to be the Johnnies’ opponent. Having a sports hero and actually meeting him was magic enough for me. On the way back to the Chevy, I imagined my rubbery Voit in my hands. I dribbled and deked like crazy, brimming with that magic.

It was December 1, 1959, my first visit to the Harvey Hubbell gymnasium. There were many more to come.

 

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Smash cut to thirteen years later. Some U. B. students organized a casual “coffee shop” sort of evening at The Hub. I sat in on drums with Rick McDonald, a ‘Port guy who played every venue at the school for years. The bleachers were retracted. I didn’t think of Tony Jackson.

Some time after that, I was backing an excellent singer, Diane Scanlon, herself a U. B. alumna. We were scheduled to be an opening act for a concert at The Hub. Sure enough, we got canceled (not unusual for openers back then). So I stayed for the show. That evening, Mr. John Geils and his Worcester bad boys drove a bluesy, rockin’ Peterbilt right down my throat. To this date, one of the best shows I have ever witnessed.

In 1976, I visited The Hub at the behest of a Boston-based agent. The headliner was Orleans, straight out of Woodstock. They were magnificent. But the main reason I garnered the invite was to see the opener, Goodnight Louise. Their frontperson was an uber-vivacious, high-steppin’ chanteuse named Karla DeVito. I found it impossible not to be taken with her. How could I know she’d change my life?

Later that year, Karla invited me to join her in a way-cool, unique, eight-piece amalgam of folks known as Orchestra Luna, based out of Boston. We toured the eastern seaboard, playing numerous venues, such as CGBG, Max’s and Alice Tully Hall. No Hub, but a memorable night at the Downtown Cabaret.

Not long after that, Karla got in touch with me and invited me to another show at The Hub. This stuff was flirting with big time. She was a backup singer, but played a huge part in the sweat-laden, guitar-heavy operetta with its voluminous star. Way cool, threatening to blow the roof of the joint. After the show, the star invited me backstage, which was a locker room. He lay prone on a bench, still moist, clad only in tighty whities.

“How’d I sound, Ace?” asked Meat Loaf.

And there was basketball, too. I attended Manute’s first game; he ducked to get on the floor.

South End legend Phil Nastu, shooting fouls against SHU in a jam-packed battle of Park Avenue. He smiled and winked at me. And sunk the shot.

I even spent couple of years helping veteran Beepo Dave coaches (Hennessey and Blagys) with the Lady Knights on the hardwood (I kept score). It was their last season before the school went kinda sideways.

 

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The years have claimed many. Tony Jackson passed in 2005. Meat left us four years ago. Larry Hoppen of Orleans (who became a good friend) has gone. Karla DeVito went on performing, eventually starring in The Pirates of Penzance on Broadway. She met a guy named Robby Benson there. The two of them are still married.

And the Harvey Hubbell Gymnasium still stands there, in all its Waldemere glory.