It was 48 years ago tonight. February 3, 1973.
As a 13-year-old eighth grader, my interest in Nebraska basketball was growing at a rapid pace, and my dream of seeing the Cornhuskers play a game at the NU Coliseum came to fruition that warm evening of Saturday, February 3, 1973. Nebraska was hosting Kansas State, and the Wildcats were rated No. 18 in the Associated Press Poll. Nebraska was having a bad year. NU had only won six ballgames by the time the Purple Pride came to town. I had been begging Dad to take me to a Cornhusker basketball game, but he was throwing up opposition due to the rising price of gas, which had grown to 35-40 cents a gallon. But Dad finally conceded and drove me to Lincoln.
Much to my surprise, instead of parking the pickup at Grandpa’s and letting me walk to the Coliseum while he stayed and visited his parents, who resided two blocks from the NU campus, he went with me. Dad and I arrived a few minutes before tip-off and found a seat in the balcony on the northeast side of the building, a fair distance from the playing floor and at an angle that was behind the north basket. Just over 5,000 fans attended the game, which was the largest crowd of the year. But it sounded like 20,000. The 47-year-old Coliseum’s acoustics allowed the cheers from the crowd to bounce off its walls and rounded ceiling, and enhanced the sound of the NU pep band when it played “Dear old Nebraska U.” It didn’t matter that Kansas State blew Nebraska off the floor, 82-55 — I had witnessed first-hand an event that, thanks to Jack Payne and Dick Perry of KFAB and KFOR respectively, had previously been sports-theater of the mind.
Dad didn’t say much during the drive home, but he did catch my ear when he reminisced about playing basketball in the Coliseum as a kid until a janitor ran Dad and his buddies off. In case you hadn’t guessed, Dad grew up only two blocks from the Coliseum and Memorial Stadium, at 1052 Y Street. A few years ago, all of the old wooden houses in the 1000 block of Y Street were torn down, and apartment complexes have taken their place.
The “Old Barn” had been the home of Cornhusker basketball since 1926. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be home to NU basketball games much longer. Ground had recently been broken for a new arena on the State Fairgrounds that would nearly double the capacity for basketball crowds. I was lukewarm to the fact that the Cornhuskers would be playing in a new arena. The atmosphere of the Coliseum was extremely unique. The building’s walls were constructed of dark-red bricks. The Coliseum’s gray 2-by-10 wooden plank bleachers snuggled up against the out-of-bounds line on both sides of the court; The Coliseum — located one block east of Memorial Stadium — had an ancient, battleship-gray scoreboard that hung above the playing floor, a big red N painted in the middle of the floor’s center-jump circle, and huge Big Eight Conference banners hanging from the ceiling; the scoreboard’s horn softly bellowed, giving a player waiting to enter the game permission to trot onto the floor; a pistol was fired proclaiming halftime and the game’s end; and the clapping of hands while the pep band played “Hail Varsity” from the east stands certainly added to the Coliseum’s charisma. The crowd stood from the opening tip until Nebraska scored its first basket, and NU band members harassed the opposition by purposely tooting sour notes on their horns and pounding the bass drums during their free throw attempts.
The Coliseum didn’t possess a fancy electronic scoreboard with huge advertisements and instant replays; and absent was a loud-mouthed public address announcer pandering pizza, banks, and cappuccino. A Coke in a throw-away paper cup cost 50 cents, and so did a hot dog. Cigarette smokers were only allowed to inhale in the hallways and lobby away from the court and crowd. But the smoke still managed to find its way to the main floor and migrate to the giant lights that hung about 30 feet above the court, creating a light fog. The Coliseum resembled a cozy neighborhood bar. It didn’t matter if a fan was old, young, fat, thin, rich, or poor; everyone sat on a gray wooden plank. There were no luxury suites or comfy cushioned seats with a backrest. A person’s socio-economic status was non-existent. It was fun, it was family, and it was the home to great entertainment. The Coliseum was one of the very few buildings that truly possessed a personality … it was as if Ralph Kramden had been converted to bricks, mortar, and steel.
By the time I was a junior in high school, I had attended every home game.
The Coliseum hasn’t been used for Cornhusker basketball in 45 years. Today, it is a building for physical education classes. Often when I travel to Lincoln, I visit the old barn and tell God, “thanks for the memories.”