Game 67: Jerry West - Sweet Apple Saute

In 1965, a skinny and malnourished Jerry West graduated from high school in the impoverished coal mining town of East Bank, WV. The basketball star enrolled in West Virginia University, 174 miles away, simultaneously staying close by and far enough away from the violent, miserable household he grew up in. It was a house where his father, on a good day, would come home covered in black soot, read the newspaper front to back, and go to sleep without speaking a word to his family. On the worst days, he would beat his son with a belt for reasons that is still trying to comprehend.

Jerry could not turn to his mother Cecile for help. Jerry wrote in his autobiography West On West: My Charmed, Tormented Life that he grew up in a home that was “spotless but where I never learned what love was, and am still not entirely sure I know today.” That absence of a defender against his abusive father got worse when Jerry’s older brother David, the clear favorite in the family, died in the Korean War. Cecile and the rest of the family were never the same after that. Jerry compares it to the concept of “the ordinary instant” that Joan Didion coined in The Year of Magical Thinking, her book about the sudden death of her husband and the year of coping that followed. One moment, he was having a drink in the living room while Didion fixed dinner in the kitchen. The next, he was dead from a heart attack. In an instant, the glue that held the West family together, even thousands of miles overseas in a foreign land, disappeared.

In Morgantown, WV, the closed off West found two surrogate mothers: sisters Ann and Erlinda Dinardi. These two unmarried women in their forties served as den mothers to countless Mountaineers over the years. For West, they served as both a physical and emotional support system. As a child, West was a regular recipient of vitamin shots due to his undernourishment, so the sisters made sure to pack him “six or seven sandwiches in a big paper bag and one or two milkshakes” every day during the summer before his freshman year.

Before his sophomore year began, West once again returned to Ann’s house to live with the mother he “would have chosen [had] he been able to make a choice.” Besides making sure he was fed, Ann would check in on his teachers and his schoolwork. In 1996, West even returned early from an European trip to join in on a surprise 90th birthday party thrown for her. Jerry wrote that he was “not used to this kind of affection” that he got from his surrogate mother.

In 1962, shortly after his second season with the Lakers, Jerry’s childhood home burned down. His family escaped without any major injuries but they lost everything except for Jerry’s Olympic gold medal and uniform. All the proof that remained of David’s short existence, stored in a green trunk, turned to ash. Jerry’s mother, still unable to work through her trauma, became even more distraught. The chasm between her and her son grew wider until connection became insurmountable.

Three decades later, Cecile West died at age 85. Writing in his autobiography, West comes to terms with why he became so laser focused on playing basketball. After decades of examination, he realizes that his early commitment was “trying to provide [his] mother with joy and something to be proud of.” And while he did provide temporary moments of joy, he never writes of closure, of repairing the wound that remains open to this day.

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Sweet Apple Saute

4-5 tart apples, peeled, cored, and sliced

1 cube butter

Cinnamon to taste

Sugar to taste

Water

Melt butter in a saute pan. Add apple slices and saute for 2 to 3 minutes. Sprinkle sugar (about ½ cup) and cinnamon to taste. Turn to coat apples. Add water to dilute if necessary. Serve warm.

“A simple delicious treat.”

First bite: “This is great! What a simple, delicious treat!”

Third bite: “This is just apple pie without the crust and filling.”

Fifth bite: “I’m tasting phantom whipped cream.”

But I'm being harsh. This recipe was made by an impoverished West Virginian mother as a cheap, tasty snack for her six children. For mere pennies, she provided them with a positive lasting memory in a childhood marked with violence and death. It probably pained Jerry to call up his mom for the recipe but I’m glad he picked up the phone.

R.I.P. Cecile Sue Creasey West (1905 - 1991)